#soft-spoken like a gun || anon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

losersiren · 7 months ago

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𝒜 𝒥𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒!𝐿𝑜𝓇𝒹

”𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝓎𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈.” A continuation of my oc Ambrose, The lord N: Don't I have a gift for you, Anon! God, I had to rewrite this so many times, BUT I'M DONE!! Eat up! This is a long one! I had to watch so many gun videos (like two), which was unexpected... CW: Fem reader (she/her), acts and talks of violence (not towards the reader), implied murder, threats, guns, fluff (with the reader lol), mocking, power balance (?) Jealousy (or pettiness) Wc: 3.5k

A shotgun sound echoes throughout the forest, followed by yet another dead Grey partridge and light crunches of leaves beneath stomping leather boots.

“That bastard of a man! A prick! Son of a bitch! Son of an adventuress at that!” Ambrose stops in his tracks, reloading his sporting rifle with more gunpowder. Anger consumes his entire being. ”Did you hear what that bloody cocksucker Patrick said to her?” He hissed through his clenched teeth, grabbing the tiny 0.5 mm sphere lead bullet and layering it on top of some fabric. Shoving it inside the rifle barrel, “If what he said changed from the last few hundred times you’ve re-told the incident, then I have no utter clue.” The younger male rolls his eyes, picking up the tenth bird Ambrose has slaughtered this afternoon. He ignores his younger cousin’s sarcastic quip and continues. “ ‘If you wish for a lovely evening, do not be a stranger; send me a letter, and I'll be by your side.’ I should’ve darkened his daylights when those vile words left his devil mouth.” He fixes his gun upright, pushing the first trigger, waiting for another prey to be a victim of his wrath.

“Is she spoken for? Have you outwardly said you intend to court her?” His cousin questions, and Ambrose, in retaliation to his younger relative’s question….blushes like a young girl. Clenching his jaw, he answers, “No,” “Are you mad?!?” “I’ve attempted…but my nervousness has sabotaged me alas.” Astonished, his cousin continues, “Then you have no right to be jealous of her, you fool.”

Bushes start rustling. Ambrose aims and squints instantly, with a pointer finger on the second trigger. A small grey rabbit appears, and immediately, it's killed straight through its skull; a soft smile appears on Ambrose’s face. “For her, I'll be whatever is needed.”

“You are not sane.”

“Don’t be rude, Finch. This is love in its purest form. One day, you’ll understand.” The older male shrugs his shoulders.

“Now,” Ambrose reloads his gun, repeating his past actions, but this time, he looks straight into the other male’s eyes. “What do you know about Patrick Barton?” “I do not-” Ambrose cuts him off. “ Do not lie to me, young Finch…” His voice becomes lower, mocking, his aura more sinister. “You frequent more gentleman clubs than I; lord knows I hate the people and atmosphere of said clubs– Your mother grumbles enough to mine about the subject.” In goes the gunpowder: “You surround yourself with such…’ vast’ personalities from the elites to the ladies of the night.” The grey-eyed man reaches into his waistcoat for a lead bullet. “Yet you tell me– you don’t know about a mere Lord.” He scoffs.

Finch watches his older cousin's actions. Of course, he only asked to spend time with him for information regarding the apple of his eye’s new ‘suitor.’ The young man knows his current situation, the number of Grey partridge carcasses he holds because of Ambrose, and how far deep he’s in the forest, alone with his turbulent cousin. This was a warning, a show of sorts, that he could join these insignificant birds. He tries to swallow the heavy lump stuck in his throat. Ambrose was always the odd man; his smile never reached his eyes, his charm as real as a disloyal man’s ‘ I love you.’ His older cousin wasn’t above putting his hands on his own blood to get what he wanted– Ambrose’s father’s scar is evidence enough.

“He partakes in Hell’s, frequents them more than gentleman’s clubs, a gambler of sorts. Loves it! He brags about the thrills of it and his winnings. Folks whisper that he’s a dishonourable shark. But it's not just hell establishments he attends; If there's someplace to gamble away his earnings, he's there,” Finch sputters his confession.

“And Mills? Does he attend those as well?” “Yes,” The younger lad answers his senior instantly.

Ambrose just hums in return.

Just finishing his task, he aims for his cousin; he wears an inexpressive face, his grey eyes darkened and vacant, with no light, no soul.

“Wait, wait! I told you what you wanted!” Finch pleas. He could run, but in retrospect, how far can he go? Ambrose has a fucking rifle. He’s a good shot, no, an excellent shot. Hell! It’s borderline impossible how he always hits his targets, especially with how hard it is to aim for those things. Finch is panicking; his cousin has already pushed the first trigger. The nervous lad just accepts it; what else could he do? He closes his eyes, expecting his death to come quickly, then he hears a gunshot…

And he's fine…? Another Grey partridge falls from the sky right before him, its dead eye looking at the twenty-year-old.

Ambrose’s gun aims towards the sky. He lowers it. Then he casually approaches the stunned male, who lets out a staggered sigh, relieved he escaped death by a hair. Ambrose looks down at Finch, grabbing his shoulder and leaning in close. “Don’t ever fucking lie to me ever again, especially when the topic concerns my love.” Finch nods rapidly, shaking like a leaf. “Of course, sir, sorry.” Then, the older male releases his shoulders. “Good. Gift those birds to a peasant; perhaps they’ll make dinner with it, oh, and the rabbit, too. Say I have decided to help my community or something along those lines.” He looks at the sky. “I have a woman blessed by aphrodite to court.” His smile is bright, contrasting how he was a mere few seconds ago. He pats his younger cousin’s back and leaves the forest– The lifeless Grey partridge stares back at Finch, and he stares back.

Social calls…How dreadful. Worse is conversing with Lord Barton. He’s a bore, vulgar, and has an underlying inconsiderate, bitter personality. Having your mother as a chaperone does not make the situation any more bearable.

“Have you ever pondered about the future?” he inquires.

What kind of wet rag question is that?

You put on a gentle smile. “Of course I have. Since I was a chit, I would read the local papers with my father-” He cuts you off “Children.” You look at him in confusion. “Pardon?”

The gentleman looks at you like you’re the biggest dunce in the country. “Children, how many children do you wish for? It would be sensible for us to have eight or ten,” “Hah…well…” you lift the tea cup to your mouth.

The man has no decorum…

After that fiasco, you decided to take a stroll downtown, and perhaps you’ll get a book from the local store, some new fabrics from a linen draper, or even some oils. Your pin money given to you by your parents could only cover one item... what a conundrum….

“Do tell me why the viscount’s only daughter is doing without a chaperone?” He leans against the brick wall, arms crossed, his smile beaming.

“Lord Howard, have you dropped your hunting hobby in exchange for stalking?” He chuckles. “Witty as always, but dare I disappoint? I was just strolling about my day and coincidentally saw you– Perhaps fate has decided for us to meet?” He pushes himself off the wall and offers his arm. Was it coincidence or fate…? No, it was none; it was all Ambrose, him asking your fellow lady peers about your whereabouts. Then, wandering near whatever local shops would possibly pique your interest. Memories play in his head, such as when you both were young and would rendezvous at the local forest. You would acquire many hobbies when you were younger– your mother said you would have a higher chance of obtaining a suitor with diverse skills. He would remember them and watch you in amazement when you talked about them.

You made him feel human. You made him feel alive. His father was never a loving one; he gained the son he wanted, and his heir then wanted nothing more to do with him. The only attention Ambrose earned from The Earl was if he needed reprimanding. Every laugh that was too loud, every fork that he unitized improperly, every action, small or big, was scrutinized. His mother was a vacant husk of a woman at home and a social butterfly in the public eye; she watered herself down to being a wife and a mother. She was neither. He detested both of them and hated that damned empty feeling of his soul and heart that matched his vacated house; he felt nothing. His world was as grey as his eyes.

Till he met the colourful Viscount’s daughter– If he got kicked by a horse and lost his memory, he would still somehow remember the day you two met—the memory ingrained in his bones, body, and soul. On the way to your estate, the stately carriage was soundless and suffocating, as if the air was thick. Ambrose remembers how he bore his eyes into his obsidian-polished boots, wishing for the minutes to pass faster.

You were a naive hoyden the first time you introduced yourself; you forgot to say his title and yours. Using his common name and giving him an oh-so-sweet genuine smile, he hadn’t ever seen such an authentic smile for him and only him—not for his parents nor his riches. Just him. Your parents scolded you while apologizing profusely for your ‘disrespect.’ Before his parents could utter something backhanded yet elegant, Ambrose smiled. He didn’t know he could do that. For the first time, the young boy speaks up; he feels this protectiveness over you. But, at the moment, Ambrose couldn't care less about his father's punishment that would soon come; the only thing that mattered was you, and soon he’d found out that it would always be you.

An airy laugh escapes you. “Do you wish for us to be caught in a scandal every time we meet?” He raises a faux, worried face and voice. “Me?!? As a future Earl, I am fulfilling my gentlemanly duties by escorting a fine young lady and keeping her from potential dangers. What’s so scandalous about that?” You take his arm. “You’re far from sane, My Lord.”

“For you, My lady? I hope so,” He says proudly with his chest out.

A comfortable silence lulls you as you look at how the sun hits the trees, people, and him. The sun's rays lighten his dark brown hair, blessing it with an orange hue and grey eyes, becoming Iridescent, more akin to a pearl.

“The latest on dit says Lord Barton has called for your company?” He inquires

Your face grimaces at just the sound of his name. As much as you loathe the man, he is a viable suitor with good money and an excellent reputation, but a suitable suitor does not equate to a good man. “He’s…an interesting individual…” His jaw clenches. You’re not being open as he wants; you’re holding back…he hates that you might be hiding something. Not you per se but that damned rake Patrick. “He’s a rake,” he spits out, and you gaze at him. He’s uncharacteristically serious.

You smile. “He is,” Ambrose turns his head to you, returning your smile.

“Quite the feat to dissect the woman you are trying to woo as well.” The gentleman’s eyebrows furrow. “He did not,” you huff. “Oh, he did!” Ambrose stops in his tracks and mummers your name softly. “If you would only permit it, Allow me to court you,” You raise an eyebrow at the sudden question, “Pardon?” He continues, “That bastard doesn’t deserve you.” “And you do?” he chuckles. “No, but I’ll do everything you ask me to, then maybe one day I'll deserve you; you wish for dresses? I'll buy you the tailor and store. Money is far from an issue. Heavens, ask for the world, and I'll give you it with the stars and beyond as accessories.” He turns his whole body to you, his hands finding yours, his leather gloves causing a barrier between your soft ones.

He hates that

“Ambrose…”

“Please…only if you’ll allow me.” The love-sick man entreated “But what about the other more suitable ladies? I’ve heard-” “I do not care for them,” He interrupts you. “Every second I was apart, I only longed for you. The only reason I kept my studies up was to be the perfect suitor equal to you.” He caresses your knuckles. The butterflies in your stomach flutter more after each word spills out of his mouth. Your relationship with Ambrose was vague at most. You couldn’t put your finger on it; every time you were in his presence, you had this comfort no one else could recreate. You were hesitant to put a label onto it, and maybe you feel this way because he was the only man you truly felt you could be yourself with.

“If you wish to court me, you must’ve thought to ask my father for permission rather than myself.”

“I could’ve,” He pauses, “But I'd rather ask you first; I need your permission. I am not marrying your father, am I? I need to hear you wish for me as much as I yearn for you,”

You amuse the thought. Ambrose is a prick at times, his teasing relentless, but despite that, he’s charming, sincere, soothing, and protective. He’s a good man, indeed.

“I’ll bite, My lord.” “Please do.” He smirked, masking his nervousness.

You slap his hand lightly, reprimanding him, “Let me continue, you brute…I’ll allow you to court me.” “Truly?” he exclaims, Astonished. “Truly,” You nod meekly. In a haste, he kisses your bare hands, each knuckle, each finger. “I’ve been blessed indeed,” his voice is as blissful as a child receiving a sugary dessert. You yank your hands away from him, flushed from his actions. “You dog, we are in the public,” you scold him. “I shall make it up to you in our next outing; I vow,” You swear you could see a wagging tale behind him. You sigh.

The day went on, and by sundown, Ambrose had hired a post-chaise for the both of you despite your protests of you living just around the corner. He claimed he had ‘Earl-like duties to attend to’ and you were just on the route back either way. As a gentleman should, he dropped you off promptly; as he left in the carriage, away from your estate, you softly ran your fingers over your knuckles. A smile adorns your face. “What an oaf,” you whisper to yourself. A fond grin decorates Ambrose’s face, a few giggles even, but as euphoric this day was, he did have business to attend to. A certain lord has decided to make his lacklustre presence known, and Ambrose couldn’t celebrate until he exterminated said pest.

Gentleman’s clubs were boisterous, loud, and untrustworthy. The men here are just as vile as the feed that is fed to pigs. The soon-to-be-Earl disliked them and only engaged in them because he needed to build his reputation. He may be judgemental, but he isn’t an idiot. Others may regard him as a friend, but for him, he could care less for it. The males around him start to recognize Ambrose, yelling pleasantries, which he would return and shut down politely or…as politely as he could in his eyes. A booming voice reverberates against the wall of the finely furnished building, only belonging to the one and only Patrick Barton. Unconsciously, a scowl appears on the young man’s face. Ambrose knew more than he led on about Patrick; he heard whispers of Barton’s hobby in the mills, rigging the boxing matches that were bid on by elites and peasants alike. Word says he would pay one of the desperate participants to lose on purpose– word is bound to escape one day or another. It is not a sustainable income source. Yet another reason Lord Barton is not fit for you.

Ambrose walks towards the table where the bastard sits, narrowing his eyes.

Lord Barton and his goons recognize the lord approaching them. Barton speaks first: “Lord Howard! Is it a blue moon? What on earth might’ve convinced you to come out of that dreadful estate?” He laughs, arranging some snuff onto the mahogany to snort. “Perhaps it’s because you plan on courting his woman.” a nameless male inquires. “No, could it be? I don’t blame you, Ambrose; she is a fine woman, isn’t she? She is just in need of training,” another male said, joining in. “So does every woman in this country.” Another chuckle escapes the vulgar lord.

Ambrose’s leather gloves wrinkle. His fist clenched to prevent him from beating the man in front of him into a pummel. He has a plan, the grey-eyed man repeats in his head. Then he forces a smile on his face. “On the contrary, I've decided to pick up a new gambling hobby; why not ask the man of the hour himself for advice? Or even a game or two.” Ambrose signals a servant and orders drinks for the table. The man in question gets up, slapping Ambrose on his back. “Atta boy, never let a woman come between men; let bygones be bygones, what a joyance plan! Come, come.” The night continues, and Patrick is as drunk as the rest of the men in the club; Ambrose, the gentleman he is, offers him to join his carriage in his words. 'Let’s start this newfound friendship off with a bang.' Cold water hits the once-drunken lord, and he awakens, gasping for air on the cold textured ground. ‘Where am I?’ he thinks, discombobulated, looking around and grasping his situation. The dark forest surrounds him, almost engulfing him; the trees blow along with the wind, and the creatures of the night rustle in the background. A voice comes from the shadows, luring him away from his racing thoughts, “Gunpowder is such a messy substance, but did you know a man invented a gun powered by air? What a time to be alive! How revolutionary!” Patrick looks at the man, most of his body consumed by the darkness of nightfall, the moon only making his grey eyes visible.

“Ambrose, what the utter fuck-” “Don’t interrupt.” He says sternly. “As I was saying, a gun powered by air,” He continues. “A watchmaker of all things invented it; how preposterous! He eliminated gunpowder entirely and named this new gun Windbüchse or, I know you only know English, so pardon me, I'll translate, wind gun.”

“It’s far better than my hunting rifle; the tedious thing is quite a hassle to reload. But this wind gun can load much faster, 20 rounds a minute! Compared to the other, it is much quieter. It's a shame its range is far smaller.” The man standing pouts. “But all is well. The Austrian army decided to order thousands of supplies, and it’s fortunate I even got my hands on one.” Patrick squints, trying to distinguish Ambrose, and it finally sets in. In a forest he doesn’t know of, with a man who has a gun in his hand in the dead of night. Not just any man but a Lord known for his physical fitness and hunting expertise since he was a just a lad.

Fuck

“If this is about your lady, Ambrose, you can have her! There’s no need to do this!” Patrick tries to reason with the love-sick lord, yet it's no use. The other man scoffs, “I’ve always detested men like you, greedy, hypocritical. Ready to jump boat when things get too tough for your liking– where is your backbone? Where is your spine? Your pride?” Ambrose circles the pain-filled man on the ground. “You never deserved to even be in her presence; you aren’t even entitled to breathe the same air as her,” He then spontaneously kicks Patrick's ribs, causing him to curl up on a ball, yelping. Ambrose looks down at the pathetic man. “But, I am a fair man, unlike you, so I'll give you a chance to run while I read you the note I have written in your writing announcing your hasty departure after news of your rigging in the mills comes to light, your writing was not hard to duplicate as well; who knew mother’s penmanship lessons would come in handy,” He chuckles.

“Now run, monkey, while you still can.” He sets the trigger and then turns the spindle of his gun clockwise till a clicking sound can be heard, indicating he doesn’t need to turn it anymore. Ambrose opens the barrel, puts in an 8.5 mm bullet, and then shuts it.

“I’m sure we can talk this out reasonably, money! I have money! Have it all; buy your woman something nice-” Patrick feels his thigh get warmer at first rather than the pulsing pain of a bullet shooting through his thigh that would soon follow shortly after. He screams.“To think you have the naivety to think I couldn’t fund my lover for generations on end,”

Ambrose rolls his eyes. “Scream louder; perhaps you’ll awaken a bear to save you,” yet again, he starts reloading his wind gun, faster at that, “I am not one to repeat himself nor give mercy. Run, rabbit.”

With adrenaline coursing through his body, Patrick runs…or well, attempts to.

Ambrose reaches into his waistcoat for the forged letter, clearing his voice to read it while his other hand holds his gun. Though his attention should be on the task at hand, he is utterly distracted by possible outing plans you would adore. Shall he go canoeing with you? Or a picnic? A carriage ride underneath the newly blooming cherry blossoms? Why not all three?

Oh. how he longs to see you again.

Notes: I'm gonna be so honest, romance is the hardest thing to write for me. It's probably noticeable, forgive me (⇀‸↼‶) I had to do some research for this one, but it was a fun process learning more about Regency lingo and gun history. For my next full fic. I was thinking of a yandere! Cannibalistic 50's housewife, but idk….hehe…if you have any ideas send them to my inbox!! I'd like to say again THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT!!! Reading all your kind words makes my little shy heart soar (o^ ^o) see you soon, my little guppies!!

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mingi-s-dimples · 14 days ago

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Heart on Loan - Yunho

KINKTOBER DAY 16, REQ. BY anon

~"Hi I'd like to request a Yunho Mafia fic. The reader pisses him off in some way and now she had to pay him back by working for him. At first he's really mean to her but then starts to be attracted and that's when the smut starts. The reader is also a virgin and doesn't have any experience being in a relationship or talking to guys. I hope that's not too much!"

pairing: mafia leader!yunho x fem!reader

genre: 18+, mafia au, filth ish

summary: you piss off the most dangerous person in the city... only to spend the most memorable night with him, after supposedly working for him to pay your debt off.

wc: 2.4k

warnings: mafia au, dom!yunho, virgin!reader, deepthroating, fingering, oral (m), head pushing, hair *pulling/tangling*, teasing slightly, he's a cocky one, making out, mentions of guns, missionary, implied 2nd round, use of pet names, slight possessiveness, unprotected (boo use protection irl), completely consensual, for sure forgot something, unedited.

Author's Note: Mafia Yunho is chef's kiss idc what y'all say and idc that this fic is damn short but omfg... I need this man in my life *sigh* why do I not bump into pretty and tall men that would make me pay off my own sillt debt and fucking them later in my life 😞😞 I'm so sorry words slipped out of my mouth upsi. Anyways, anon, I hope yoh like it !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The city had a heartbeat of its own, a relentless pulse of neon lights and shadowed alleyways where secrets and power moved in. You knew it well, though you’d never been bold enough to dip more than a toe into its murky underbelly. That was, until tonight.

You’d been passing through the dimly lit streets, minding your own business, when fate—or rather, an unfortunate case of bad timing and bad attitude—threw you directly in Yunho's path. Yunho was the city’s most notorious Mafia leader, his name spoken in whispers by even the bravest. Some said his fortune was built on power, manipulation, and charm as dangerous as his temper. But none of that registered with you in the moment you bumped into him and, in a flustered reaction, spilled coffee on his impeccable suit.

There was a silence so thick you could feel it pressing against your lungs. You had barely glanced up when you realized the towering figure before you, the dangerous gleam in his eyes, and the ominous smirk pulling at his lips. Your blood ran cold as he inspected his now-ruined clothes, a dark promise flickering behind his expression.

"You’ve got some nerve," he finally muttered, his voice soft but sharp enough to cut through the heavy night air. You felt his gaze drilling into you, appraising, as if deciding your fate. Without another word, he stepped closer, towering over you.

“I’m… really sorry about that. I didn’t mean to—” you stammered, but he cut you off with a smirk that sent chills down your spine.

“Oh, you will be,” he said, his tone dark yet almost amused, and something inside you told you that your apology wouldn’t be enough. “Let’s call this… a debt. And you’re going to work it off.”

That was how it all began. Within days, you found yourself stepping into a new life, a strange, thrilling, and utterly terrifying world at Yunho’s command. The rules were strict, and the punishment for mistakes even stricter. You had no idea what you'd be asked to do next, whether it was tracking contacts, running errands, or, most frequently, dealing with his endless collection of firearms. It was in these moments, whenever you were alone with him, that Yunho’s intensity seemed to turn up a notch.

The rough edges of his demeanor wore on you, his biting sarcasm and occasional harshness drawing out every ounce of your patience and nerves. But gradually, you began to notice something beyond the intimidation. In the way he watched you, sometimes with an intensity that felt heavier than his threats, there was something almost like curiosity.

Days passed, and your debt stretched on, keeping you ensnared in Yunho’s world. But one night, as you were organizing his cache of sleek, dangerous-looking firearms in his private room, the silence between you felt charged, more potent than ever. Yunho was watching you from the doorway, arms crossed, the smallest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Do you know what you’re holding there?” he asked, his tone softer than usual as he took a step toward you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to focus on the task, feeling his gaze travel from your hands to your face, lingering just a little too long. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the faint cologne that seemed to fit him all too well. You struggled to keep your attention on the weapon you were packing, but your pulse betrayed you, hammering in your chest like a warning.

Without a word, Yunho reached over, his fingers brushing yours as he adjusted the weapon in your grip. His touch sent a jolt through you, making it hard to ignore the heat creeping up your cheeks. You’d been cautious around him, knowing he was dangerous in more ways than one, but you hadn’t expected the casual, unexpected intimacy he was capable of. He lingered, his fingers tracing over yours with a gentleness that seemed foreign for someone so ruthless. And you couldn’t look away.

“Shy, huh?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble as he leaned closer, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement—and something else. You felt a knot of tension twist in your stomach, unsure if it was fear or something far more dangerous, but Yunho didn’t pull back. If anything, he moved closer, a teasing smile curving his lips as he caught your gaze.

“You make me want to forget every rule I’ve ever made.” your eyed widened at his words, not knowing what he meant.

Oh.. yeah. The rule.. of not having any kind of affair with one another. Did he possibly mean.. that one?

For a split second, the entire world seemed to melt away, leaving just you and him in that small, dimly lit room. It was a line you knew you shouldn't cross, a tension you shouldn’t indulge. But as he stayed close, his fingers lightly grazing yours again, you realized you weren’t sure if you wanted him to stop.

"Your heart is... racing" Yunho smirks, pressing his fingers lightly against your wrist, feeling your pulse quicken under his touch, “You want this too, don’t you?”

Your lips part to respond but words falter, looking away, and he chuckles.

Yunho's hands traveled from your wrist to your hand, then to your shoulder and collarbone, “Don’t go shy on me now. I want to hear you say it.”

"I-" you tried to say.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Getting all silent on me?” he confidently said, as your eyes instantly chose a random spot on a wall to look at, rather to make eye contact with him. His right hand rode up your neck, resting there for a second, then went for your chin and he made you look at him.

“Come on… look at me. I want to see those pretty eyes when you blush like that.”

"I- uh"

"Say it." he said, authority conveyed in his words.

"I haven't done this.. b-before." you stuttered, eyes wandering around.

He looked at you, slightly confused. “So… you’re telling me you’re a virgin?”

“I don’t want you to think… I’m not interested. I’m just… not experienced.” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, embarrassed of your words.

“Trust me, I’d never assume that.” he leans in, voice droping, “But if anything, it makes me want to go slower… yeah. I’ll take my time with you… make sure you feel every second of it. That’s a promise.”

---

The atmosphere suddenly got heavier as his hands rode up and down on your body, feeling you up.

He took a small step back, his gaze softening as he let out a slow breath, as though grounding himself. “You have no idea how much I want this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if even saying the words too loudly might break the spell between you.

With a tenderness that surprised you, he traced his hands up your arms, letting them settle on your waist as he gently lifted you, your body instinctively wrapping around him. His movements were deliberate yet unhurried, carrying you as if you were something delicate, precious.

The quiet thud of the door closing behind him, the warmth of his touch, and the way his breath lingered near your neck all heightened the sense of intimacy. The room was cast in dim light, shadows dancing along the walls, adding a surreal quality to the moment. Every brush of his fingers, every whispered breath, seemed to amplify the silence between you.

Gently, he lowered you onto the bed, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he said, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. His fingers trailed lightly over your cheek, tracing your jaw.

In that moment, you felt safe, even if hr was the most dangerous person in your city.. if not even in the country.

Your hands left his shoulders as he backed off for a second, taking in the view. He then started to slowly undress himself, taking his sweet time.

"L-let me.. help you" you suddenly said, not even expecting your own words to slip out. He giggled at your words and stopped, letting you do it. You slowly unbuttoned his shirt, feeling up his muscles. His shoulders are broad and heavily built, signaling his strength and resilience. His chest muscles are well-defined, showing the dense training that shapes his form, while his biceps and triceps look strong and hardened, giving him an imposing presence. His abs are chiseled, likely from rigorous workouts and possibly some close-call encounters. Every part of him exudes power, from his veined forearms to the taut muscles of his back, showcasing the blend of elegance and intensity fitting for someone who commands respect and fear. Though, his soft skin was tainted by some pretty harsh scars, probably from cuts or bullets he got hit by in combat. You then got to his pants and well.. it went kind of.. downhill from there.

"Let's see what you're capable of, sweetie. Don't worry.. I'll guide you." he said as he unbuckled his pants, letting them fall down to his ankles and pushing them away. He then got rid of his briefs and oh god.. he was *huge*. His hand hovered over your head and urged you down on your knees, right in front of his cock. You innocently looked up at him, like you didn't fucking enjoy every second of it, while being entirely freaked out.

Your hands rode up his thighs and got to his cock, slowly pumping it. As you were looking at him, your eyes widened as he signaled you to... suck. "It won't be that hard, I promise..." he whispered as he guided your head to his cock, your lips parting against the red, leaking tip. You started to softly suck on it, not sure if you could take all of his length. You deepened a bit, leaving sloppy trails of kisses whenever you got to his tip. You liked his length from the base all the way to the shaft, sucking on his tip multiple times before he.. got slightly bored of it. "Sweetie..?"

"Mhm?" you muffle, his cock inches deep in your mouth.

"Let's... try a bit more " he said as he pushed himself slowly deep down your throat, gagging on it while he thrusted forwards in your mouth. He didn't seem like the man to be noisy but.. muffled sounds and whines could be heard from above you. His hand tangled in your hair as he started rapidly fsce-fucking you, catching his high.

"Don't stop.." he said and braced his hands in your hair and on your head and deepthroated you, making you gag multiple times on it. He was not.. the most gentle person, but you also loved it so, no need for him to be gentle. Your hands were holding tightily ok his thighs, and as he fucked your mouth a couple more times, he came right down your throat and in your mouth. When he pulled out, silky white cum dripped off your lips. He kneeled down in front of you and wiped it off, moment to distract you from his hand going under you, lifting you up. He threw you on the bed and undressed you, hastily.

"Let me spoil you, pretty." he said and pushed you on your back, crawling over to you. His lips found yours, and in a matter of time while he was making out with you, his hand found it's way between your legs. He stopped for a moment to look at you. and when you nodded, he didn't hesitate any longer. He inserted one finger in, then the second one. He slowly started pumping them in and out while still kissing you, feeling each and every of your muffled and quiet moans. It was not long before he started fingering your rapidly, helping you catch your high. But.. that wasn't his plan. In fact, his plans was to only.. stretch you out for his length. So that when he felt you'd be prepped enough for him, he pulled back for a moment and guided his cock to your entrance, then slowly pushed himself in. Your hands held thightly onto the linen as he bottomed down, his length and girth stretching you the fuck out.

"Tell me... if you want me to stop" he said but.. he didn't mean it. You also never planned in making him stop so, you nodded, not answering him. That simply was the easiest way of telling him you wanted to be fucked dumb by him, to which he compiled.

His hands found their way to your waist, burying himself deep down in you. His eyes widened as you put your legs over his waist, missionary style. He smirked, going even faster than he was before.

"I- Yunho!" you moaned his name, tears forming in your eyes as he bottomed down every time he thrusted into you.

"I'm close, sweetie... you feel so damn good, I might as well go fucking insane." he said as he let his torso down to yours, his lips finding their way to your collarbones, leaving soft kisses which transformed into harsh marks, where he sucked your skin. He fucked you a couple more times before coming undone right in front of you and in you, feeling yourself getting absolutely filled up by his load. You, too, also came as soon as you felt his cock pulse in you. He whined out when he felt your walls clench tightly on his cock, draining him out. He fucked you through his and your orgasm, then slowly came to a stop.

He pulled out and stepped back for a moment, admiring his work. Your pretty, fucked out, teary face, and your cunt dripping with both of your juices.

"You look so damn hot like this.. might as well go for another round, if you're up for it?" Yunho said, a little bit too excited about it as his cock hardened again.

"P-please.. I need you" you whined out, dirty thoughts flooding in your mind.

"You didn't have a choice anyway.. I gotta show you just how much you pissed me off when you ruined my favourite suit, sweeheart." he said and leaned in for a kiss, to which he lifted you up in his embrace.

The night was just about to start and... ironically, you felt safer and wanted in the nicest way by the most dangerous person in the city.

NETWORKS:

@illusionnet

@blossomnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @woolysium @peachy-bell26

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tremendum · 1 year ago

Note

ok but Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex is so Joel and a younger reader coded.... ugh I just Love Him So Much

wow yes <33 i totally agree with u anon ugh i love that song esp this time of year.... you inspired me! thank u! def recommend listening to this song its so lovely

rating: mature. not nsfw but my blog is 18+ so mdni. word count: 1.9k warnings: not much tbh. mentions of alcohol, insecure Joel, soft!Joel <3, unestablished relationship, age gap (Joel is unspecified older), brief mention of Joel accidentally hitting reader in self defense, touch starved joel tbh, reader has a sister thats like it.

masterlist Joel fics: pretty little thing personal lies i've got headaches... Mr. Miller Series fever landmines

Joel hears his name echo as swinging arms plunge down below him, a splash following right after.

a strike of fear pangs through his chest, though he hides it with a glare when Ellie tugs excitedly on his sleeve. "did you see that?" she asks, brows raised. he scowls in response, squinting down to make sure your bobbing body still has all the pieces.

you smile up at him, waving and shouting something that he misses.

his shoes crush over the dust that riddles the crumbling bridge he stands on, the cerulean river calm below. your body is plastered with your wet clothes when, minutes later, you pant up to the two of them with a grin and a cut hand. "the rocks are slippery down there."

Joel stares at you now, jaw clenched slightly at the memory from weeks ago. he'd rolled his eyes then - hadn't spoken to you for the rest of the day, too angry with the recklessness of your leap off the drop, the once-tall cityscape behind you turned to dust by years of turmoil and failed humanity.

and noticing his irritation, for the rest of the day you'd stayed behind him, not trying to speak to him again. instead you whispered with Ellie, sharing secrets like you were high schoolers. when Ellie fell sleep with her head in your lap that night, you'd whispered to him, told him you were sorry. that you hadn't meant to upset him.

he'd pretended to be asleep.

but now, you're the one asleep - body curled slightly, his jacket pulled over you like a blanket as your fist curls around the necklace you'd never taken off. the same one that held a locket your sister had given you - the one you talk about all the time, the one you'd tried to get Joel to try on once.

when you'd tried that, he'd snapped for you to keep your hands away from him. so Ellie had tried it on instead, and you told her it looked very pretty.

guilt seems to find him a lot at night.

your face, illuminated by the moonlight through the grimy windows of the building you'd scouted, is too peaceful, too serene. he has to look away.

something about you settles a very deep melancholy that he cannot understand.

you shift slightly, brows furrowing in that look you get when you're upset or angry or scared - it looks disheartening when you're asleep. he stares with intent, hand on his gun.

he knew you'd wanted to leave before he'd even asked. he'd seen the agony, the confusion, the sadness in your eyes every time he packed up to leave the QZ without you by his side - such a strange reaction from a neighbor.

a neighbor who used to show up every day without fail to try and convince him and Tess to let you in on their jobs. a neighbor who would, instead, wait with a med kit for him to return the next day or the next week.

even in the QZ, he thought of you often.

he'd watch you with your friends, spinning in your own world. it would strike him with a deep longing; the beauty you exude is one that, until meeting you, he'd thought was gone from the world.

you've got music laced in you, in your eyes, your smile, your arms; though you have no reason to. you've lost everything, you keep losing everything, and yet, against all odds, you keep so much life within you that he thinks you may one day burst. something about it hurts his chest.

when he met you, he thought you were naive. a young girl on her own in the Boston QZ, hoping to make extra money smuggling but never being taken seriously.

you never even made it out of the zone until you snuck out after them. Tess had found you first - his heart pangs and he shakes his head, staring at the spot that had bruised on your cheek from when you'd snuck up on them silently and paid for it with the butt of his gun.

and you'd laughed it off, like it was funny. you'd joked about it, teasing him as the purple turned to yellow. all while he stayed awake for nights, staring at the bruise while you slept, his chest heavy and his throat tight.

you've got that piece of life that nobody else has, and he cannot understand it. he doesn't think he ever will.

despite his best efforts, he'd gotten to know you. Tess had liked you. Ellie likes you. he likes you, too. he loves you.

he could tell early on that, for whatever reason, you care about him. now, he wonders if you might even love him too.

he doesn't understand why.

you were well loved back in Boston. he'd seen it - in the hidden basements of bars, the shadows that walked you back to your apartment across from his at night, the same shadows that snuck from your apartments in the morning daybreak.

he'd tried not to stare out the peephole at the frames of lovers you'd taken as they kissed your forehead, hesitating in your doorway before leaving.

he'd seen handfuls of friends wrapped in your arms in the streets, wide smiles and bright cheeks.

there were nights where your friends didn't come around, and you were alone. those were his favorite nights, because you'd invite him over. even when he said no, it still gave him a warm feeling when you'd nod and mutter, next time, then.

you'd been making your own bottles of grain alcohol somehow - you'd invited him to a glass and once he finally took you up on it after months of asking, he'd seen how you'd been hiding them in the hollowed out piano that crumbled in the corner of your tiny apartment.

sitting on the piano bench, you'd told him that you had been in the QZ since you were around Ellie's age - when your sister had left for somewhere in the mountainous West; the two of you had been locked inside this crumbled city forever, she was ready to leave. but you had been scared - too young to travel - and you just couldn't find it in you to say goodbye.

she'd left without you the next day.

that was the night he learned that you played piano, too.

you've still got the music in you, and he doesn't understand why.

he's worried about you.

or maybe, he's worried about himself.

days after you'd jumped from that bridge, the scream of his name from your lips a song of its own, you'd snuck them all across a river.

there had been people tracking you; Joel had kept a tight grip on his shotgun the entire hour, eyes sharp as he'd stared at the woods behind you all, Ellie in the middle, you in front, with your own gun drawn and a stare so strong it'd made his head skip.

you wanted to erase your tracks - but the river current was strong, rising with the snowmelt as you took several steps in. you'd saved them both from the currents and built a strong fire once the threat was cleared and you were miles away.

he'd worried about the curve of your lips, the smile that graced you while he and Ellie were grim and cold. he'd worried about the warmth that your laugh had given his chest.

the fire that night was warm, but you still rolled closer to Joel when you slept. he'd let you. and when he woke up that next morning while you were on watch, he'd found that in his fitful rest, he'd stretched his hand out, towards where you sat. his hand splayed on your calf while your other leg was bent, housing your chin.

you'd just smiled gently down at him when he'd moved his hand quickly, his eyes sheepish. you'd let him.

"Joel?" your voice is very soft. even back in the QZ when he was in bed, your voice would come out and haunt him.

I know you want me.

it takes him a second to register that you've woken up from your sleep and slid up next to him. your thigh is warm where it touches him, but he doesn't dare look down. instead, he sets the gun down, turning to stare at your face.

your eyes are bleary from sleep, your hair tousled. you're so pretty it hurts.

his throat feels dry. "hey." he doesn't mean for his voice to come out that gentle. sometimes, when it's you and him, it just does.

guilt surrounds him as your hand slides over his thigh, burning warm, comfortable. how could something so beautiful exist in such a world? it makes him nervous.

you make him nervous.

"what are you thinking?" you ask. he knows you - knows that's your way of checking on him. you do that, just as he does to you. are you feeling alone?

he shakes his head, "lots of things I shouldn't be." he says honestly, his eyes searching the depths of yours. but you're good to me.. so good to me.

you're not scared of him like you ought to be.

you shrug, "tell me."

he doesn't see the reason to lie anymore; you've been haunting him for too long. and he's been hiding himself from you.

"just don't know why you're with me. with us. here." but he can't bring himself to finish his thoughts - because you, despite it all, loved your life before you left it. because you had lovers, you had friends your age, a life. you were so much safer without me. because you have that music in you, and it's still there despite it all. despite me.

you shift next to him, your cheek falling to his shoulder. he doesn't feel the urge to shake you off like he used to - that feeling melted away months ago, shortly after the desire to put his lips on yours burned in his soul.

"I just think you underestimate how much you mean to me." you say, eyes full of too much light.

he sees that music again; the unrelented spirit in your cheeks when you smile. the laughter that hasn't left you even when you left your old life behind for him and a girl you didn't know. tell me why, tell me why.

he doesn't know what to say, but his head turns gently to place a kiss to the crown of your head.

he nearly feels sick at the implications of such an action, but you just sidle up closer to him, your hand squeezing his thigh gently. he turns to look at you and you move off his shoulder, lifting your own eyes to meet his.

his breath catches in his throat as you look up at him, love and trust in your eyes. the locket glints in his peripheral as he stares down at your glowing, beautiful face.

your lips, my lips.

he intends to kiss your forehead - the way he'd seen all those lovers do months ago, back in Boston. the way he'd always ached to.

but you meet him halfway, and suddenly your warmth is on him.

it spreads from his lips and grows through his body - a beautiful, melancholic hum that sings along his veins. you are soft, you are pliant, strong, loving.

everything he doesn't deserve.

and yet you kiss him and you let your hand fall to his jaw, tilting yourself to feel more of him. he doesn't understand why, but maybe that's okay.

he kisses you back softly, then desperately.

your lips and his, something so kind, full of life. something that doesn't belong in such an apocalypse.

something he couldn't live without.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

(once again begging) send more requests! for Joel and Din! taglist: @satansgoatt @elissaaa @queerponcho @bbyanarchist @lapricot @umavvitch @asreadbyaj @dinsbaby @cottoncandytomu @switchbladedreamz @missannwinchester @abs-2020 @afandomidiot @cosm1c-babe @rogersbarnesxx @carleenphillips-blog @bonnibuckets @nightlovechild @jazzyspasms @girlboybug @cannolighost @pastelnap @userpedros @feministfanboi @frogers @grhowls @daddy-din @gothoppered @totallynotastanacc @robbatlover @casssiopeiaaa @wannab-urs @redhotkitchen @joelapologist2001 @silkiers @alltheseperfectimperfections @whorror-s @scarletthefierce @worhols @hearthrooob

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

#joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us (tv)#the last of us smut #the last of us #joel tlou smut #joel miller #joel x reader #joel smut #joel tlou #joel taglist 🏷️

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jolalibrary · 1 year ago

Text

things you never asked

Javier Peña x f!reader (deaf/hard of hearing/hearing impaired!reader)

can you sign? biting the inside of his mouth, he at least attempts to look guilty as he shakes his head. gesturing, taking your pen, fingers brushing against yours ever so delicately. likely purposefully. but I will learn.

wordcount: 3.1k dedication: written for the wonderful anon who requested Javier Peña x deaf/hearing impaired reader, I hope you enjoy. AN: Please be aware, I am not deaf/hard of hearing myself, and therefore, I apologise to anyone who reads this and sees inaccuracies. I’m aware, even with the research, talking and asking questions, it doesn’t scratch the surface of truly knowing this experience.

javier peña masterlist

Initially, he doesn’t seem impressed that you are here.

Not at your presence, or that you’re standing in his office, bag in front of your thighs as you introduced yourself—never mind why you were here.

There was often little choice where you were sent. Assistance and special interests are rarely ever needed all at once.

Not that it matters, Javier Peña seems even less interested as to the reasons you’re here, or that you were sent here. Under it, though, you see something else. It's fleeting—breezing past like curtains caught in a draught—but he looks worried, concerned.

He does a good job at burying it, stuffing it down as he stares down at the file again, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge.

He does give you the nicety of looking at you when you talk, eyes, all hard and umber, flicking from the paper in his hand to you. Then, his eyes take in the sight you knew he would find eventually, the thing you don't hide, but rather wished you’d gotten to your credentials before it was spotted.

Then it flushes across his face, the flattening of creases and the immediate shift to concern.

You’ve grown good at reading people, having been around people who make assumptions as an occupational hazard. You’ve become well versed in reading lips, and the minor inflexions around them—the subtle shifts of their eyes, the way their lips try not to curl.

From the looks of it, if he had wanted someone, he had at least wanted someone who didn’t need an aid to hear him. And you foolishly wished to support someone who hadn’t written you off the moment you arrived, something you’d have commented on, if not for the fact you really wanted this particular job.

His eyes keep glancing over it—the cochlear implant—the object that allows you to do what you’d always wanted to and what you're good at.

Languages have always fascinated you, even with the clock ticking on how long you could hear them being spoken. It’s why you knew you’d be helpful—laundering didn’t tend to stick in one county, never mind the country.

“I don’t mean to be….”

You lick your lips, letting him do what he feels he must. Albeit softly, kindly.

“You can’t… you can’t go out—it’s dangerous and—“

Unmeaningly, you smile. “I’m aware I’ll be office-based, Mr Peña. But, a lot can be done from a desk.”

It leaves your tongue harshly, even if you don’t mean it to be. Even if his tone was the polar opposite, gentle, soft.

The rules of what you can and can’t do are firmly etched into your brain the number of times you’ve heard them. The amount of languages you’ve heard it said to you in—hell, someone had even once signed it.

It’s as though each time, they think you expect to run off with a gun and a badge rather than assess case files and assist.

“If you could show me where I can sit, I’ll get started—I was told you had transcripts I could read.”

He seems to run his tongue against his teeth before throwing the paperwork down on his desk.

The pile there large, sat at all angles, like adding to it is his hobby rather than sorting it.

He introduces you to his deputy—a man who tries not to stare but does so all the same. It’s his name, you remember on the initial paperwork: N. Stoddard.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Stoddard.”

“Neil,” he says, wiping his hand on his trousers before extending it.

Shaking it, your grip firm—just like you were taught—you stand a little straighter, spine a little stiffer, feeling brown eyes still on you.

In time, you’re left alone.

Playing catch-up is never fun. A risk of information overload set to hit at any moment, but able to keep it at bay with sugary snacks and coffee.

In the following days, you find it’s easier not to meet his eyes. To not suffer the same fate as the other women in the building—the ones who all sigh in the same horrid pitch that vibrates through your brain.

If he looks your way, someone else—an intern, a busybody—swoops in, desperate to remove you from the playing field. Because it’s a game getting noticed by him, each one stepping up to the plate, batting and seeing who can score.

All he ever manages to ask is whether you’re okay before his attention is needed.

You’re not sure you believe all of the reasons people give. But then, none of them realise you’re not interested in playing, not knowing that truthfully, as handsome as he is, even spending an evening with someone you assume wouldn’t be able to speak to you without your aid is more tiring and lonely, than declining the opportunity.

Even if, irrespective of the fact Javier Peña spoke Spanish and English, you doubted his language skills spread into Lengua de Señas Colombiana or ASL. Something you weren’t about to put to the test, time ticking, case mounting—there was little need in getting attached. In forming anything outside of polite behaviour and yes sir. Even if he had softened, even if he saw something in you that was worth keeping around.

Not that he shows that all too much to you, barely letting a glance fall in your direction. Occasionally, he’ll look, ask if you got that, whether he needs to repeat it.

With others, you’d have bitten back that you can hear him perfectly, but with him, you swallow it. Let it erode a hole on the tip of your tongue, suspecting he didn’t mean it as condescending as it came out.

You still do respond with a gesture—a thumbs up, an okay sign, just to stick the point in.

It seems he’s wired to keep everyone at arm's reach, you assume. Likely making up for something, a wrong or a right—you can’t be sure. So, you don’t assume, you’re too busy, too much needing to be checked, typed.

The more transcripts come in, the less it all makes sense. Your fingers typing, trying to find some pattern, so no one has to risk involving the wife.

It’s easier to fake being a workaholic as the reason you don’t look up at him when he walks past. When you keep your chin dipped when the end of the day arrives.

Because even if you’re here to help process legal paperwork, to be the middle person and keep the peace, you couldn’t help but notice that he was good-looking. Somewhat reserved, but handsome.

Something you get to see firsthand a few days later, finding him standing at your desk, fingers tapping against the wood.

At first, you don’t dare look up. Your stomach drops, your implant thrown in your bag—the lump in your throat from your earlier sob all returns.

You had known the day would end badly from how your morning began. An overslept alarm, a coffee-stained blouse and your lunch on the floor in a mess—and that was before you got in.

Then it was rushing, snagged trousers on a desk end and no batteries for your cochlear implant in your bag.

You reach for a pen, for paper—glancing up again, and it’s like the lights have been switched on, suddenly seeing what everyone else falls for.

The brown pools in his eyes—how they coax you in. Call for you. They make you forget how to think, breathe and recall. Mainly because, unlike usual, they’re soft, wide and large. They’re full of empathy and pleading for forgiveness—

Shit. He’s speaking.

His lips moving. Your brain quickly, and already, works a translation out as your forehead creases and your lips slide up into your cheek.

He’ll remember—you think. He’d stared at it enough in the moments you’ve been around him that he must.

But, the longer he talks, the more you fear that won’t be the case.

It’s why you stop him.

Racking your brain for the sign in ASL before slowly raising your index finger, moving it to your cheek near your left ear—to a spot close to your lower cheek, and signing to him.

His lips stop moving, sliding to a halt as he stares. And you grab a scrap piece of paper, your pen gliding over the sheet in the neatest you could get it:

I can’t hear you. Ask someone else.

Javier considers it. Leaning more so on your desk.

Doing so with a tilt of his head and a stroke of his jaw, the sleeves of his jacket rolled up—allowing you to see how his veins twitch and his muscles flex as he thinks.

Gesturing for the pen, he takes it, adding in neater writing than you banked on:

You don’t want to help me?

You smirk, looking up and finding him watching you—smiling.

Suddenly, you’re unsure whether you should remind him you can lip-read. That if he sticks to one language, you’ll be able to keep up.

Instead, you take the pen back, seeing something dance in his eyes, you know you should run from. But you don’t.

Can you sign?

Biting the inside of his mouth, he at least attempts to look guilty as he shakes his head. Gesturing, taking your pen, fingers brushing against yours ever so delicately. Likely purposefully.

But I will learn.

You snort. In all of your free time? you wonder, and from the way his eyes open a fraction wider, he reads your mind.

Staring, wiping his thumb over his lips as you stare at the imperfect handwriting with the perfect Spanish. You write:

I caught one word. Ask again, but slower. In one language.

It shifts, changes. Like day into night, like spring into summer. Things bloom.

Days bleeding into a week, a week ticking up to a month. The hours together, even with his meetings, growing, rooting something down that you know should worry you.

Because he’s not like this with Neil.

Neil who can hear him, and likely always will; Neil who works here permanently, and won’t be whisked away when all is said and done.

You let it happen anyway.

Watching it begin with him checking in, not just sending Neil to do so. His care spreads into offering you a drink, slowly mastering the perfect way you take it.

He hovers, and you don’t hate it.

An attachment forming, weaving itself between the two of you, pulsing—and you should stop it.

There’s fleeting things, ones which seem obvious, but it’s better to ignore. The way he moves you to the side of the pavement away from the cars when you find yourself going out for lunch at the same time as him; when he realises that you find it easier if he sticks to one language, not doing an oddly beautiful mix of Spanish and English.

You make him laugh, and he makes you smile.

Something you’re sure countless others do, but you try not to linger on it. Instead, finding his eyes barely glance at the thing, which helps you hear the sound he makes, instead only looking at you.

It’s why you don’t argue that you can’t go with him to Curaçao. Instead, you pack a bag—finding a rationale for the reason you’re on a plane, foot almost brushing his as you sit opposite.

“You stay out of sight, you’re here for—“

“My tongue,” you bite back, not glancing up, but smirking at the way the air shifts. “I know, Javi. You don’t need to read me my rights.”

He leans back, elbow meeting the armrest, studying you—thumb swiping his bottom lip. A movement you notice he does a lot, so frequently, you almost fear you’ll mirror it.

“¿Qué?” you ask.

He shrugs, thumb still tracing. “You’ve never called me Javi.”

Closing the file, you cross your leg over the other, the tip of your shoe brushing his in the act. “Well, I’ve never been taken from my desk.”

It’s chaos.

An inevitable coincidence when he takes off in a run, and Javi follows. Pink shirt blurring in the distance, your feet slowing to a near jog, knowing you’d never be able to keep up.

You try, because you’re stubborn, difficult.

A person who should know better, and yet finds herself very much somewhere you shouldn’t be—just because he asked nicely, and did so following a flurry of compliments.

You’re good, really good. You seem surprised. No. Not surprised. Just… Surprised? Alright, you got me, muñeca. You calling me muñeca cause I’m fragile? No, just other names seemed inappropriate.

It’s muñeca that circles your mind as you follow the mess the chase leaves behind—the shouts, the knocked-over furniture and the way the crowd parts like the sea. Your hands brush past people, guiding yourself back to him—to them. Your body catches shoulders, head almost knocks against walls as you try to follow. Running, fleeing—calves burning as the sun beats down on your skin. As your arm throbs from meeting a wall, a graze most likely being a badge you’ll wear for a few days.

Chest burning as you reach the square, finding pink and a crowd gathered you let a breath soak into your lungs. Taking another and another, steadying your pulse as you watch him raise a gun. You brace, but find nothing.

Just a shove and push of the crowd.

And nothingness.

Nothing.

It dawns then, as your blood stops thumping in your head. It rushes through you, crashes and slashes the relief at catching Jurado, because you can’t hear.

It rises like fire, spreading from your stomach and growing up your oesophagus. Disorientation mixing with loss, hand clutching the place it should be, eyes scanning the floor in circles as you pace and retrace.

It stings—the tears which come thick and fast. Your hand remaining against your ear, unable to catch each gasp from a sob, doing so, even if you can’t see through the thick pain coated in your eyes—

You’re spun, finding brown eyes, tousled hair and a pink shirt. Soft, but slightly calloused fingers, slide down your forearm.

He spots your tears, taking the sight of you in as his other hand cups your chin, tilting you to face him. Those brown eyes, the ones softening second by second, making you swallow, making your brain empty—

He’s speaking. A blend of languages from the look of it, mixing from one to the other, jumbling whatever thought process you had.

Lips moving quickly, fingers wrapping around your forearm, and you stare. It takes a second, your mind slowly engaging, before you lift your hand, tapping against your ear as you frown.

It’s then you can read it. Now he’s slowed his lips and chosen one language.

You can’t hear me?

You shake your head, unsure how to begin to explain, without sign language or paper, that you lost it somewhere in the chase. Your fingers pointing to your ear, moving your arm, signalling to him, but you could feel it—the dread. It creeps over you, half-expecting him to excuse himself.

But instead, he releases his hand from yours, asking with precise fingers and a concerned look if you’re hurt—if you can walk.

Answering with head shakes and signs in response, your eyes still brimming with tears—throat choked by emotion and the lack of sound.

There were moments, fleeting since you’d arrived in Colombia, where there had been no sound to the point it had hurt your head, and now you missed how loud it all was—missed the liveliness of it.

That feeling sitting with you, drenching you as he leads you into a car, and then a car into a plane.

It’s only after take-off, the sensation of being in the air felt by every bone, do you think, do you replay it all.

He’s lost in talking to Jurado. His words are not easily untangled, but his focus on him is enough to tell you that you can relax.

That’s when it floors you:

He signed.

Not once, twice or even thrice. He signed a multitude of times. In the square, in the car—even as you boarded the plane.

Your eyes look up, glancing over, finding his fingers wrapped around his chin, staring—as if waiting for you to notice.

He must read minds, concluding that you’ve figured it out. Not saying a thing. Neither of you is signing a vowel.

Not doing so until the wheels of the plane land in Miami, the people waiting to take Jurado do so, leaving the two of you for a moment.

He must wait for you to move, unbuckle your seatbelt and go over. But you don’t. The minutes collected, eventually finding him coming closer, sitting in the opposite seat—the table folded out without glancing at it. Pulling out paper and a pen.

Then he writes: Told you I’d learn.

You smirk, licking your lips, taking the pen—the one you realise is yours. You want a medal for learning a few phrases?

Tilting his head, he smirks back. Mirroring yours. The two of you sit in it, until you unbuckle your belt—shifting to the edge of your seat.

Now we’re done, I’ll be sent to another office.

He nods, smirk lessening as he takes the pen. I know.

The sorrow etched into his face is one you feel thumping in your chest. A longing to stay, to help in some other ways, not that you’re sure how.

Taking the pen, you offer a smile before you write quickly:

It cannot hurt to do this, then.

His eyes glance up to meet yours as they register, watching you move close—confusion melting outwards just in time for you to lean forward and kiss him.

A thank you, initially.

All soft, delicate—more testing the waters than anything else. Until, his lips move with yours. Thanking him again, thanking him for the kindness in the square, for trying.

Feeling that same palm cupping your cheek as he deepens it, as he holds you close, the other hand sliding along your knee.

It’s wrong, most likely—a breach of some kind of contract you signed. But, then, you weren’t meant to have left, to have gone with him, faux-finalising other documents in the air when you should have been on the ground.

So, this—giving in—kissing him, was minor.

an: to the anon, you deserve the world. thank you for trusting me with this.

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softguarnere · 1 year ago

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I've been staring at your ask box for about 20 minutes now because i'm speechless, your writing is so fucking good!!! I've even sent it to my friend (she is not into hbowar) and she was like woow, specially at Ares and Athena, sooo I was wondering if you could write more stuff like that? it's not like I've been shaking, crying, screaming at my screen while reading over and over again BUT PLEASE WRITE MORE SPEIRS X READER

Evaded by Hypnos

Ron Speirs x reader

A/N: Omg hi anon! Thank you so much 💖 This ask absolutely made my day when I got it! Ares and Athena is one of my favorite fics that I've written, so I'm super glad you and your friend liked it as well! This is a prequel based off an off-handed line at the end of the fic about how Ron and the reader met. I really hope you like it! (and tagging @ronsparky since you wanted to read it 😁) As always, this is written for the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans! Warnings: language

The night sky hangs still overhead. Somewhere in the distance, machine gun fire pops in bursts, shattering any stillness that might have been about to settle over everyone. Some people can sleep through just about any conditions. Good for them. They’re probably the only ones managing to catch some shuteye. Meanwhile, everyone else is awake and in varying degrees of alertness, and all for different reasons. Some are too scared to attempt sleep, afraid that it might be the last time that they ever shut their eyes. But for Ron and those like him, staying alert is the only thing to do when sleep remains elusive.

D-Day has been hectic, to say the least. Scattered men have been trying to rejoin their companies. They’ve all been on the move, living one order to the next, one objective to the next. The frustration of the night has turned to exhaustion for many, as Fox Company remains elusive. Ron never would have guessed that their biggest challenge once they got to Europe would be trying to keep the companies in line as they moved. Which seems funny, in a sort of pitiful way, now that he’s alone and there’s time to think about it.

Lots of time to think about it. Hours stretch before him in the dark night. Now that they’ve got Talbert from Easy Company taken care of, Ron leans back in his foxhole, waiting for something else to happen, or for sleep to take him first.

You’re so quiet that he doesn’t notice you until you speak. “Lieutenant Speirs?”

Ron looks up. Through the darkness, he can just make out the shape of someone standing above his foxhole, staring down at him. Her voice is quiet, but firm. Ron sits up straight to get a better look. “Yes?”

You gesture down, indicating the foxhole, him, the room he has. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” he replies, already moving over to create more space.

“Thanks,” you say when you hop in and land beside him with a soft thump! Now that you’re closer, he recognizes you. Lieutenant (Y/L/N), from Easy Company. One of the women in the female paratrooper program – and one of the only women to become an officer so far. Maybe it’s the poor lighting, but it looks like you smile at him. “Went to make sure they had Talbert handled, and then came back to find that some of the guys had taken my foxhole.”

“You didn’t make them move?” Ron isn’t sure if it comes out as more of a question or a statement. Obviously you either didn’t make them move, or they chose not to listen to your order – a problem with some of the men when it comes to the gender of whoever is giving them a command.

You shake your head. “I’ve fought enough battles today.”

That doesn’t seem fair. Ron doesn’t know you personally – has never even spoken to you one on one before now – but he’s heard about you. And the popular consensus seems to be that you’re a good officer. The upper echelon seem to think so, and so do the men and women of Easy company. Good officers are hard to come by. They shouldn’t be left in the dark looking for a foxhole to spend the night in.

“Well, if you ever need a place to stay, my foxhole is always open.” The words are out of Ron’s mouth before he’s fully had time to realize how cheesy and awful they sound. Thank God for the darkness, because he grimaces, and when he hears you emit a small laugh, his cheeks feel a little warm.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. That’s very kind.”

“You can call me Ron,” he offers.

A pause. Great, he’s said the wrong thing again.

Or maybe not. “Okay,” you agree. “Thank you . . . Ron.” You don’t say it reluctantly, just slowly, like maybe it’s some sort of trick, or like you’re taking your time trying it out. “You can call me (Y/N).”

“(Y/N),” he repeats. It’s beautiful. It suits you.

There’s the clinking sound of metal on metal as you unscrew your canteen and take a sip of water. You sigh through your nose. “So, Ron. Why are you awake on such an exciting night?”

He starts to make something up, then thinks better of it. He’s only just properly met you, and yet, he feels that he can tell you the truth, even though most people probably wouldn’t believe him. It must be something about being under the cover of night; it’s a shroud that makes sharing secrets easier, somehow.

“To tell you the truth, (Y/N) . . .” He allows the words to hang there for a second to create suspense. “I just can’t sleep.”

In the darkness, he hears you replace the lid of your canteen. “Is tonight special? Or is this an ongoing issue?”

Ron blinks. No one has ever asked him that before. Back in training, everyone seemed to think that his lack of sleep was some sort of vigilance, like staying up late was a way to assert dominance over everyone, proving that he was fearless in the face of the night, like some sort of watch dog. Really, the simple answer was that he just couldn’t sleep. There wasn’t more to it then, and there’s not really more to it now.

“The latter,” he replies.

You hum. “Me, too.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Chalk it up to the war being so damn exciting, or something, but I haven’t slept well since Toccoa.”

“I don’t know about the excitement. Those horrible mattresses, maybe.” Ron grins, forgetting that you probably won’t be able to see it in the dark. You let out a short laugh, though, and he knows that for the first time since he joined up, one of his jokes has actually been taken as a joke instead of being misconstrued.

“Well, they were better than a foxhole,” you muse. He can hear metal on metal again as you open your canteen once more. “Sorry if I’m keeping you up, though.”

“You aren’t,” Ron promises. “In fact, it’s kind of nice having someone else with the same issue. Good to have company.”

“I agree.” For a moment, the two of you fall into a lull. Ron swears that he can feel you looking at him from the corner of your eye, like you’re sizing him up. He decides to make the first move.

“So, (Y/N),” he begins. “Where are you from?”

And that is the beginning – how Ares met Athena. All because Hypnos evades both, and the Fates tied them together because of it.

#band of brothers fanfic #ron speirs #ron speirs x reader #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #my writing

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brittle-doughie · 2 years ago

Text

Star of the Industry (Popping Candy, DJ, Rockstar, Parfait, and Shining Glitter Cookie)

Requested by: 🧁 anon. Sorry for the wait, but here it is at last! Quite a lot of musical cookies!

“Ladies and gentlemen, Star Jelly Records would like you to put your hands together for the one and only, Y/N Cookie!”

The crowd roared and cheered as you came up onto the stage, outfit and mic at the ready. You tipped your head in confidence as you began to sing.

Running out the oven, we are never turning back. We will not be the witch’s crispy, crunchy snacks!

You danced as good as you sang, making finger guns towards the audience, with the cookie at the receiving end fainting in their fanboyism/fangirlism.

Security cookies had to deal with fans trying to leap over the railings to get closer to you, some had to work hard to get hired this job and it showed with how much they pushed back against the crowd, they were determined to keep you safe.

Be the way you want to be, for all of those to see…

The crowd erupted into cheering as you dropped the mic…into your other hand because microphone were delicate things, why drop it on the ground, hehe.

————————————————————————

You were making your way to your vehicle, security covering you as you walked, your personal agent, Dumpling Cookie, walking right beside you as she too cleared your way of the boisterous crowd.

“Clear the way, cookies. Y/N Cookie has a lot of places to be! HEY! You keep your hands off their hair!”

She smacked the offending cookie on the head with her notebook.

Like with your security detail, Dumpling Cookie had to work real hard to get the role as your agent and vowed to be the best there was. Really only soft spoken and considerate to you, she was cold and professional with others.

She will not tolerate anyone taking advantage of you and will put her foot down towards devious contracts these big shot studios were giving you, with Star Jelly Records being one of few that she was willing to settle with.

You two made to your vehicle as security escorted you both in, with them following after as you drove off.

“You were unbelievable today, Y/N Cookie. Ah, I already preordered myself a copy.”

You very much appreciated her support as you smiled warmly at her, Dumpling having to cover a blush with her notebook.

“O-of course, Y/N Cookie. Okay, next on the schedule is a interview with Reporter Cookie, and then a meeting with our manager, he said it was important.”

The manager? Wonder what that will be about. Sales have been doing pretty wonderfully, and you don’t recall particular problems with today’s performance..what was on his mind…?

————————————————————————

“Tell us, Y/N Cookie, how does it feel to be the next big and upcoming pop star? Your tracks never fail to reach around the top of the chart! I struggle to even get a physical copy with how many cookies crowd the stores!”

Cue a video showing a large crowd of cookies entering the store, huddling around your section inside as copies were literally flying off the shelves.

You chuckled at the recorded scene before answering her question that you were rather humbled that cookies actually listened to, god forbid, even like your music! You uploaded your first track for fun, not really expecting the SURGE of popularity it garnered!

You remember just making a small song in your home and posting it online, not really thinking much of it. To go from being a regular cookie to being a popular figure was surreal to say the least!

“Haha! That’s Y/N Cookie for you, viewers! Humble to the end! Your songs are always so sweet and amazing, it’s even garnered the attention of other cookies in the industry! Even the superstar, Shining Glitter Cookie, plays your songs in her car, humming along to it!”

Shining Glitter…actually likes your songs too? That…was a lot to take in actually, hehe.

“In fact, you’re the talk of the town amongst other well known cookies in the music biz! DJ Cookie mentions you a lot on their posts, Popping Candy showed off his collection of your merchandise, even rising star Parfait Cookie says she gets inspiration from you and your singing!”

Parfait Cookie, you remember going to one of her shows, before you became popular. It was a little funny now that she was looking to you for her inspiration to rise as a pop star!

Funny indeed…

————————————————————————

Your manager praised you for another outstanding performance today, tickets sold like crazy and merchandise sales continue to impress! Dumpling Cookie got a little bit of a scowl going on, she didn’t like all this talk about the money the manager was spouting.

“But…I believe you can get an even bigger popularity boost then what you have right now! After all, a cookie of your talent deserved it! Hence why I called you here!”

Oh? You asked him what that would be? You’re pretty comfy where you are right now.

“It’s no secret that other popular figures in this industry are fans of your music, so I reached out and a multitude of them wished to have a collaboration with you! A great opportunity in my opinion!”

“Now just hold on a second.”

Dumpling Cookie objected, surprising both you and the manager.

“I know you’re the boss and all, but is this really a decision only you yourself can make? A collaboration requires agreement from both sides and I’m not hearing any say from Y/N Cookie about this. I will not let Y/N Cookie be forced into anything.”

You accept!

“W-what?!”

“See, this cookie wants to do this as well! Let’s get this project underway!”

The manager starts to type away at his computer as Dumping turned to you in concern.

“You really want to do this, Y/N Cookie? I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable with this whole thing. Watching out for you is not just me doing my job, but because I care about you. Know that.”

You chuckled as you placed a hand on her shoulder, you looked her in the eye and reassured her that you were okay with it. It sounded like a neat idea and hey, you could make some new friends with this collaboration project. You thanked her for caring about you, it what makes her an awesome secretary to you.

Again, she used her notebook to hide her blushing face, a small smile forming on her face.

————————————————————————

You waited in your studio for the first cookie the manager scheduled for you, the door opening to reveal them.

Rock and roll, baby! Rockstar Cookie had made it onto the scene! He was enthusiastic to meet you, playing a guitar riff as he entered the room!

He’s seen your stuff and wanted to collaborate with you as your musician! With your cool singing and his spectacle guitar playing, you two would make a good team!

His admiration didn’t stop at just your jams, he will compliment you personally, though this will get an eyebrow raise from Dumpling Cookie.

You agreed that his guitar playing was pretty great, those were some sick riffs he played. This is enough for Rockstar to start playing his guitar from the hype.

Your audiences will just adore the two of you together, baby. His fans will simply love you after a concert together! He knows he does-

Alright that was enough as Dumpling Cookie nudged him out the door, Rockstar calling out to you that he hopes you pick him! Other cookies have no soul with their music, rock and roll was the way to go!

“Okay, that’s one of them. Not bad with a guitar, but should really learn personal space. Who’s next?”

Parfait Cookie would be the next to walk through the door, at first a little nervous, but after a warm welcome from you, her confidence grew and she was eager to proclaim her inspiration from you!

She heard one of your songs in the cafe and was immediately got stuck in her head. She was, like, a pretty big fan of you afterwards. She watched your shows and would try to replicate your singing and dancing herself!

You were flattered! It was pretty clear Parfait looked up to you a lot, like, a lot a lot.

She’s got a bunch of your albums in her room, she couldn’t pick favorites, they were all amazing! It would be perfect if you could sign them!

You were amazing….~

She would be a incredibly happy cookie if you collaborated with her, not only would she be one step closer to her dream, it would make her year to sing alongside her idol!

“Happy to possibly work with you, Y/N Cookie! I’ll totally cherish the time spent together, paru paru parfait~!”

Parfait happily waved at you as she made her exit, Dumpling closing the door behind her.

“She seemed fine, an inspiring cookie with a dream. Though she seemed too sugary with her admiration, if you want my opinion on it I mean. Let’s see…”

DJ Cookie made through the door with sick beats, nodded their head as they made their way to you. The winner of 8 Jammy Awards and had earned the label of having the best album of the year!

You’ve heard of DJ Cookie’s music career and thanked them for believing you were worth it to collaborate with.

Of course, you were a cookie with a sick talent for singing and dancing, DJ themself have a few videos of your performance in the background while they record!

They saw Rockstar Cookie leaving your office with a smug grin, you weren’t actually considering collaborating with him, were you? His music would put people to sleep, not DJ!

DJ believed that you are worth so much more to let a cookie like Rockstar be your musician for a concert! You deserved only the best and they will do their hardest to be the best for you!

8 JAMMY AWARDS. Did you know they won 8 of them?! Their album was at the top for the year! There was no cookie capable of such feats as them! The choice to collaborate with is obvious!

Just say you’ll pick them please.

And that was Dumpling’s cue to escort DJ out of the studio. DJ tried to say that it was only a heat of the moment thing, but Dumpling wasn’t having it as she closed door.

“For a cookie of their caliber, that went down fast. Please advise caution if you go with DJ Cookie, Y/N Cookie. They don’t seem to be of sound mind when it comes to…rivals. Next one in line!”

Popping Candy, similar to Parfait, was nervous when coming through the door. Along with Shining Glitter, you were an idol to him and his group the more they climbed up the chain.

Shows you his collection of your merch he has on his phone. He even had the head shaped pillow that quickly ran out of stock! To see his collection yourself, you chuckled as you scratched the back of your head in flattery.

When your manager put out the offer of a collaboration in his feed, he jumped at the opportunity. To have a joint concert with you would be a dream come true for a fan of his level.

He and his group, the Cake POPs, would do their best to follow your every step, they wanted to make sure this concert was perfect! Popping Candy already watches your performances on repeat, so he’s got an idea of how you perform!

His other group members would be greatly appreciative if you chose them to collaborate with!

Let him take a breather, wow, it’s just, he was actually talking to you, THE Y/N Cookie, an idol he’s been following for a long while now!

Could you perhaps…sign his forehead?

Dumpling sighed, that was her cue. She politely requested Popping Candy to make his leave, but to avoid making him upset, she tried a roundabout approach.

“Uhh, right. Thank you for your time, Popping Candy Cookie. We’ll keep in touch if you get picked, so give Y/N Cookie some time to think about it.”

Ah! Of course, Popping Candy understood! He got up and headed on out, he needed to practice on his choreography and singing some more! Dumpling wiped her forehead as she shook her head, what was going on today..

The most popular for last, Shining Glitter made her entrance by shaking hands with you, saying how she became a quick fan of you after listening to your songs on the radio. The way you sang just enraptured her!

She was a super star, but in her eyes, you were the star that shined as brightly as ever with how you were on stage! She found herself wanting to dance to your rhythm!

She scooted closer to you as she took your hand into hers, saying how this was probably your first collaboration and so it would be an honor if she was the first cookie you partnered with, it would mean lot. This sent alarm bells for Dumpling Cookie.

Both of you were popular stars, so it only makes sense that you two were paired together. Fans from both sides would just LOVE to see you two perform on the same stage.

They were naming a street after her, she’s considering including your name in it too as a token of your beautiful partnership with her!

Like with Popping Candy, she has a bunch of your merchandise she shows off on her social media, nabbing the higher end ones like Y/N Cookie-branded pillows, plushies, party sets, etc. Even a copy of your very first track release, it was incredibly rare!

Sorry if this seemed out of nowhere, but it would be a funny to see the possible ship names the fans would make for you two. Shining Y/N Cookie? Y/N Glitter Cookie? The possibilities were infinite!

Line was drawn, Dumpling requested that Glitter make her way home. Shining Glitter was genuinely confused with this, was it something she said? Shining Glitter would not budge as she refuted what Dumpling was trying to tell her.

“Ms. Glitter, you need to make way for the next cookie in line-“

“What? What do ya mean “next cookie”? Was my proposal not good enough to get selected right away? Who else was there to choose besides me?”

“Plenty of other cookies, you’re not the only one making it in this line of work. Simply, I don’t care if you’re popular, Y/N Cookie will not be working with any cookie who’s this forceful and arrogant.”

“I want to hear it from Y/N Cookie themselves, Y/N, would you like to have this partnership with me?”

Dumpling was doing her best to push back, but Glitter got uncomfortably close when asking that it made look to the side awkwardly.

Well…

“You’re, like, already popular enough, I should be the cookie they collaborate with!”

Parfait Cookie at the door?! DJ too?! Wait, they’re all here?!

“They’re good in the singing business, they just need the right cookie with the sickest beats, that’s where I come in and whisk them off their feet!”

“Your tunes are soulless, rock and roll is the way to go, baby!

“So many cookies here..will Y/N Cookie still choose me after all this?”

“A cookie of their standing only deserves an equal to that, don’t ya see that it’s me who can fulfill that?”

Dumpling Cookie grew increasingly agitated the more the group of cookies bickered, this was no way to act in front of you.

She had to angrily call for security to escore all the cookies out of the premises.

————————————————————————

The cookies waited in the lobby, sat down and lamenting on the events from earlier.

“We messed up, didn’t we? I hope Y/N Cookie isn’t too mad at us…”

“Parfait: I do admit to losing my cool there, it’s just…I look up to them so much, that sharing the stage would be a dream come true. I should’ve assumed it was the same for everyone else, regardless of fame.”

“Hear hear, the fire in my heart was so passionate that it clouded my mind…”

“Shining Glitter: I do admit that I was actin’ unprofessional back there, a part of me…wanted Y/N Cookie to like me as more then just being a superstar, but as me…”

The door leading into the lobby opened, revealing you and Dumpling Cookie as you made your way to them. Dumpling’s cold state boring into the eyes of the cookies made them want to avert their eyes from the intensity.

“Y/N Cookie has taken it into consideration…and they’re just not interested in any of you. Thank you for your time and actually make your leave from here.”

The cookies gasped in horror before you poked Dumpling in the shoulder with a pout.

Heyyy, you didn’t say that. Come on now, Dumpling.

“What? Am I not allowed to have a little fun?”

Broooo. Anyway, you corrected Dumpling’s little joke by stating that to avoid any discourse and bitterness from the other cookies, you’ve decided…that you accept everyone’s offer to collaborate. Let’s shoot for the moon with so much talent onboard!

Everyone was taken aback! They were so sure that they’ve messed up their chances by the little squabble from earlier, they didn’t expect you to have the opposite reaction in any capacity!

Well, the stage was for anyone, and considering how each and every one of them said they were a fan of you, you figured why not and decide to make this one grand collaboration of all different types of talent! The manager was certainly happy and excited with this idea, so if they’re willing, you were down with it.

They saw the opportunity and JUMPED for it

“Yeah, Y/N! Let’s make some killer music, baby!”

“I won’t let ya down, Y/N Cookie. I promise ya my beats will pump up the crowd!”

“Y-yes, I’d love to! I really need to practice now to match you!”

“Shining Glitter: Let’s be glorious stars together, Y/N Cookie!”

“Parfait: Wow, just wow! I’m, like, totally excited for this! I feel like my toppings wil melt!”

Dumpling Cookie rolled her eyes at the other cookies with a smile, you always did have a kind sway over cookies to have them get along. Sure, you weren’t as hard on them as she would’ve been, but it just showed how much of a giving cookie you were. And that’s what she loved about you.

————————————————————————

“Welcome back, cookies! We have a special performance today! Y/N Cookie is not making an appearance alone tonight! We at Star Jelly Records would like to announce our special guests! Rockstar Cookie!”

“Are you cookies ready to rock?! WHOO!”

“Parfait Cookie!”

“Paru-paru-PARFAIT! Are you cookies ready for sweet melodies!”

“DJ Cookie!”

“DJ Cookie here and I’m gonna drop the beat!”

“The Cake POPS!”

“We’re honored to be singing alongside Y/N Cookie! Here’s to a great concert with you all!”

And gracing the stage alongside them, Shining Glitter Cookie!

“Can you make some noise, cookies?! We can’t hear you!”

The crowd roars as you handled the mic, singing alongside Glitter, Parfait, and the Cake Pops while you played your tunes with Rockstar and DJ, all of them very much liking you giving them attention.

The manager behind the curtain was crying happy tears while Dumpling Cookie was waving a mini-flag of you as support.

Your mailbox will be crammed with fan letters, but hey, that’s the price to pay when you’re a superstar in this industry!

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nirvanawrites111 · 1 year ago

Text

May I Have Your Attention Please Part 2

(Sub!Seonghwa x Reader, Sub!Hongjoong x Reader)

Pairing: Seonghwa x Reader, Hongjoong x Reader

Fem Reader, She/her pronouns

Word Count: 2749

Tw: Spanking Hwa receiving, mention of drug dealing/Gangteez life, mentions of killing, thinking about killing hwa, but trust me you won’t.

oral (fem receiving)

Part 1 Here

Smut below the cut!

A/n: Also I start writing this after I published Part 1 last night. So, shoutout to Anon for your suggestion. I think this is becoming a series. Lets see how my ADHD works lol

“It’s been a few weeks since we last saw each other. How’s everything going?” Seonghwa asks you, taking a sip of his martini.

You scan his body language and he has some nerve to try to be all concerned and formal like he’s not a damn snitch.

You know the street code anyone who crosses you got to go. You reach into your purse and grip the cool metal inside of your bag. You could kill so quick and clean up the body without hesitation.

“I want to know how you know Hongjoong?” You skip the pleasantries and small talk about your life. You need to know why he decided to have such loose lips around him.

“Oh.” Seonghwa talks another sip of his drink, but this time he finishes the entire glass and places it in front of him. He toys with his ring on his finger and avoids eye contact with me.

“Eyes on me, Hwa.” Your tone is solid and firm. This isn’t the time to go soft on him.

Thankfully, you are in a private dining room in a fancy restaurant. The many perks of domming a billionaire. Money and access aren’t an issue.

Seonghwa’s eyes flicker up to you and he visibly swallows hard. “A childhood friend. Why do you bring him up?”

“Cut the bullshit. Hongjoong seemed to be aware of our arrangement.”

Seonghwa’s fingers stroke the flute of his martini glass. “We were drinking and it slipped out.”

“How did it come up?”

“I don’t know. He asked me if I was seeing anyone, and I told him about you. Which led to me sharing how you dominate me. I shouldn’t have spilled that information. Y/n, I’m really sorry.”

You let go of the trigger and release your gun from my hand.

Seonghwa is the least bit wiser of your consideration of killing him.

As you recline comfortably in your plush chair, you observe the person before you, their body language speaking volumes. It becomes evident that a tinge of remorse tugs at their demeanor, seemingly regretful for the words that flowed unchecked from their lips moments ago.

Seonghwa’s eyes, once brimming with confidence, now betray a subtle hint of contrition, as if they wish they could retract the spoken utterances.

A flicker of vulnerability dances across their face, accentuated by a slight downturn at the corners of their mouth.

Plus, you enjoy being with Seonghwa and if it wasn’t for him you wouldn’t had Hongjoong curious about you. Which you still can’t get that thought out of your head.

Your night with Hongjoong was intense. You can still see him naked on that hotel bed. The way he looked all innocent and shy while you were pounding his ass.

Your business is afloat again and you have product moving on the streets as you speak. You don’t have to worry about losing anymore money.

Sure, you could have asked Seonghwa for the money. But, you don’t like him funding your business. You want to keep him away from this lifestyle as much as possible.

He’s your safe haven outside of the dangerous street life. This isn’t meant for everyone to experience. You want to keep him as pure as possible.

But, you are still not sure why he’s associating with Hongjoong.

“Yes, you’re sorry. But, that was fucked up, Hwa. You know you owe me for that.”

“Yes, goddess. I do. I’ll do anything to make up for it.”

“Or, you’re going to do anything. But, I will let you know how you can repay me.”

“Gladly. It won’t happen again.”

“So, why are you hanging around a drug dealer anyways? You’re not funding his business, right?”

“Of course. You told me to stay away from your lifestyle. We just catch up sometimes. He was the only Korean at my pre-school so we’ve always bonded over that.”

“Hwa stand up and drop your pants.”

You reach into your bag and grab your paddle. There is no way you are going to let him off the hook that easy.

Seonghwa does what you say and assumes the position. He places his hands on the table.

You come behind him. “Hwa, you know we can’t have loose lips like that. If I adhere to street code I would have had to drop you, baby. I don’t want to do that, right?”

You wack his ass with your wooden paddle engraved with “Daddy’s Bitch”.

Seonghwa jolts a bit, but it’s not enough for your liking. You need him to feel it. “Right, I’m sorry.”

You wack him again because you need him to understand the nature of your relationship with you. “You’re sorry, who?”

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

“Good, you always learn quick. Listen, I’m going light on you because I have something to do. But, don’t make that mistake again.”

“Yes, daddy.”

You rub his ass and kiss where it’s visibly red. “Now, I know you miss having my tongue in your ass. But, I can’t give that type of affection to a snitch. Right?”

“Yes, daddy. It will not happen again.”

You stand up and toss your paddle into your bag. You toss your purse onto your shoulder. “Listen, I gotta run. But, we will see each other soon.”

“I look forward to it,” Seonghwa speaks and pulls up his pants.

You play it cool and put on your sunglasses. You exit out of the dining room and head for the door. Your driver is waiting for you and he opens the back door for you.

You look at your phone and Hongjoong’s number flash across the screen. You groan at the site of his name coming into your current vision.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Hi, Y/n. I just want to confirm that the product was enough to hold you over. Have you found a distributor yet?”

“My business operations are not any of your concern, Hongjoong.”

“You know I can’t get you out of my head from the other night.”

You always try to act like you are such a tough cookie. But, the truth is you can’t either. There was something so sexy about being with Hongjoong. Sure, you two have always been in competition with each other. But, now things seem different.

You are starting to dip into the personal side of things and it scared the shit out of you.

“Is that so?” You humor him for a bit. You need to see where his head is.

“Yes. Have dinner with me tonight, Y/n.”

No. You cannot get yourself caught up with Kim Hongjoong. Next thing you know you’ll be his weekly eye candy on his arm until he gets tired of you. You know how he gets down.

A different chick on his arm everytime you see him. You like to live discreet. You don’t want anyone knowing who are choose to sleep with. He’s trying to distract you.

“I’m busy, tonight.”

“C’mon, Y/n. I make a mean spaghetti. I know it’s your favorite.”

“Who told you that?”

“Don’t worry about that. Let me make you dinner to thank you for that amazing night.”

“Joong, it was business. That’s it and that’s all.”

“I know. But, this isn’t a date. It’s a business dinner. That’s all.”

“Fine. Where do you live?”

“I’ll come pick you up. I have manners y’know?”

“Okay.”

***

The doorbell rings and you open the door to see Hongjoong standing there with your favorite flowers in hand. His blonde hair is slicked back and he’s wearing an open white dress shirt with lacy see-through sleeves. A Cuban link adorns his neck and his usual jeans are replaced by slacks.

“Hi,” Hongjoong says sweetly and blushes.

“Hi,” you reply. The two of you are staring at each other for a few moments. You can’t believe how good he looks and how much effort he’s put into this.

“Uh, sorry,” Hongjoong snaps out of whatever trace you have him and he shakes head. “These are for you. I got you a vase, too. I didn’t know if you had one.”

“Uh, thank you.” You grab the flowers and say, “You can come in.”

Hongjoong follows you into your home and you place the flowers on the living room table. The two of you sit down on your couch.

“I forgot to ask did you have any food allergies?”

“Nope. I can eat anything.”

“Good.”

“Well, let’s go back to my place and enjoy that meal I promised you.”

You stand up and you have an urge to straddle him. Slip your tongue into his mouth and make him scream your name. But, you remember this is just a thank you dinner. Nothing more and nothing less.

***

Hongjoong opens the passenger door of his corvette for you. “Your chariot awaits.”

Hongjoong curses himself inside of his head. He glares at you to see if you’ll respond to his comment, but you just laugh at it.

He watches you get in and closes the door behind you. He hops into the driver’s seat and drives off to his place.

The car ride is silent but Hongjoong decides to break the ice.

“So, do you need me to help you find a distributor?”

“I got one, but thanks for the offer.”

“Do you want those corner boys back?”

“Hell no. If they will leave me so easily then they were never loyal to me. Plus, I replaced them anyways.”

“Yeah, I mean that’s the easy part. The hard part is ensure they are loyal.”

“Oh, I know they are loyal. So, I’m not worried.”

Once the two of you arrive at his place he gets out of the car and opens the door for you. Hongjoong helps you out of the car.

“Nice home.”

“I know it’s a lot for a single person.”

“Yeah, I get it. That’s why I enjoy my apartment. But, one day I will get a house once I leave this life.”

“Oh, you want to leave the game?”

“Yeah, I can’t do this forever. I want kids and a partner. What about you?”

Hongjoong had no idea you wanted those things. It doesn’t make it any better than he’s been dreaming about how all those things with you since you took hooked up.

“Uh, the streets is all I know. But, I think for the right person I could give it all up.”

“Exactly. I know you didn’t get this house for just yourself. You’re not scared in here by yourself?” You walk around his place exploring.

For a split second Hongjoong can picture you in this house as if it’s also yours. With little children following behind you.

But, before that he would love to be collared and walked all over his marble floors trailing behind you. The fact that you tower over him doesn’t make it any better.

Hongjoong snaps out of his thoughts and heads to the kitchen. He’s already prepped and washed everything for tonight. He grabs everything out of his fridge and place it on the counter.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Wine, please.”

Hongjoong grabs it out of the wine chiller and opens it with the automatic open. He grabs two glasses and places it in front of you. You are sitting in a high top chair at the kitchen island.

“Coming right up,” Hongjoong replies.

Hongjoong pours wine into your glass and his. He hands you your glass and you both cling your glasses together. “Cheers to new beginnings,” Hongjoong says.

“Cheers.”

Hongjoong can’t help but admire how beautiful you look tonight. Your hair is in full curls just like the other night with a red lip. Your makeup is light, but still makes a statement to enhance your natural beauty.

You are the perfect one for him. You are beautiful, smart, and one of the biggest drugpins in the game.

So, he doesn’t have to pretend he’s someone he’s not to appeal to you. You can understand him in ways that no one else can understand.

***

Hongjoong begins cooking and you sip more on your wine. You walk around his massive kitchen. You look all how neat and organized everything is.

The two of you have engaged in conversations about the street life, relationships, friendships, food, and so much more. You never realized how deep this man is.

“I like a man that cooks,” You stand next to him at the stove. You are amazed at how he knows his way around the kitchen. Everything is fresh and smells so good. You don’t remember if you’ve ever had a man cook for you.

“I like a woman who is dominant.”

That for whatever reason sends a signal to your center and you want nothing more than to have him again. This attraction to him is foreign, but you can’t deny you are having fun with him.

You hear Hongjoong cut off the burner and you sit on the counter behind him. You lift your dress to your hips and spread your legs.

Hongjoong turns around and immediately freezes in place.

“You want to thank you.. eat my pussy, slut,” You command. You are tired of playing games with him and dancing over the fact that are attracted to him.

Hongjoong doesn’t even blink he charges in between your legs and laps away at your already wet pussy. His desire to please you is so obvious. He lovingly serves you with so much ease and precision.

“Fuck, I’ve waited so long for this,” Hongjoong moans against your cunt and you gush a little. You’ve been trying to hold back all night. But, you knew from the moment he walked into your apartment with the flowers you wanted his head between your legs.

Your hand caresses the back of his head. “Your tongue is so good, Joongie. How would your crew Gangteez feel if they knew that your tongue was deep inside of their enemy? Where is your loyalty, Joongie?”

“With you.. all I want to do is serve and please you,” Hongjoong whimpers and give your clit slow licks.

“Oh, really?” You grab Hongjoong’s hair and pulls him away from your center. The lust has darkened his eyes and your juice all dripping off his lips. He’s so fucking hot like this.

“Yes, I can’t stay away from you. Gangteez doesn’t know what happened and I want to keep it that way.”

“Not even your right hand in command, Mingi?” You question.

“No.” He shakes his head. “My personal life is off limits to them.”

You bury his face back against your pussy and this time he drills his tongue inside of you while he massaging circles against your clit. The combination is enough to make everything around you blurry as fuck. You love how skillful his tongue is.

But, you love that he’s not going around telling anyone about what happened the other night. But, you will fact check with Seonghwa soon enough to ensure he’s really telling the truth.

You work your hips to match his tongue fucking you. You still can’t get over that you have one of the biggest drug dealers in your city between your legs professing their loyalty to you.

It’s a power that makes you feel so empowered. But, truthfully you want nothing more to slide down on his dick and fuck in your favorite position, amazon.

But, you are strategic. You can’t give him all of you so easily and fast. He has to earn in. To be inside of you completely is a privilege. So, you will table that opportunity for another time.

You stroke Hongjoong’s hair while your body shakes on his marble countertops. You wrap your legs around his head.

“Fuck, Joongie. I’m going to come,” you growl.

“Please come for me..mistress.”

You lose it when he whines for the arrival of your release. You give him what he’s asking for and let yourself experience that euphoria that you love chasing.

Hongjoong laps all it up. He cleans you out and you release your legs from around his head. You sit up catching your breath.

“Damn, Joongie. You did such a good job.” He looks even more beautiful with your juices glistening on his face.

You grab his with both hands by his shirt and pull him into a kiss. Your tongue swirl together and you savor the taste of your release on his tongue.

“Will you stay the night?” Hongjoong ask.

“Yes, if you agree to stay away from Seonghwa.”

Part 3

#sub!seonghwa #sub!hongjoong #kpop smut #sub!kpop #sub! idol #sub!idol x reader #dom!reader #sub!idol #ateez smut #sub!ateez #sub!idol x dom!reader #seonghwa x y/n #seonghwa x black reader #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x black reader

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chaos0pikachu · 7 months ago

Note

Hi Pika, I don't know if you've been following gmmtv's take over of wabi sabi, I just want to ask you: given that so many companies are part of TBLC which is like a Thai BL content association, do you have any idea why gmmtv isn't a part of it? BOC, DMD, Star Hunter, Copy A Bangkok, Channel 3 are all part of it, I'm just wondering why gmmtv isn't even thought it's the biggest bl company? Wabi Sabi was/is a part of it. (idk exactly)

I can't emphasize enough that I am NOT an expert on this snaps lmao so anything I say that isn't like a direct link to an article or further reading source is speculation on my part. You're a sweetheart Anon but I just wanna let you know that like if you wanna know about the American publishing or entertainment industry but I don't wanna present myself as like ~an expert~ when my ass ain't ya know?

So my short answer is fuck if I know lol I hadn't even heard of the TBLC till this ask

For folks interested in it, here's the livestream they hosted for it (it's 45ish minutes) and it doesn't have subs though. But it seems to be connected to Thailand's soft power committee, here's an article on that:

Prime Minister Srettha Thavisin, who chairs the committee, tasked deputy chairwoman Paetongtarn Shinawatra with leading two national initiatives: One Family One Soft Power (OFOS) and the Thailand Creative Content Agency (THACCA). The goal of the initiatives is skills training to create 20 million jobs that will generate annual income of 4 trillion baht. OFOS and THACCA will be implemented in three phases: First, to boost human resources, 20 million children, adults, and seniors in under village and community funds will get free training in fields such as food, Muay Thai, arts, performance, singing, design, fashion, e-sports, and more, free of charge.

For folks who may not know, soft power is a term coined by political scientist Joseph S. Nye Jr. in his article Soft Power published by Foreign Policy magazine.

"In the 1980s, political scientist Joseph Nye Jr. coined the term soft power, defining it as a country’s ability to influence others without resorting to coercive pressure. In practice, that process entails countries projecting their values, ideals, and culture across borders to foster goodwill and strengthen partnerships." (source)

Soft power is a form of governmental influence internationally, and works conjunction with "hard power".

Examples of "soft power" are the American space program, athletes performing at the Olympics, and on the media side, military propaganda films like Captain Marvel, (yes I consider Captain Marvel a military propaganda film the film opens with a freaking air force ad lmao).

You see other countries using similar tactics as well, for every Top Gun there's China's Wolf Warrior 2 or Hidden Blade. For South Korea, BTS and k-pop is most definitely used as a source of soft power. This is just something governments do.

Okay so like, gmmtv and BL we've been hearing for a minute now that BL and GL are part of the Thai governments plans for soft power.

Mile and Apo have spoken about this specifically when promoting Man Suang and here's a recent video of them working in conjunction with the government on Shine:

(source)

Even Mew's talked about Thailand's soft power in interviews before (context, Mew was the first Thai musician to break into the American Billboard charts):

(source)

It's not just BL either, Idol Factory's Freen and Becky of The Gap fame got in on this too:

So like, it sounds like this meeting/committee in general is just an extension of the Thai governments plans for expanding their soft power which includes how to better support this now highly in demand industry (BL/GL shows) b/c the government sees its international value.

I can only assume that like, gmmtv feels it doesn't need~ government support as a production company? They're the biggest BL studio in the game and have an annoying stranglehold on territories like America and Latin America already. It doesn't really matter what the quality of the shows even are, gmmtv have that sweet parasocial grip on audiences.

[my forever frustrations with gmmtv and how they sell idols and parasocial relationships not BL/GL shows is a totally different post so lemme stop]

Other companies don't really have that same hold on international audiences. At least not consistently? And the biggest concern is funding.

I think anyone with eyeballs can see Kinnporsche is the best well produced BL that's come out of Thailand (argue with the wall) in terms of overall technical quality. But that level of quality is expensive, the CGI in The Sign is freaking expensive, The Next Prince's pilot is so obviously pricey as all fuck you can tell the studio is banking on it selling.

Which is why studios like Idol Factory, Domandi or BOC only come out with a one or two shows a year in comparison to gmmtv's like 16. They need funding, not just for filming the show but also marketing. Filmmaking is hella expensive.

[I'm not talking about whether y'all liked this show or that show, I'm talking about technical quality, shows like Kinnporsche, The Sign, Pit Babe are all better on a technical level than stuff like 1000 Stars, Only Friends or Cooking Crush.]

Why didn't gmmtv attend the event or participate, baby I legit do not know. I can't answer that with any sort of certainty only their execs could answer that, I can only guess.

And my best guess is b/c the company feels confident they're fine on their own. They don't need funding assistance, nor assistance reaching an international market (tho maybe some assistance in getting their contracts straight hope Ossan's Love doesn't face the same distribution issues as Cherry Magic lmao).

For more information on the event itself I really liked this post on reddit that I felt broke everything down very well.

Anyway sorry this got so long Anon but I hope it at least provided some interesting information!

#chaos pikachu speaks #asks #anon ask #gmmtv #be on cloud #thai bl

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 6 months ago

Text

lies are only as good as the person telling them (and you've never claimed to be) part 5

I just read all of the parts to your Red Notice fanfic, which is fuckin' cool as hell btw, and it got me thinkin'. What would it look like for Sarah & Hartley to actively work on being better to Nolan? And how would Nolan react with all this new kindness/softness from them? I imagine he'd question if it was actually real, maybe a few "what alternative universe did I stumble into" moments. Perhaps some healing for these three disasters (/affectionate). – anon

Read on Ao3 Masterlist (scroll to the bottom for the other parts)

Warnings: recovering from a gsw

Pairings: booth/bishop/hartley

Word Count: 3634

Look, alright, if you’d told him that after he got shot he’d wake up in a parallel universe where everything is actually sort of sunshine and rainbows, he might have laughed and asked if you’re sure if it was him who got shot if you’re the one doing the crazy talk. It’s not like bullets have reality-shifting properties, at least not the ones that he’s used to using, and hey, if you’ve got a line on those suckers, you probably stand to make a hell of a lot more money than talking to him about stupid hypotheticals concerning what happens when you take a bullet for someone.

Oh, yeah, did he mention he recently took a bullet for someone?

And not just any fucking someone, he took a bullet for the fucking Bishop. Fuck whatever he said before about reality-shifting bullets, if you’d told him he’d end up taking a bullet for his biggest fucking rival like it was fucking nothing, no body armor, no plan, just he’d see a gun and oops, there he goes, he’d shoot you.

“No shooting anyone,” another voice grumbles from beside him, “you’re in no shape to be starting a gun fight.”

“I’ll show you shape for a gun fight.” Alright, not his best, but he has just been shot.

The person who’d spoken next to him grunts, shifting in the—bed? Bed? Yes, he’s in a bed. Wait, who the fuck is he in bed with when he just got shot?—in the bed and looking over at him. A drowsy, not-at-all-bright-tailed-and-bushy-eyed Hartley scowls at him. What, is he mad Nolan woke him? He’s the idiot that decided to share a bed with someone who just got shot.

“Hey,” Hartley rumbles, and then there’s a hand reaching across the space between them to brush something from Nolan’s face. “How’d you—Sarah?”

“Is he making a mess in there already?” Nope. Nope, no way, he must still be out of it because there’s no way that was fondness he just heard in the Bishop’s voice.

“No, he’s still a mess from before.”

“Hey! You see how glamorous you look after you get shot, big guy.”

Hartley just shakes his head and gets to his feet with another grunt, which doesn’t make any sense to Nolan, because who is Hartley if not the person to gruffly threaten to make him more injured if he doesn’t watch his mouth, and he goes over to the tiny bathroom. The light turns on and he hears the sink run for a second before the big man himself is walking back over—wait, what’s he holding?

”Whoa, whoa, big guy, I dunno what you think you’re gonna do with that—“

“It’s a washcloth, Nolan. You’ve still got blood on your face?”

Now, Nolan would have some sort of snappy remark for that, but he’s too busy catching his brain up to the fact that Hartley just called him Nolan.

He’s not Nolan to Hartley. He’s Booth, he’s Hey, You, he’s Dumbass, Smartass, Asshole, even Son of a Bitch on occasion. He most certainly is not Nolan. Maybe the bullet did more damage than he thought; is he about to die in this bed and their last act of basic human decency is to talk to him like they cares bout him? Well, butter his butt and call him a biscuit, he’d never thought he’d go out like this.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Hartley’s voice says, startling him from his maudlin spiraling, “it’s not that much blood.”

”Easy for you to say,” and if his voice comes out a touch more strangled than he’d hoped, Hartley’s kind enough not to mention it, “you’re not the one with blood on his handsome face.”

There’s a hand under his chin, admirably gentle for someone that size, and then the washcloth is passing smoothly over his jaw—oh, it’s cold. It’s really cold. It…it sort of feels nice. Distantly, Hartley chuckles, so he must’ve said at least some of that out loud, hopefully not the embarrassing parts, but he doesn’t want to think about that right now.

“Stay awake,” and there’s a gentle shake to his chin, “we need to get some food in you before you waste away on this bed.”

He blinks and tries to rouse himself, but it’s like pulling a stick out of molasses. Everything is all syrupy and slow and Hartley’s hand is still tenderly holding his chin and the washcloth is still passing gently over his face…how long does it take to clean blood off?

“The blood’s gone. But you seem to like this, so I’m indulging you.”

“How kind. Hope you’re not expecting…’xpecting me to return the favor.”

“Well, how about the next time I get blood all over my handsome face, we’ll see?”

Nah, he’s definitely still woozy. He’s for sure about to pass out. Because there’s no way he’d be rational, of sound mind and body, with all his faculties, and have his first reaction to that be an insane amount of pining. He’s not going to have a pain in his chest that rivals the ache in his side over how badly he wants to take a shitty, cheap ass washcloth and stroke it over Hartley’s stupidly handsome face. He’s not gonna think about how badly he wants to do that, to touch him, no siree. He’s not. Not gonna happen. Never in a million years.

“You don’t have to be rude about it, know.”

Shit. Stupid brain-to-mouth filter not working. “Nah. ‘S…that’s Bishop’s job, right? She’s the one—she’s your partner. She gets to patch you up all…all th’ way and make you feel better. Not me. Not…not me.”

The following silence is way too charged for Hartley not to be making some incredulous or otherwise facial expression, but Nolan’s not paying attention anymore. He’s closing his eyes and falling back into a fitful sleep where he’s still arguing about whether or not bullets can change what universe you’re in. He thinks he feels the washcloth leave and only spares it a moment of regret before he’s out like a light.

***

The next time he wakes up, it’s not to Hartley’s brick shit house of a body next to him. Instead, sunlight slants through the partially drawn curtains as traffic whizzes by outside. The ache in his gut colons with a vengeance, whatever painkillers wearing off as he tries to heave himself up with a grunt. A quick peek at his stomach shows a decent bandage job—admittedly, a better on than he would’ve given himself—and a pair of pants that are definitely not his. He pokes at them for a second before deciding that hey, if Hartley wants to suffer through cleaning his blood out of his pants, then he can sure as hell do that on his own time. Nolan will not be helping because it’s his fault the pants got on him in the first place.

No sooner has he gotten himself to the edge of the bed, prepared to announce as much to Hartley’s face, does the door swing open and there’s the Bishop, standing there in all her glory. Red lipstick perfectly done, one artfully plucked eyebrow raised like some sort of forbidding school matron out of every boarding school boy’s dreams. She looks him up and down—and nope, he must still be out of it because it looks like her expression softens a bit. Or she’s just looking at him like he’s a stupid puppy that got himself injured. Yeah, that’s probably it.

“You’re awake.”

“Yep.”

“And lucid too, that’s good.” He squints and the corner of her mouth ticks up. “You woke up a few times before this, but it didn’t seem like you were…yourself.”

“Is that concern I’m hearing from you?”

“Treating a gunshot wound is one thing, treating an infection is another.” She leans against the door and looks him over again. “You’ve got more color back. Good. Do you think you can stay awake long enough to eat something this time?”

“As long as you give me a drink with it.”

“Deal.”

He blinks. Wow, that was easy. He doesn’t even register that Bishop’s leaving. He blinks again to clear his head and grips the edge of the bed, gritting his teeth and starting to heave himself to standing.

“Whoa, whoa!” Strong hands on his shoulders, then the side of his ribs, then cupping the back of his neck. “What’re you doing?”

”Hartley?”

“Yeah, it’s me, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Bishop said food. ‘M going to the food.”

”The food’s come to you, now lie the fuck back down before you pop all those stitches we spent all that time putting in you.”

”Jeez, take it easy, big guy, I’m not a…a…”

Hartley raises an eyebrow.

“Shut up, it’ll come to me.”

“I’m sure it will, Maybe it’ll come to you faster if you lie down.”

He puts up another good-natured grumble but lets Hartley ease him back down to the bed. He tries to draw the line at Hartley propping a pillow behind him but the man just gives him a look and reluctantly allows it. Not that he actually has much of a choice.

“Never thought I’d see the day that you’re willing to play nursemaid.”

“Injuries happen in this line of work. We all do what we have to.”

“You couldn’t have put a little more effort in then? Get one of those sexy nurse costumes and really make a thing of it?” Hartley just gives him another look. “I can see if now, that weird little card hat on your big, beautiful bald head—“

The door swings open again and in comes the Bishop, carrying a small tray of—oh, shit.

“I thought I asked for a drink.”

”Water is a drink.” She picks up the glass and hands it to him, meeting his glower with a polite smile. “Not too fast, now.”

“You both are acting like I’ve never been shot before,” he grouses, sipping at the water, “you, I get, but you!”

He points at the Bishop.

“You’ve shot me before, you know how it goes.”

There’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flicker of something on the Bishop’s face and Hartley jumps in. “I’m surprised at you, Booth, I thought you’d be milking this a lot more than you are.”

“Excuse me, good sir, I have never milked a single thing in my entire life! I react with the perfectly appropriate amount of melodrama to every occasion.”

They both make doubtful noises.

“Okay. That smarts. As your patient, I think your bedside manner needs some work.”

The Bishop raises another challenging eyebrow and picks up the spoon, brandishing it like a threat. “Do we need to feed you too?”

“I’m not a baby bird, I can feed myself.” She smirks and holds out the spoon. He grunts and heaves himself up, straining for it—no, he is not sweating from this, his hand is not shaking, he just needs to— “See? Perfectly able.”

The Bishop hums and Hartley wordlessly moves the tray a little closer to him. He takes a victorious bite of the eggs in defiance of their judgmental stares and can’t stop the way his eyes widen. Fuck, of course they also had to be great at making omelettes. And if the way Bishop’s smirk widens, she knows what thought just crossed his mind.

“Taste good?”

“If we ever need to infiltrate a restaurant, you’re going undercover as the food snob.”

It’s as close to an outright compliment he’s going to let himself give, at least when her expression softens yet again into something akin to—

Nope. Not thinking about that.

“So,” he says, swallowing way too quickly and coughing a bit, “how much time did we lose?”

They snap back into heist professional mode and he doesn’t think about how good the omelette tastes as they talk shop.

That’s a lie.

He thinks about it a lot.

***

As it turns out, they only lost a few days. It’s not put them behind schedule; if anything, it’s actually filled the extra time Arlo needed to get the forgery done. Which means it’s time for the next part of the plan: actually getting their covers invited to the big gala that’s happening at the Louvre the night of the planned heist.

Nolan did make a pitch for letting himself come too—after all, all three of them are going to be there that night—but the Bishop talked him down.

It makes less sense for you to be there, especially if you’re injured. Besides, you’re planning on being part of the security team. If you’re going to have a pre-existing association with us, that makes that more difficult.

Which is true, but now that means he’s going to sit here in this cramped, shitty apartment all by himself while the Bishops are being their power-couple selves with the rest of the Parisian art elite.

Judging by the way Hartley keeps eyeing him as they prepare for this gala, he knows it too. He knows it so much, in fact, that he seems to be going out of his fucking way to make sure Nolan knows he’s as involved in this as they are, even though he’s not coming to the gala. Even fucking asks if Nolan can help make sure his walk is right again.

“The last thing we need is for one of them sniffing me out when there’s one less of us there,” he says while Nolan stares at him, agog and aghast, “so?”

Nolan immediately looks at the Bishop, because he’s not so oblivious not to know that this was the genesis of their whole fucking argument last time that ended with him getting shot, and she’s sitting right fucking there as Hartley asks him. She just raises an eyebrow and lifts a single shoulder in a half-shrug.

“He’s right. We have one less pair of eyes. Best take advantage of them while we have them.”

And no, he’s not going to think about the way she’s looking at him while she says it. He adjusts his somewhat precarious position on the couch and clears his throat.

“Alright. Show me.”

He’s never going to fully pass up a chance to ogle Hartley, not when he’s been given carte blanche to do so, but he can’t fucking shake the feeling of the Bishop being right there, on the other end of the couch. Every time he notices something and calls it out, she makes this little humming noise that sounds dangerously close to approval. And Hartley—Hartley’s listening to him. Not in that begrudging way where he knows Nolan’s actually got a point, or in that way where he’s filing Nolan’s most intimate details away to sharpen into scalpels later, he’s just—he’s listening. And every time he gets to the base of the couch, right where Nolan is, he looks down at them with those big soft eyes and fuck, Nolan is too injured and not nearly drunk enough for this.

“I think that’s as good as it’s going to get,” he says weakly, putting himself out of his misery about twenty minutes later, “you no longer walk like a cop, congrats.”

“Let’s hope it’s good enough for the gala.” The Bishop pushes herself to her feet in one fluid motion as Hartley goes to the kitchen. “Did Arlo give you a more concrete time frame for when the piece can be moved?”

“It’s, uh, supposed to be ready in a week. Something about…drying time and all that.”

The Bishop gives him a look that, again, is really riding that razor thin line of almost being fond and he suddenly cannot be in this room anymore.

“If that’s all you need from me, I’m hitting the hay.”

The both give him blasé remarks about sleeping well and he heads back to the bed. The bed, not his bed, he’s only allowed to sleep on it ‘cause he’s injured and even they are merciless enough to make him sleep on the couch while he has a bullet hole in him. He starts to peel himself out of his being-a-somewhat-person-during-the-day clothes, but no matter what he does, the stitches won’t let him move so much as almost enough to get the shirt all the way off.

“Hey, Hartley? Could use your big strong muscles for a sec.”

He shuffles around to get his pajamas all ready as the door swings open, but it’s not Hartley’s hands that reach up to help slide the shirt from his shoulders. Instead, cool hands with carefully filed nails ease the material off and his breath catches in his throat.

”You’re not Hartley.”

“He’s in the bathroom.” The Bishop reaches around to pluck the pajama shirt from the bed, one hand on his shoulder prompting him to hold still. “How far can you raise your arms?”

He manages to get them almost level with his shoulders before he has to stop. She hums, fabric rustling as she undoes the buttons, before she takes his hand and guides his arm through one of the sleeves.

Just breathe. Just fucking breathe. For the love of God, just fucking breathe.

She goes around to his other side and pauses. Nolan’s breath hitches in his throat as he feels her nails trace gently over the scar on his back. A bullet wound. The one she gave him over one of their struggles in…god, where was it? Laos?

“You didn’t stitch this properly,” she murmurs, voice way too soft, “it healed wrong.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly at an easy angle.”

She’s quiet for a few moments, before her touch leaves him. He fails let out the breath he’d been holding with any sort of subtlety, but she doesn’t seem to hold it against him. She feeds his other arm through the sleeve and walks to his front, slowly beginning to do up the buttons. Some part of him knows he should make another joke, say he can do it himself, or even just try and take over, but he doesn’t. He’s as useless as he was on that fucking beach when she looked at him with that fucking smile as Hartley put his arm around her. He can’t do a damn thing, not until she cues him for it, because as much as he’d like to imagine himself as anything else, he’d just a pawn in their game.

Right. The game.

“You should talk to Hartley,” he says, proud that his voice is only a little strangled, “you’re much better at playing nursemaid than he is.”

She doesn’t laugh, but she doesn’t scold him for it either. Instead, she just looks at him for a long, long moment.

“Get some rest, Nolan.”

And she leaves.

Fuck.

He does not throw himself onto the bed, he has more respect for his healing body than that, but he does glower up at the ceiling.

What the fuck are they playing? Has he not made it obvious enough that he’s not retaliating for the whole mess with the eggs? Well, he is, but they don’t need to know the specifics just yet. And yet they’re stinging him along like he’s—like he’s—like they were when they were still pretending Hartley was on his side, only now…

He closes his eyes and forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s been on this side of seduction plays enough to know what it feels like when he starts to slip. He’s so close to the edge that he’s practically kissing oblivion right now. He makes himself take one, two, three more before he opens his eyes again.

He knew what he was getting into. He know what they’d be like when he started working with them instead of against them. He knew they were going to try and fuck him over again seeing as it worked so well the last time. This world is not the world of sunshine and rainbows where every one gets their happy ending. This is the twist ending world, where if he’s not prepared to yank the rug out from under them, they’ll pull it from under him and whatever shit that happened with the eggs will look like fucking child’s play.

But as he soon as he thinks about it, his chest starts to get tight again and he’s handcuffed to a tree, in a sweltering jungle, mosquitoes making their livelihoods in his neck as he tries not to cry over a broken heart and a stolen egg. So he squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself live in the fake world for just a little longer.

The one where the Bishop carefully brushed her fingers over the scar she’d given him and button up his shirt for him when it hurt to much to raise his arms.

The one where Hartley took a cool washcloth and carefully cleaned his face, continuing because it seemed like Nolan liked it.

The one where they made him breakfast, the one where they slept in the same bed, the one where they cared.

He learned how to cry silently a long time ago and he’s never forgotten how. But maybe he has forgotten what it’s like to be cared for, and if even a phony imitation of it is here, then maybe…

Maybe there’s something to those reality-shifting bullets after all.

#dragonbabbles #fic #red notice #nolan booth #the bishop #sarah black #john hartley

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kingsmedley · 2 years ago

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Do you crave vanilla extract???

"No, thank you."

#let me see you show your fangs || asks #soft-spoken like a gun || anon #i smile easily because it does me well || chatting

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usertoxicyaoi · 2 years ago

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Faizaaa!!! I've been obsessively devouring and drooling over your VP metas!!!! Jealous Vegas and fluffy VegasPeteMacau (with a hint of horny boys) have me by the throat!!!! I'm begging at your altar for some jealous Pete or the first time after the past credit that Pete goes absolutely feral with jealousy because someone is trying to get close to Vegas?! Pretty please?🥺💖

hiiiii anon!!!

ohhhh jealous pete! i haven't spoken much about him, so lets do so.

see i think, of the two of them, pete is a little bit more rational. he doesn't just dive in head first. he has a bit more control over his emotions.

so one time, vegaspetemacau decide to go and have a night out, with no real plans in mind. they'll just see where the night takes them.

they end up at some club, and its pretty standard. the music's alright, the drinks are alright too. macau's already off somewhere on the dance floor being the carefree spirit that he is.

pete asks vegas if he wants to come and join him too on the dancefloor, but vegas declines. its not the first time he's done that, so pete doesn't press any further, and he goes and joins macau.

and its fun, now. he and macau are similar to one another in this sense. when they let loose, they go all the way. vegas, on the other hand, is much more reserved in that manner. he likes to sit and watch pete and macau have fun. it makes something warm and fuzzy bubble deep within him.

and often, pete will look back at vegas and catch him staring at him and macau, with the most loving gaze, adorning the most serene, soft smile that he keeps reserved for moments like this.

so pete does what he usually does, and turns to look back at vegas, in the hopes that vegas will be doing what he usually does, and looking at him and macau.

but that's not what happens.

instead, pete's gaze lands on vegas, only to see him pressed up against another guy, bodies a little too close to pete's liking, with the guy constantly bringing his mouth near to vegas' ear to whisper something. and vegas keeps on smiling at what this guy says to him. and its not one of those fake smiles. no. its a genuine smile. those small ones where the corner of his lips turn up into a kind of smirk, one that shows he's interested.

and suddenly, it's not fun anymore.

pete turns to macau and asks him if he knows who this guy is that's got all of vegas' attention right now. and macau pauses when he sees his brother with that guy.

"it's hia's ex."

oh.

and suddenly pete doesn't feel like dancing anymore. he tells macau he needs to go outside for some air, that it's getting a little hot and he's feeling a little out of breath, and he leaves before macau can even try and speak to him.

once outside, pete finds a quiet spot, away from the hustle and bustle of the people coming in and out of the club, and leans back against the wall. he pulls out a cigarette, and remembers the way vegas had come in time to light one up for him, way back when things between them were just ... unimaginably irreparable.

during those days, pete felt like he'd never be able to feel human ever again. that he could never give his heart away to anyone else ever again. that he would never be able to fall in love with anyone else ever again. it had to be vegas, even when pete knew it shouldn't be.

it was the way vegas came after him, despite how he shouldnt have even been seen out in the streets, just for him. how he made to grab at pete and pin him face side against the wall, holding his arm behind his back, a gun in between their bodies, and told him he was sorry.

and even then, when pete had every intention to kill, just feeling vegas' body up against his had his mind go off balance. he'd missed the way vegas touched him, missed the way vegas knew exactly how to touch him, missed the way vegas knew just what to do with his body, and how to use it in all the right ways to get pete feeling the most wanted and desired he had ever felt.

back then, pete thought they'd never make it. that there was no way for it to happen.

and yet, they did.

and pete's never been this happy in his whole entire life. because it's the way vegas has freed him, has always told him to take from him, to not be shy, to let it out, to not hold back.

pete looks down at the cigarette he's holding. if this was the old pete, what would he feel, he thinks to himself.

sad. worthless. invisible. barely human. faded away into the background.

but pete isn't like that anymore. being with vegas has given him some steel, to take what is his. to be selfish. to put himself first. to not betray his feelings, and go with them, not against them.

and pete trusts vegas. he trusts vegas with his entire life. he trusts vegas more than vegas trusts his ownself. and pete knows a lot of things, and in and amongst those things, one thing he's certain of is how vegas has never been with his exes in the way he has been with him. he's seen vegas in his most ugliest of states, held him through it, has seen him in his most tormented of states, loved him through it, has seen him in his most vulnerable of states, strengthened him through it. he's seen vegas almost be sent to death's doorstep and come back from it again.

for fuck's sake, pete has killed for vegas. pete left everything behind, just for vegas.

and no one, no one, has the right to overshadow his sacrifices for vegas. no one.

and pete doesn't need a smoke or drugs or a drink in his system to get him going again. no. the simple fact of knowing he is enough, that his love is enough, that he is vegas' most important person, that he doesn't make vegas feel like a freak unlike every other guy that did, that vegas has always come back to him, that he is the sun vegas orbits around, is enough. is more than enough. is plentiful ammunition.

so pete stands up straighter, a little taller, throwing the cigarette in his hands away, and goes back inside the club to claim his man.

and this feeling, this high, this elation, this buzz that he KNOWS he is enough, that he holds just as much power over vegas, this aura, this determination, this confidence, it unfolds like a red carpet for pete to walk his way on towards vegas. he sees nothing, no one. just vegas.

and when pete reaches vegas, the seduction comes just as naturally to him. pete knows he looks fucking divine tonight, with his black turtleneck, in his leather boots, in his black jeans, in his black denim jacket. with his earrings and his silver chain around his neck with the small handcuffs hanging from it as the pendant.

and he goes and stands on the other side of vegas, not even bothered that his ex is still there, but seeing how bothered his ex has gotten because of his presence, because of his sudden intrusion.

and pete hasn't even gotten started yet.

see, pete can be an insufferable menace when he needs to be. he can turn that on in an instant.

he knows exactly how to get vegas to listen. unlike vegas, who's more clinical in his approach, more demanding, cuts straight to it, pete is entirely the opposite. he takes his sweet time, blossoms gradually and blooms beautifully. its sexy, its sultry, its slow, its sensual. its his way of letting vegas know just how much power he has over him, just how well he knows, how precisely he knows, how to get under his skin.

so he leans on vegas, presses his whole weight on him, his forehead resting on his shoulder blades, his fingers skimming the silk on the back of vegas' shirt, that then make their way down his arms, oh so slowly, drawing mindless patterns, and then lacing with vegas' fingers. and he brings vegas' hand to his mouth and kisses each finger. and he can feel vegas shiver, can feel vegas' body magnetically turning towards him.

but pete stops him from facing him. he places his other hand on vegas' chest, and unbottons his shirt, just enough so that he can place his hand inside and trace his fingers on top of vegas' heart, and feel it thud against his ribcage, alive, beating, wild, just for pete.

"i'm hungry, vegas ..." pete whispers into his ear, licking the shell and biting down thereafter. and vegas hisses in return, as he breathes in sharply.

pete runs the tip of his nose down the path of vegas' neck, and then leaves kisses, one, two, four, eight, behind. and he sees vegas' resolve weakening, he's melting right into his hands.

so pete grabs vegas' waist and spins him around, to face him, and presses their fronts together. and pete knows how he looks, what's written all over his face, because vegas looks exactly the same. hooded eyes and mouths that have fallen slightly open.

"i'm hungry, vegas ..." pete says again, and he feels vegas' arms wrap themselves around his waist.

and just because he fucking can, he holds vegas' jaw and begins kissing along it, until his mouth has finally, finally, seeked out vegas', and vegas is moaning into his mouth, sounding so lewd and dirty and desperate, demanding to deepen the kissing, because pete knows that if it was up to vegas, he'd take him home by the hand right now and fuck him in their bed until sunrise tomorrow morning.

pete knows.

but pete is the one who's in control here, even vegas has that figured out by this point. so what pete says, goes.

and pete breaks the kiss, and vegas is left chasing his lips.

good, thinks pete.

"pete-" vegas starts to downright beg in his voice, but before he can say anything, pete cuts him off as he places a finger on vegas' lips, and smirks at him.

"not so fast, sweetheart." pete says, and then looks at vegas' ex, who still has the audacity to be lurking around, even now. has pete not made himself clear?

"i'll wait for you in the car. tell macau to sleepover at his friend's tonight. surely he doesn't wanna hear you screaming my name all night long. don't keep me waiting."

and as he hears the small gasp vegas' ex takes, pete pulls on his classic sickly sweet smile and grins at him. and that's enough to scare him away.

he turns his gaze back onto vegas, and all the seduction and the lure from it from a few seconds ago has gone. he just gives vegas a cold, deadly stare. pete has always been good at adapting and changing. pete has always been good at pulling an array of masks on and off.

"don't keep me waiting." he says one last time, before turning around and walking out of the club to the car, knowing vegas is hot on his heels right behind him, whilst texting macau to go to his friend's for the night.

just like a pet, pete thinks, a sneer forming on his lips. so obedient to his owner, vegas is to me, just like a pet.

#faiza answers #oh this was SOOO much fun to write!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#and i wanted to go REALLY DARK with pete here bc dark and fucked up pete IS MY FAVE KIND OF PETE.

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swanimagines · 3 years ago

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IN THE DARKNESS | KAZ BREKKER

Based on Work Song by Hozier: When my time comes around / Lay me gently in the cold dark earth / No grave can hold my body down / I'll crawl home to him - requested by anon

Summary: Pekka Rollins has a proposition for Kaz that's doomed to be turned down, but that's exactly why he uses Y/N to encourage Kaz to take his offer.

Fandom: Shadow and Bone

Characters: Kaz Brekker, Y/N (gn, they/them), Nina Zenik, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Matthias Helvar, Pekka Rollins

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

A/N: Places itself to the time when Kaz had started to show his claws around Ketterdam and Pekka didn't know anything about his personal grudges. I hope you like it, it came out as a oneshot 💕 Also in case there's a hardcore Hozier fan who knows that the lyrics are wrong, yes, I changed "I'll crawl home to her" to "I'll crawl home to him" because a) this is gender neutral and b) I got an idea which needed that part to be changed for it to make sense 😄

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, violence

Word count: 1.4k

The evening at the Crow Club was dead silent except for Nina's soft sobs against Matthias' shoulder. Kaz just sat there, staring at the nothingness, clearly plotting for yet another revenge at Pekka Rollins.

Just that morning, you and Kaz had encountered some Dime Lions at the Dreg territory. Of course, you took most down, but as Kaz was fighting one of the bigger guys, he didn't notice how you had gotten surprised from behind, knocked out and taken away. It quickly became clear that it had been a trap, and those Dime Lions were supposed to be sentenced to death or badly injured in order to kidnap you. And when Kaz had noticed that you're gone, he knew it had been a trap.

He had been so stupid. Of course it had been a trap, Dime Lions were too smart to be on the Dreg territory in so small numbers, and they knew that stepping into Dreg territory basically means fire on sight, no questions asked. And Kaz knew where you had been taken to, and Pekka wanted him to come alone.

So he had gone to the Emerald Palace, where you had been tied to a chair in Pekka's office, and Kaz wanted to kill everyone in the room when he saw you. There was dried blood at the corner of your mouth, multiple bruises were forming around your body and your arm looked dislocated. You couldn't even move your fingers, as they had all been broken.

"You'll pay for this," Kaz hissed, clenching his fists tightly.

"Oh, I know," Pekka smirked, and gestured to you. "Sweet, sweet Y/N, who has stolen the heart of a boy who has more reputation than most here at the Barrel."

Kaz's eyes narrowed dangerously. He could tell that you were barely conscious, but you tried to shake your head anyway.

"I didn't tell him anything, Kaz," you choked out through your bloody lips.

Pekka rolled his eyes, and a goon beside you hit you with his gun. "You won't speak unless you're spoken to by boss!" he growled.

"So," Pekka said, turning to Kaz. "Did you really think you could just walk into my territory and take what you want? To try to hurt me?"

Kaz snarled, "I'd do anything to hurt you and your gang."

Pekka laughed, clapping his hands together mockingly. "Yes, and that's exactly why I have a proposition for you. Something you won't like, but that's why Mx. L/N is here to help you make that decision. You have a mind, will to hurt, to make people suffer. If only you weren't such an idiot and work for that old Haskell... you could be so much more within my ranks."

"Shut up!" Kaz yelled, and then his eyes darkened as he growled, "I'd never join you."

"I don't know what has Haskell done or promised to you for you stay so loyal to him, but if you don't start behaving, someone is going to get hurt," Pekka replied, and then he turned to you. "Speaking of that, let's talk about your friend here. Or rather, your partner. You love them, is that correct?"

Kaz didn't answer anything. He just kept glaring at Pekka.

"Yes, yes, you're very protective," Pekka said, rolling his eyes. "But we can work with that. In fact, if you help us, you might get to keep them. They're quite a prize, aren't they? Strong, loyal, brave...and young. What's more, they seem to have a knack for getting into trouble. Why, I wonder? I thought you'd teach them better for the rules of the Barrel as you chose to love them... but as you surely know, loyalty and love are weaknesses and can be used against you."

Kaz remained silent. Pekka grinned again.

"What do you say? Will you join our little group? And what's more, will you make sure that your precious Y/N doesn't end up in any further danger?"

Again, Kaz remained silent.

"You know what, Brekker?" Pekka said, leaning forward. "You're not good enough for them. At least, not yet. So, I'll give you one chance. One last chance. Join the Dime Lions, leave that old Haskell and join my ranks, we could have use for you."

"Kaz, don't," you squeaked out, only to be silenced by the same goon beside you.

Kaz hated himself for actually considering it - Pekka was the reason Jordie was dead, he hated him and working for him was the last thing he'd do. You knew that Pekka had killed Jordie, too.

If he said no, Pekka would likely kill you. If he said yes - he would betray Jordie's memory. Neither option was good. But the question was, which was worse?

After a while of him just staring at Pekka, he lifted his chin up just a tiniest bit.

"I'll never join you."

And the moment those words left his mouth, he felt a sting in his stomach. Regret. But he still couldn't bring himself to take his decision back.

Pekka sighed, leaning back into his desk and tutted. "I was afraid you would say that. Very well. I have no option than to let your precious Y/N go, then."

Pekka nodded at the goon who untied your straps and forced you to stand up and walk up to Kaz. You barely got to make an eye contact with him before a shot was heard, and you fell to the ground, lifeless. They all laughed, but Kaz heard it as distant echoes as he saw a puddle of blood forming around you, and soon he felt himself being dragged out, your body being thrown next to him to the rainy street.

He had brought you to the Slat, vomiting a few times while at it, almost fainting on the street, but despite that he forced himself to keep going, and once he was at the Slat, he told his Crows to help you to be ready to be buried. After that, everything had been black.

So there they were, the six of Crows sitting around the Slat's main space, Nina still sobbing against Matthias' shoulder, Inej sitting on the windowsill, just staring blankly at the rain outside, Jesper's jokes gone for once and instead, deep in his thoughts as Wylan held his hand with tear-stained cheeks, and Kaz - Kaz just staring at the spot on the floor, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Only seeing his expression told everyone that he planned for a cruel, slow, torturous murder for Pekka Rollins for killing you.

You were on the table at the cold store room, as the ground was too frozen to dig right now. After a while of everyone just sitting there, Nina's sobs faded away, and she lifted her head from Matthias' shoulder.

"I hear a heartbeat," she choked out. "It sounds like... Y/N's heartbeat."

Everyone but Kaz turned to look at her. Kaz just took in a deep sigh. "Don't play games with me, Zenik."

"No, Kaz, wait..." Kaz heard Nina stand up and slowly making her way towards the cold store room, wiping her eyes and nose in the process. "What if they survived? Sometimes our body goes to shock after injury, and our heartbeats slow down so much that even heartrenders have difficulty hearing it. It's rare, I've never experienced anything like it, but..."

Her tone sounded hopeful now, and Kaz hated it. "Stop it, Zenik."

"Kaz-" Inej tried to intervene and he snapped to look at her, with eyes that made her shut up.

"They can't be alive, they can't be. They were shot, they lost a lot of blood and Nina didn't detect a heartbeat. They're dead." he growled, but Nina was already going to the cold store room.

"Oh Saints!" she exclaimed. "Matthias, come quick, we have to get Y/N to their bed, and they need lots of blankets!"

Kaz's eyes widened at her words - Y/N was alive?

They can't be, a voice inside him said. You're destined to be alone.

But after a couple of weeks, seeing you open your eyes for the first time after being shot, made all his remaining doubts melt away. You were alive, you were breathing. You wouldn't be yet another thing that would fuel Kaz's ruthless reputation - you were home.

"I'd always come home to you - by crawling if not else," you had croaked out when Kaz had told you that they all thought you're dead, and you would have been buried alive if ground hadn't been frozen over.

Pekka would still pay for what he did to you, but he wouldn't have to pay for your death. You were alive, you were breathing. And that was the greatest thing that mattered.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x reader #sab #sab imagine #sab x reader #my works #imagine #imagines #reader insert #gn reader #oneshot

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writing-in-april · 4 years ago

Text

April Fools

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer needs to one up Reader just as he’s about to loose a prank war

A/N: I’m kicking things off for my 30 fics in 30 days for April with this fic inspired by April Fools day- lol this is a much better version compared to what I have experienced in the past with this holiday 😂 @90spumkin there’s a few specific lines in here that are totally inspired by your cowboy Spencer fic lol 😂 I’d like to hear all y’all’s thoughts so far or just drop me any type of anon here- ask me anything -my requests are also open!! Hope y’all enjoy reading ☺️

Warnings: 18+, Dom Spencer (not as harsh as in other fics of mine), Fingering, Edging, Public Sex, Sex with a hidden motive (there are some real feelings there 😉 plus reader acknowledges and knows the hidden motives)

Main Masterlist Word count: 2.4K

When you walked into the bullpen it was dead silent. If you dropped a pin you’d be able to hear it, even with the carpeted floors. You crept as quietly as you could, afraid that someone might jump out to scare you. It was not as if you had gotten in late today, you were actually cutting it rather close this morning.

Your fear of being submitted to a jump scare so early in the morning wasn’t as irrational. Today was the day that everything was going to come to an either a glorious defeat or a momentous victory. A two week long bet was tipping heavily in your favor at the final hours, you had to be careful to not let your hold over Spencer weaken in these last moments.

Today was April 1st- a day like any other to most people, but not to you and not to Spencer. It had all started when you both had begun trying to do little pranks on each other in the months leading up to the bet. If you asked anyone on the team they’d say it started when you replaced his normal standard deck of playing cards with a new set that had awkward pictures of Spencer you had accumulated over the years taped on them to represent each of the numbers and faces. Your personal favorite was the photos you had chosen for the Queens- one of Spencer looking rather regal, eyes cast downwards and with his hands crossed and a big lip pout while sitting at his desk obviously disproving of whatever Derek had said (who was also in the picture)

The team would’ve definitely said it had started there, but that was the first one that they had seen. The first one had actually been when Spencer had switched around the contacts in your phone while you weren’t looking while you had been hanging out with him. To be fair it had been in retaliation to you playfully teasing him about being a technophobe, all’s fair in love and war you had to admit.

And, whether you admitted to him or not, you did love him. This little bet that you set a few weeks ago had only strengthened your feelings. It involved setting a prank for each other, alternating every other day for two weeks until April Fools day, then the team would judge and figure out who one. You can definitely thank Morgan for that brilliant idea as he had spontaneously suggested it after your card prank on Spencer, though you bet he had been thinking about it for a while. Over the course of two weeks you had to delve into the mind of Spencer, really getting to know what would get under his skin, what would be the perfect prank for him.

“I hope you know what you got yourself into Spencer.” He had smirked back at me when you said that right after confirming your bet. You had delved into researching stuff, trying to figure out pranks that would be more personalized to Spencer rather than the ones everyone would see passed around. Eventually you landed on an idea for your last prank that was simple, yet the perfect way to get under Spencer’s skin. It was so easy you kicked yourself a little for not figuring it out before.

Apparently replacing the sugar Spencer specifically brought in for himself with salt was a step too far according to him. The glare that he had fixed on you after he had spit out his coffee onto his cardigan made you shiver, you knew you were going to be in for something big today.

Plus today was the aforementioned holiday that inspired the bet in the first place, you kind of wished you had gotten the chance to have the last laugh. You were still crossing your fingers and toes in hopes that it wouldn’t compare to your coffee prank.

Your eyes locked on the lone figure standing in the maze of desks, Spencer. It felt as if you were both ready at high noon for a duel to see who drew their gun fastest. Though, comparatively there was a distinct lack of cowboy hats and the sun was down to low for a proper duel. That didn’t stop your mind from wandering to thinking about him in a cowboy hat, he’d definitely look good. you’d have to get him one some day or maybe put a snake in a cowboy boot if another prank war was to ever crop up.

“Where is everybody?” You asked, though you knew that Spencer had probably sent them off elsewhere, you had done the same thing earlier when you needed to convince him that he had come in on his day off.

“I may have bribed them a bit to be elsewhere right now.” He spoke with a smirk that would have seemed foreign to you until you guys had started this. Now it was a staple for him whenever you saw him, going right along with his cardigan and tie to complete his look. There was no complaint from you, Spencer acting slightly cocky just before you were about to get pranked on oddly made you get hot and bothered easier than you’d like to admit.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you crossed your arms in front of you, probably a vain attempt to protect yourself from whatever was coming. Your voice came out a little shaky, “What for?”

“Just wanted to talk to you- privately…” He skated around your question, not really giving you any definitive answer. Though, you hadn’t really expected him to lay out his whole plan, that would just be counterproductive. There was a slight pause in conversation, you were about to break it with your own response when he added,“You know I’ve always found you desirable, Y/N…”

The simple teasing conversation that you had been having with him suddenly pivoted. The air in the room felt like it had been sucked out, leaving you gasping. Even if some part of this led to a prank, you knew Spencer wouldn’t play with your feelings like that. What was most likely happening is that he was using this confession to also pull a fast one on you. His deep brown eyes piercing into your own told you that he was telling the truth in that regard, plus if earlier in the bet was any indication, he wasn’t that good of a liar.

“This wasn’t what I thought you’d be talking to me in private about but- I’ve always found you desirable too...” You admitted with a gulp, pressing your weight into the edge of your desk almost sitting on it.

Your full weight pushed to sit fully on top of your desk, undoubtedly crinkling some important papers underneath when he stepped forward to close the large gap between the two of you. The tension was thick around you now with only two sentences spoken, both full of truth.

“Do you want me as much as I want you?” His lips were now so close to yours his breath was projected onto your lips.

“Yes.” You confirmed, with no hesitation. Honestly, you wouldn’t care if there was some sort of prank he was going to play on you soon, you knew that what he had said didn’t just apply to now. That was the part that mattered to you.

His lips surged forward to meet yours, letting all the tension that had been rising boil over. It was everything you had imagined and more, his lips just as soft and pillowy as they had been in your dreams.

When he pulled your skirt up roughly to expose your bottom half to him you came up off of the edge of the desk slightly, then being pushed back down once you were partially exposed before him. You squeaked into his mouth in shock of how fast this was escalating, but didn’t protest any further, wanting to see where he was going with this. You were so glad that he had gotten the team to leave the bullpen for a while, this would be a hard situation to explain. Being out in the open didn’t make you more nervous though, it excited you to know that someone could be around the corner with only the desk dividers hiding your exposed bottom half.

He didn’t even bother to push your panties down to your knees or ankles. He just pulled them aside to gain access to your now positively dripping hole. You hadn’t even thought to question how this tied into his prank, like it inevitably did, yet. You just wanted more of him, in any way you could get him.

His eyes were fixated on your dripping entrance, seemingly mesmerized by finally being able to see it. The awe in his eyes certainly did make you feel adored by him, but your desire made you feel impatient, “Spencer, do something or I’ll take care of it myself.”

A growl was all you were going to get in response to your desperate snarky comment. He then brought his hand up to suck on two of his fingers, his pointer and his middle. But, instead of then putting them to good use to help you reach a peak he stalled some more by bringing them up to your own mouth.

“I want you to suck too.” A little whine was all you could give in response before letting his fingers inside your mouth. You sucked diligently, making sure to get them wet enough for you.

Once he was finally satisfied with your efforts he removed them, a slight popping noise escaping. Bringing his hand down slowly was just another attempt to tease some more, but you knew that he’d reach there eventually. No matter how hard it was to be patient, you did so, though with a bit of squirming.

Your hips bucked up immediately in response to his fingers coming into content with your clit, Spencer’s other hand came down to press your hips back down again. He spent his sweet time playing with patterns, circling your clit a few times slowly before switching to a faster figure 8 pattern, seemingly just to get you more desperate.

“Spencer- again if you don’t do more I’ll take care of it myself!” You snapped harder with more venom this time, patience wearing dangerously thin. You thought you heard a small whisper of the word brat underneath his breath, but you decided to table it when he finally did oblige you.

You had to bite down on your lip hard when he stopped circling your entrance to plunge two of his fingers inside of you. The pressure on your lip was most certainly almost enough to break the skin while he began thrusting his fingers inside you in a steady rhythm, crooking them perfectly to make you see stars. You had to bite your lip so hard to combat the raging moans that wanted to escape from you due to the pressure he was putting on your gspot.

He brought his thumb up to circle your clit again once he saw that you were getting close, helping push you closer towards the edge. Your lungs were heaving in gasping breaths mixed with desperate moans as he continued to add stimulation to your most sensitive spots, hitting them perfectly with each crook of his fingers and circling of your clit.

Just as your orgasm was about to wash over you, all of his movements stopped abruptly. The euphoric stimulation you had been feeling was ripped away from you, his thumb on your clit halted, the curling of his fingers ceased, and his mouth that had been pressing kisses and hidden hickies to my collarbone had concluded its actions.

“April fools.” He then removed his fingers from me and promptly sauntered off to his own desk with no other words for you. Your legs were still shaking, more now from being edged to the point that you fully had to sit down onto your desk to try and regain your composure. Your jaw also was hanging slack in shock in contrast to how hard you had been biting your lips earlier while his fingers had been inside you.

A little glance from Spencer was thrown your way that was probably to gage your reaction,

you spotted even in your disheveled and distraught state. You had to admit, it was not what you were expecting and he had got you good. Your plan paled in comparison by far considering you were just going to have the entire office call him Stanley all day- and of course steal the coffee grounds to see if you could provoke an even bigger reaction out of him.

A deep sigh came from you, an non verbal admission of your glorious defeat. He had well and truly got you, it wasn’t as if you could exactly defend yourself and your pranks to the team during judging. Not that you really wanted to defend them, there was no reason to, he had well and truly beaten you. You could accept when you had been beaten, you’d accept defeat with grace. Though you definitely still feared the idea Spencer would come up with as a consolation prize for his win.

Reaching down with your hands to a stack of files on your desk you absentmindedly straightened them, then sitting down in your desk chair. You wriggled around a bit, feeling the dampness in your parties, already regretting sitting down. With another sigh you nodded towards Spencer, an acknowledgement of his momentous victory before getting up again to go clean yourself up in the bathroom to clean up- and maybe splash some cold water on your face. Though by the smirk on his face, there was no way this wasn’t going to happen again. And, maybe with him actually letting you finish or not, the thrill was sometimes in the chase of one. You’d also have to think of your own way of retaliation in the future of course, just because you accepted defeat just now doesn’t mean there wasn't a longer war to be won. Plus perhaps you will admit your deeper feelings for him that you could now see lying beneath his eyes as well, feelings much deeper than desire.

Safe to say you just told the team that you lost fair and square, not divulging why no matter how much Penelope pried. It was without a doubt, a glorious defeat.

—

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics

Dom Spencer: @rainsong01 @evlfknb

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #criminal minds #mgg #mgg x reader

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thefanficmonster · 3 years ago

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Beyond Death

Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Death, Loss, Grief, Spoilers for RE8:Village, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst

Summary: After fighting triumph over Lady Dimitrescu in her dragon/monster form, Ethan thinks he’ll have to face one last threat before leaving the castle but said threat happens to be nothing but a hollow ghost carrying a broken heart.

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your wonderful and extremely heartbreaking request! So sorry that it’s taken me so long to write and post it but I still hope you’ll come across it and give it a read. If so I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

It’s over. It’s finally fucking over.

Ethan Winters lets out a heavy but shaky sigh of relief that practically deflates him as though he had been holding it in - was holding it in during the entire duel against Lady Dimitrescu who is now nothing my an ashy corpse on the floor, leaving behind only a crystal sculpture to her name - the nine foot tall vampire lady that reigned over the village with a reputation stronger than the village’s actual ruler - Mother Miranda.

And now her and her daughters remain a memory - quite an unpleasant one - for the villagers, leaving one less Lord for them to fear yet remaining a figure they cower in fear just by thinking about her.

Pushing past the cloud of confusion, relief and disbelief, a soft sound that appears to be footsteps approaching reaches Ethan’s brain, kicking his heartbeat up and forcing him back into a fight-or-flight mindset. Of course he’s gonna choose fight, of course this fool is gonna see this all till the end.

But what if it’s not a fight the person approaching wants?

What if all they want is to have made it there a few minutes earlier?

What if they are no threat now and they never have been? What if that’s why the Dimitrescus kept them safe in the hidden chambers and quarters of their castle, places not even Alcina’s dear Miranda knew nothing about.

Y/N L/N Dimitrescu, Alcina’s one true love.

They were a neighbor of Alcina’s prior to the experimentation process. The two got along nicely - well, more than nicely. Pleasantly enough for Alcina to develop feelings for them along the way. Feelings that the pain and suffering of the experiments never managed to wipe away, ones that still resided with Alica even years later and only flared up stronger when Y/N recognized her on one of their ventures into the outskirts, near the Dimitrescu Castle.

“Alcina?“ They had said, their wide and confused eyes meeting the vampire’s terrified ones.

The typically fearless Lady Dimitrescu found herself at a loss of words, her throat dry, her stomach aching and her chest tight at the sight of the one last connection she has to humanity - her feelings for Y/N. But she was left on the fence, suffocated by the suspense of how Y/N would continue onward with the interaction. How they’d react to her drastic change? How they’d address her?

“Y/N...“ Their name was barely a shaky whisper on the tall woman’s lips, trembling hands clenched in tight fists to prevent from letting her emotions show.

“I missed you.“

That was what hit Alcina the strongest. That one single sentence had her assuming her true form - a pile of shard of the past, present and the many possible futures ahead. A pile of shards glued together with a weak glue threatening to give at any moment, collapsing the tough, graceful and untouchable façade of Alcina Dimitrescu. That’s how the woman knew she still had something human in her. Or rather with her as long as she had Y/N.

And so she kept them like a precious pearl in the palm of her hand and they never once neglected showing their gratitude for all she did for them. They never once hesitated to show their love and appreciation in return to all they received from her. But, the most important gift Alcina was keen on giving was the presence of her true self around Y/N. She never bothered with an act around them. Never lied, never put on a show. She was more human than ever around them. She was fragile, vulnerable, honest and bare before them. And they never made her feel any less than the feverous Lord she was despite her human side.

“It only makes you stronger.“ Y/N would say, referring to Alcina’s human side, “As a human myself, I can confirm we humans aren’t that bad and incompetent. Not all of us, at least. I remember you aren’t, that’s for sure.“

“Who are you?!“ Gun pointed at the pale figure moving barefoot across the room to crouch down next to the ashy corpse of Alcina Dimtrescu, Ethan can feel his blood starting to boil again. It’s not real fear but it’s most definitely a feeling of hostility fueled by massive adrenaline that seems to have taken complete control of him and has him in a death grip, leading him to do and say crap he normally wouldn’t. This behavior of his would be enough to get even Chris Redfield to take a step back but this person doesn’t seem to even acknowledge his presence let alone be intimidated by him.

Focusing their complete attention on the mess of crystals before them, they gently run their fingertips over the creature’s wing but sadly even their light touch manages to crumble a small bit of ash from it, the dust falling to the floor along with Y/N’s heart.

“Hey, answer me! Who the hell are you?! What are you doing here? Are you...are you like them? One of them?“ His voice becomes more and more uncertain, decreasing from an angry shout to a shaky whisper.

“You killed her. You took her from me.“ Is the response he eventually gets, spoken by a monotone flat voice that doesn’t go with Y/N’s appearance at all. Their eyes remain fixated on the tiny spot on the wing they touched seconds ago as if their gaze will bring it back to live.

Bring her back to them.

That on its own is enough to get Ethan to keep his mouth shut, gaining a vague idea of what’s going on here and who this person might be. What the deceased means to them. In his eyes, she was nothing but a monster, but in theirs, it’s obvious she was a lot more.

And so, when he approaches them and and tries to communicate with them one last time, he says and does the only thing he sees as even moderately right in this situation: he sets the crystal remains of Alcins Dimitrescu by their side. “Have this, I believe she’d want you to. It’s all that’s left of her that you can keep.“ He knows their face is emotionless and still but something about that stillness is the exact reason why he doesn’t want to look at them while he says those words. He can’t find it in himself to apologize, not that an apology would help him much in this situation anyway, so all he can attempt is pointless. All that matters to them is gone - that’s the price of him gaining a stronger chance at getting his daughter back before it’s too late.

And just like that, without another word, the blonde man walks out of the castle, leaving the broken heart and soul that used to be a complete human being behind him. A complete human being in love with someone extraordinary. Their love for her knew no bounds, and not even death as they sit there by their lover’s remains, refusing to leave their side even when they are not both present in this world.

A lover’s true love and devotion is shown when tested - unfortunately, Y/N and Alcina’s love was faced with the ultimate test: death. And it hasn’t faltered, nor will it ever as it seems.

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cazimagines · 3 years ago

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Try not to forget me

Synopsis: Anon request: Can we have a reader who slept with Zemo when they were younger, they were basically each other’s first times. Reader was brought to the mission and when Sam mentions Zemo she only limits herself to saying that she knows him assuming she knows him from civil war. At some point, Zemo mentions it to Sam and since he can’t contain himself he has to ask reader to be sure. Maybe some smut, like ‘I don’t remember you being this good’

Word count: 8.5k

Author’s note: Welp it took me a while but it's finally here! I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am such a sucker for the trope of seeing someone you once dated years after not seeing them again. Like give me all of that. Also I changed a little bit of the request but not much.

Warnings: Gun shots, SMUT (for mature audiences), Fingering, Vaginal sex, Stripping

Masterlist

(Please check out my master list to see what I will be writing next and if requests are open or closed)

Cross-posted to ao3 under the same username

Fingers fumbled with the clasp, the feeling of lips trailing up your thigh, sweet whispers in the air,

‘My princess, my everything’

His kisses on your neck, the desperation in his voice

‘I need you, all of you’

His fingers dug into your hips, his body moving like waves on top of you.

You call out his name to the night, losing yourself in the passion that consumed you.

Your hand tangled in his hair, tugging roughly which elicited a moan from his lips.

His eyes sparkled as he reached his first climax with you, ‘You’ll always be mine’

You woke up still with the taste of his lips upon your mouth. You felt the ghost of him linger on top of you, clinging to that long-ago memory.

But all things fade with time and the cold reality pulled you from the once pleasant dream drenched in sorrow. Sighing you pulled yourself off the made-up bed on the floor, already grabbing a hair tie to pull the bird’s nest of your hair out of your face. You hop over to where your prosthetic leg laid and strapped it onto your thigh.

Grabbing your phone you notice a few miss call from an old friend, calls you must have slept through. Pressing the number you hold it up to your ear as you wander around the apartment preparing for your day.

On the third ring, he picked up.

“Sam?” you ask

“Y/n! I wasn’t sure if I would hear back from you, it’s been a while”

“Yeah, things have been keeping me busy. It’s not like how it was when we were in the army”

You could hear him chuckle down the line, “It’s strange, I would have thought my time in the army would have been the craziest part of my life, but it’s hard to beat all the stories I have of aliens”

“At least you have stories to tell, what do I have? I served for a few years as a new American citizen, almost died a few times till one day I got shot in the leg”

“I don’t know losing your leg is one hell of a story, but speaking of almost losing your life. You remember that time I was able to pull you away from a landmine and you told me, ‘oh Sam thank you so much, I owe you so much’” Sam says down the line in a squeaky voice

“Since when have I ever spoken like that Sam? And why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like where this is going”

“Well that’s because it is time for me to cash in that favour”

That’s how you found yourself arriving at an airport, searching around to find Sam. As you walked around the corner you could make out what seemed to be three figures in the distance. As you got nearer one of them noticed you, and started waving exaggeratingly making you chuckle.

You finally reach him as Sam pulls you into a firm hug. “It’s good to see you again y/n,” he says as you pull away.

“Yes, after all these years of avoiding me” you quip making him laugh

“You know I’d never avoid you! It’s you who has always found an excuse to get out of meeting up with old friends”

“Well I’m here now”

“Speaking of old friends, let me introduce to you this man, 106 years old, dermatologists hate him”

The man Sam referred to now stepped forward, holding out his hand, “Hi, I’m Bucky” he says, smiling slightly as you shake his hand.

“Y/n, you look good for your age”

“He moisturises” Sam buts in making Bucky send him a look, “It’s complicated” he mutters and you nod.

“I met Steve once, I understand,” you tell him, making his eyes light up at the mention of his old friend.

“Super soldier serum, the ability to be almost immortal, another reason as to why we have all gathered here to prevent it”

A shiver ran through your spine as you heard that long ago accent which you had removed from your voice. You focus on the man behind Sam, someone you should have noticed when you first appeared.

It had been over twenty years since you had last seen him yet you could still recognise the way his lips twitched up at the sides but dipped in the middle, the softness of his warm brown eyes, and the slight angular twist his eyebrows had. His hair was more well kept than when you had last seen him. Then he was still going through his rebellious phase, letting his hair grow unkempt but now he had a sense of refinement about him. He knew he was ageing like fine wine and now instead of trying to rebel from the prestigious life he had like when you knew him, he lavished in it, enjoying the money that was of so easy access to him and spent it on all the finer luxuries of life.

“Y/n, this is Zemo. You might remember seeing him on the news, he’s the one who framed Bucky”

You knew him more than that, more than any of them could ever know him. The dream from this morning swarmed your thoughts again, taunting you as if your brain knew what was to come.

Sokovia had been your home country, a place you had longed to forget, leave dead. Zemo, Helmut, was your childhood friend. You couldn’t remember the time when you first met as it felt like he had always been in your life. Everything you two did, you did together. Attending the same schools, going around to each other’s houses, exploring the wildness together. You two were closer than siblings. Your family had nowhere as near the same money as Zemo’s family had, yet that didn’t seem to matter, at least not when you were children. It was no surprise to people when eventually you two started dating. There had been bets on how long it would take for Zemo to gather the courage to ask you out. You and Zemo had been each other’s firsts, first partner, first kiss, first making love, which is where your dream had come from. It was cringy to say it but you felt like you loved him with every inch of your soul, and you knew Zemo was just as dedicated to you.

That’s why the break-up was so messy.

You were the one who called it. You had to. Zemo might have been blind to what it meant to be a Baron at that time but you weren’t. His parents allowed him to have his little indulges, allowed you two to be friends, to date. But at the end of the day, he would always be from the higher class and your family from the lower class. They would of never let you two marry so you had to call off the relationship before you got too deep, to save yourself some pain. You’d hoped that you two could still be friends, though it would have hurt, you still wanted to be around him but that was never meant to be.

At first, he didn’t believe you, he laughed it off as a good joke till he realised you were being serious. Then was the confusion, he wouldn’t let you leave. He needed to know what he did wrong, what could have happened for you to want to break up with him. Then was the obsession. He wouldn’t leave you alone, turning up to your house every day to beg for another chance, following you around trying to pick the relationship back up, threatening any guy that went near you. Then the heartbreak when he finally accepted it was over. He didn’t leave his house for months, you heard rumours he drank himself to sleep most nights, till one time at the dead of the night you found him pounding on your door, shouting to let him in. He was pissed and crying, imploring at you to give him a second chance, begging for you to tell him what he could do to get back with you. He would do anything, give you all his money, abandon his family and run away with you. You helped him back home and told him to leave you alone. And to give it to him he did because then came the anger. You would see him outside and he would pretend he didn’t even know who you were. You’d walk past and accidentally hit shoulders and he shouted at you to watch where you were going. Soon he would be seen with lots of different women, taking them to all the places he took you, dancing at parties. Whenever you looked over to them they were making out and it pained you deeply for what you had to give up. Eventually, you ran away. You couldn’t keep torturing yourself seeing Zemo move on with someone else while you were still suffering on the inside, not just for losing the boy you love but the person who had been your best friend for as long as you could remember.

You left Sokovia to live in America, completely ridding yourself of your whole past identity. There you decided to enlist in the Army which is where you had met Sam, served with him for a few years till you were forced to retire early due to losing your leg. You checked up on Zemo every once in a while, it wasn’t too hard with the Sokovian news constantly obsessing over him. He married the woman he moved onto, the one you always saw making out with him. You suppose he truly must have loved her because it was your birthday when his son was born. While he celebrated the happiest day of his life you spent the day at the bottom of a bottle drinking away the loneliness. You still remember the moment you found out what had happened to Sokovia. You hadn’t been back there in years but it was still your home, where you had all of your fond memories, now all gone.

You didn’t see anything in the news about Zemo after that, he and his family completely vanished so you had to assume the worst. Till you finally saw him on the news. It was hardly like the boy you once knew. The Zemo you knew was kind, empathetic, caring, beautiful in every way he could be yet the man you saw there was a murderer, cold-hearted, reckless. What had happened to the boy you once knew?

You could make guesses, his family was nowhere in sight and you could only imagine how losing the woman you love and your child could hurt you. You hated imagining all the pain Zemo has gone through.

“Yes, I remember seeing him on the news,” you tell Sam. Both you and Zemo stared at each other, your eyes unwavering.

He knew who you were. He knew from the moment you turned around that corner. As he watched you warmly greet Sam and shake hands with Bucky. He watched the person he never thought he would see again stand right in front of him, not even noticing him.

But now you stood there, staring him down. Both of you almost speaking through your eyes. Would the other one bring up the past? Try to acknowledge all that has happened between you or is that dead, left forgotten. Will you two pretend to have never met before, letting years of memories fade.

Zemo was first to speak.

“I see my reputation isn’t too favourable”

“That’s what you get for blowing up the UN,” you say scowling at him as you cross your arms

Zemo opens his mouth to say something but Sam gets here first, “Y/n served in the Army with me so you better be careful with what you say Zemo”

Zemo’s eyes then flicker back to you tilting his head, like he always used to do, in interest.

“Why is he even here?” you ask, finally pulling your eyes away from him to Sam and Bucky

Sam turns to Bucky with a plastered on a fake smile, “Why don’t you explain Bucky”

Bucky sighs as he glances over to you, “As Sam mentioned to you on the call we are trying to track down this group of super-soldiers called the Flag Smashers. We need Zemo here to help us track down where they got the serum and help us so no one else becomes a super-soldier”

“And you trust him?” you scoff, glaring back to Zemo who just smirked at you

“We have no other choice” Bucky mutters, scowling over at Zemo

“I can assure you, I won’t do anything to betray your trust. For once all of our goals are aligned that it would do us no good to go against each other.”

“I’ll hold judgment till later,” you reply bitterly.

Swifty Zemo swings on the heels of his feet, turning around to start walking away, obviously expecting all of you to follow him. Sighing in annoyance you trail after him.

As you had predicted both you and Zemo were pretending to not know each other, perhaps for the sake of the mission or perhaps for the sake of your well beings. You’re not sure if you could cope even acknowledging the past you two had. He’d been the person you had been closest to, someone you shared all your secrets, all your thoughts and feelings with. Someone who you would have taken a bullet for in the blink of an eye and to suddenly lose all of that, it wrecked you. You had finally managed to build yourself up again, to try and move on and then he comes straight back into your life. It’s as if there is some strange omnipotent god up there and it loved to torment every waking moment of your life.

“So all this time you’ve been rich?” Sam asks and you all catch up with Zemo and see him walking towards what you assumed was his private aeroplane.

“I’m a Baron, Sam, my family was royalty till your friends blew up my country”

There was a slight change of tone for when he said ‘my’ not enough for Sam and Bucky to pay attention to it but enough for you to feel the slight twist in your heart as you thought back to the country that used to be yours, long ago.

As you got closer you observed a man standing by the plane, ready to welcome Zemo aboard and you felt your heart stop for a moment. Oeznik. The man had aged since you last saw him, he had fallen to the tolling of time but he still had those warm, caring eyes.

Memories swept over you of your childhood as you observed him. He has always been Zemo’s assistant, hired by Zemo’s parents when they were much younger. You could remember times when you and Zemo would be running down the corridors, not where you were supposed to be and Oeznik would find you two, not telling you off but smiling at you two, saying how Zemo’s parents were looking for him. He would sneak you two Turkish delights even if it was only an hour before dinner. Anywhere you two wanted to go he would drive you there. Whenever you slept over he would prepare your favourite meals, making sure everything was just how you liked in the room you would stay in. He was almost like another father figure to you and Zemo.

And now there he was, greeting Zemo. Zemo kissed him on the cheeks fondly before heading inside. Sam and Bucky both follow up but you take a moment to turn to look at him.

“Oeznik” you whisper

He smiles warmly down at you, placing his hand on the side of your arm. “It’s good to see you again madam”

You nod your head, unable to say anymore without letting your emotions get the better of you so you choose to head inside.

You could feel his eyes on you as you enter. You glance up to him and you know he knows why you took a little longer to get onto the plane. It was that knowing look in his eye, the slight twinkle of amusement but also sadness.

You frown realising you’d have to take a seat opposite Zemo, Sam and Bucky already choosing to sit on the other side, showing their dislike for him. You freeze for just a moment making Zemo gesture to the seat in front of him, smirking as he tilts his head. You huff, not bothering to hide your displeasure, taking the seat in front of him but refusing to even look at him.

A few minutes later Zemo chuckles as Oeznik brings out two drinks, a glass of champagne which he offers to Zemo, and a glass of rum which he offers to you. You’re favourite drink. After all this time he still remembered.

You kindly thanked Oeznik, taking the glass as you avoid the confused eyes of Sam who was wondering why you got a drink and he didn’t and the eyes of Zemo, which held an emotion you couldn’t quite recognise.

“The food is out but I will see if there is some good food in a gallery,” he tells Zemo and starts to turn away but then Zemo speaks.

“If it doesn’t pass the food test, give it to them,” he says, speaking in sokovian and gesturing to Sam and Bucky.

You weren’t prepared for the surge of pain in your heart as you heard Zemo use the language of your people. Though it had been over twenty years since you last heard it, you could still remember it perfectly.

Oeznik laughs, “It’s good to have you back sir,” he says, then nods to you before leaving again. Zemo smiles at Sam and Bucky, enjoying the notion of how they didn’t know what he said, before his eyes swiftly turn back to you, knowing you know exactly what he said.

He takes a swing of his drink before speaking again, “It’s kind of him to remember your go-to drink” he says in Sokovian.

And there it was. The first acknowledgement of the past between you two. Your eyes burn into his head as you realise just what he was doing. It was a test. He spoke in Sokovian for just you to understand, seeing if you were to take the bait and talk back in Sokovian. He wanted to see if you were willing to acknowledge the past between you two as well.

But Sam and Bucky had no idea where you were from. As far as they knew from your accent you were American and you planned to keep that secret. You weren’t going to play in Zemo’s little game, you refused to take your turn. Instead, ignoring what he had said to stare at the ground.

He waits for a few moments before accepting you weren’t going to reply. Sighing he turns to Sam and Bucky.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be locked in a cell” he starts “Oh, that’s right, you do” he then carries on, taunting them. If he can’t mess with you then he’ll mess with them.

“Why don’t you tell us about where you are going” Sam replies, ignoring Zemo’s attempt at taunting.

Zemo then instead turns to the book in his hand, thumbing through it. “Sorry, I was just fascinated by this. I don’t know what to call it but this part seems to be important. Who is Nakajima?” he asks turning to Bucky

Instantly Bucky was out of his seat, his hand around Zemo’s throat pulling him back as he leans in towards his face.

“If you touch that again, I’ll kill you” he whispers

Zemo nods as Bucky lets him go, letting out a slight breath he had been holding in. Bucky glares as Zemo has he takes his seat again.

“I’m sorry. I understand that list of names. People you’ve wronged as the Winter Soldier.”

“But you’re not sorry” you abruptly say, making all eyes turn to you. “Ever since we’ve sat down you’ve been taunting us, trying to stir up trouble. Soon your annoyance will outweigh any use you have for us”

“I’m sorry if I have caused you any offence, Princess, it is never my intention to upset any of you”

But it was. It fucking was. Because he knew just how much pain that nickname brought to your heart. Princess. That’s what he had always referred to you as when you dated. In his eyes, you were a princess, his princess. You clench your jaw, trying to stop the tears that swelled in your eyes. Something Zemo picked up on and himself felt pained seeing your reaction.

“Don’t call her Princess. Her name is y/n” Sam says, glaring at Zemo.

“My apologies, it was my fault to refer to your girl like that”

Instantly both yours and Sam’s eyes widen at his words.

“We’re not, that’s not-” Sam starts to say, fumbling with his words

“We’re just friends” you but in, glaring at Zemo for you knew why he said that.

“Y-yeah” Sam replies, looking between you and Zemo as you stare at each other. Zemo tilts his head slightly, the edge of his lips twitching up.

“I see”

“Now perhaps you could stop taunting us, Zemo, and answer Sam’s original question about where the hell we are going”

If you had blinked you would have missed it but just for a split second, as his last name fell from your lips, you could see him flinch. These days everyone referred to him by his last name, never his first name. And although in the past you had always called him by his first name, you, like them, were using his last name. That hurt more than he thought it would.

“I’m afraid I can’t say just yet, but all will be relieved in due time’

You just groan, rolling your eyes and then choosing to stare out the window trying to forget all about the man that sat in front of you.

Hoping to alleviate the conversation Sam nods to the book Bucky took back from Zemo.

“I’ve seen that book, it’s Steve’s book for when he came out of the ice. I told him about trouble man. He wrote it in that book. Did you hear it? What did you think?”

“I like 40’s music so…” Bucky grumpily replies

“You didn’t like it!?” Sam exclaims leaning forward

“I liked it”

“It’s a masterpiece James. Complete. Comprehensive. It captures the African American experience” Zemo buts in, speaking with his hands as he looks over to Bucky

Sams’s eyes face moves from looking at Bucky, to looking at Zemo then back to Bucky.

“He’s out of line, but he’s right. It’s great. Everybody likes Marvin Gaye”

Inside your head, you scoff at Zemo as he talked as if he was sophisticated with music, ‘like you didn’t listen to Nirvana all the time’ you thought. From that point you ignored what they were saying, sipping your drink as you stare out the window. Today had taken a complete turn from what you ever could have imagined it would have turned out to be. And little did you know it was about to get a whole lot messier.

“No fucking way. You can’t make me do that”

“You have to if you want to blend in for the mission” Zemo explains

“She can blend in, in many other ways, she doesn’t have to pretend to be your partner,” Sam says arguing for you

“They will be suspicious of her though and it could risk the whole mission but if she was my partner they wouldn’t be suspicious”

“He’s right y/n” Bucky adds, “I don’t want to be doing this either but if we want to find out where the super-soldier serum has come from we need to”

Zemo nods to Bucky in thanks and then looks to you, the corner of his lip twitching up in amusement that Bucky was backing him up and seeing your anger.

He was deliberately trying to antagonise you. Making you pretend to be his partner for the mission, was his way to get back at you for the pain you caused him when you broke things off. You didn’t think you could cope with having to pretend to be his partner for it, it would just bring up all the pain of what had been lost between you two, what you had to let go of. But they were right. You had to do it for the sake of the mission. If Bucky could pretend to the winter soldier again for the mission the least you could do was this.

“Are you seriously taking his side Bucky, if she doesn’t want to be that then-” Sam starts to argue but you cut him off.

“It’s okay Sam, Bucky’s right I need to do it”

Sam opens his mouth in surprise and then moves over to stand in front of you, placing his hand on your shoulder. “No you don’t y/n, don’t listen to them”

You place your hand over Sam’s hand on your shoulder, rubbing it slightly. “I’ll be okay with it Sam. It’s not like I’d be dating him”

Your eyes flicker to Zemo who had been glaring at Sam now turned his eyes to you, his lips almost twitching into a frown but he stops them.

“I won’t wear that dress though,” you say, your eyes looking down to the short dress Zemo held in his arms.

He opens his mouth to argue against that as well but you stop him, “No Zemo, I won’t be wearing that, that is final”

He bites back his words, smacking his lips together as he nods, “If that is what you wish”

You weren’t ashamed of your prosthetic leg. It was a reminder to you for all you had given to people. But you weren’t about to walk around Madripoor with it being showed off to everyone. And a part of you wasn’t ready for Zemo to see you with it, though you don’t know why.

You hadn’t been to Madripoor before but it didn’t surprise you that Zemo knew the place well. It looked like the shady place you would find him in. As soon as you stepped out of the car Zemo’s arm wrapped around your waist. It fitted like nothing had changed in the time between. Your face instantly turned to him to tell him to let go but he held his finger up to your lips to stop you, “For appearance y/n, you are after all, for this evening, my partner”

Begrudgingly you accept it and don’t try to move his arm away as you walk together. Sam walks up beside you and as you turn to look at him he rolls his eyes. You chuckle at Sam then felt Zemo’s grip on your waist tighten.

As you walk into the bar Zemo takes a seat on the stool. You glance around but all the other seats had been taken. Smirking Zemo pats his lap, “Hop on princess”

You grasp onto his shoulder, pinching it harshly to cause him some pain as you position yourself on his lap, but he just chuckles at your reaction, his hand instantly going to rest on your tigh which was thankfully covered by your trousers.

“Don’t call me princess” you whisper angrily to him

He leans forward, his lips by your ear as you feel his breath, “We have to make it realistic princess, plus I think that would be the sought of a nickname I would give you if we were dating”

He presses a lip to your cheek as he pulls back from you, chuckling as he sees how your cheeks heat up and the glare you grace him with.

“Hello gentlemen and lady,” the barman says finally coming over to you, “I wasn’t expecting the smiling tiger”

“His plans changed, we have a business to do, with Selby,” Zemo says, trying to take over all conversation so no one gave themselves away.

“And she does as well?” he asks, nodding to you

“Anywhere I go she goes with me” Zemo replies, chuckling as he looks at you with a smile on his lips

“Isn’t that right princess?”

You try your best to push back the anger you felt, instead, forcing a smile as you look back at Zemo, “Of course my love” you tell him then leans forward to place a quick peck on his lips.

As your lips lightly brush against his you could hear the slight hitch in his breath and as you lean your head on his chest you wonder if he could feel how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

It’s just for appearances, that’s all you tell yourself but even though it was brief you could still feel the warmth of his lips on yours, that comforting feeling that you hadn’t felt in so long and it was as if all the buried emotions you had come flooding back. Here you were sitting on his lap, kissing him as if nothing had changed and for a moment you wondered if that could be the case. Could you two go back to what time was like before?

But you couldn’t. Not only was it down to the fact that Zemo was a wanted criminal, but he had moved on from you. He fell in love with another, he married her. Any feelings he had for you were long gone and this was just him messing with you, and you didn’t want to let him know the feelings you still had for him after all this time.

The barman seems to accept your display though, choosing to focus on Sam instead as he makes him his ‘usual’ drink.

Zemo orders you and him a drink which you thankfully take from his hand, hoping to drown your feelings away with the alcohol.

A man comes up behind you and instantly Zemo lifted you off your lap, pushing you behind him as he stands up to face the man.

“Got word from on high, you’re not welcomed here,” he tells Zemo,

“Hm” Zemo replies, nodding as he takes the man’s words, “I have no business with the power broker, but if he insists he can either come talk to me...” he finishes, nodding over to Bucky

“Or bring Selby for a chat”

The man leaves as Bucky looks over to Zemo. As Zemo turns around once again his arm wraps around your waist.

“A power broker, really?”

“Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just pray we stay under his radar”

“Do you know him?” you ask and Zemo looks down at you amused by your question, “Only by reputation”

“In Madripoor he is judge, jury and executioner”

Zemo’s eyes focus now on another man coming towards him. Turning back around to the bar he speaks to Bucky in Russian just as the man places his hand on Zemo’s shoulder. You all turn around to watch as Bucky grabs the man and starts to attack him. You’d seen violence before but it still made you wince knowing how Bucky didn’t want to do this.

After one particular nasty hit without thinking your hand grasps onto his hand, needing something to hold on to. As soon as you realised what you had done you swiftly try to pull your hand back but Zemo holds onto it tight, refusing to let it go. You could feel his gaze turn to you but you choose to ignore his cocky face and instead focus on Bucky.

You stand out of the way as Bucky slams the man onto the table and Zemo leans forward to let Bucky know not to take it too far. That was your ticket though as then you were being shown the way to see Selby.

The meeting itself wasn’t too bad. Zemo held onto your hand as he pulled you over to sit with him. He talked to Selby while you just sat on his lap. Selby didn’t pay any attention to you, which you were thankful for. Things were going smoothly until Sam’s phone ringed.

That’s how you found yourself running along with Bucky, Sam and Zemo avoiding gunfire. As you ran you heard one gunfire and felt your prosthetic leg move slightly as the bullet went straight through it.

Zemo must have seen what happened as well, but not knowing you had a prosthetic leg, he wrapped his arms suddenly around your legs, picking you up bridal style. He ran off to the side, leaving Bucky and Sam behind as he hid you down an alleyway.

“Zemo let go of me!” you hissed, hitting him in the chest as he stopped running. He instead places you on the ground, growling at you not to move as he starts to check all his pockets in his coats. Instead, you do move, getting up off the floor and he looks at you angrily. “I said don’t move! You’ll injure yourself more”

You lean down and jank up slightly the trouser leg, showing the fake metallic leg underneath.

“I’m fine Zemo! It’s fake. Now we need to go and find Sam and Bucky”

But Zemo was frozen, staring down at your leg in shock. Because at that moment was the realisation for him. All this time he had been teasing you, testing the waters of how far he could push you to admit to the past. Messing around with you as if you were two lovesick teenagers again. But you had both changed, and he was refusing to realise that until now. Because he didn’t want to acknowledge the fact you were no longer the woman he once knew. The one person he knew better than himself and he had still half-believed that was the case until now. You had a fake leg, lost in what he assumed was the army which you and Sam had been in. He didn’t know because the truth was you were almost a stranger to him now, and he hated that. He just wanted things to be the way they once were. That’s what he desperately craved but it couldn’t be.

“Okay,” he simply says and nods, finally pulling his gaze away from your leg and up to you. Following your lead, he chases after you to find out where Sam and Bucky had gone.

Sam paced around the main room of Sharon’s house. His mind was occupied with so many thoughts it was hard to concentrate but there was one that stuck out like a splinter in a thumb. What the hell was going on between you and Zemo? He wasn’t stupid he could pick up on something, the looks two you gave each other, the tension in the air, the way you reacted when you first saw him. Sam considered himself your best friend, though you two hadn’t seen each other in ages. So it bugged him how this was obviously something big to you, and he didn’t know what it was.

Zemo sat at the table by the side, quietly drinking some whiskey. Both you and Bucky had decided to retire for the night while Sam decided to stay up just so he could find out the truth.

“You look like you are trying to burn a hole through my head by the way you are staring at me Sam” Zemo says, finally looking up from his glass to Sam who was glaring at him.

“Is something the matter?” he asks

“You and y/n. What’s up with that”

Zemo chuckles, looking back down into his glass, “Ah that”

“I’m her best friend, I know everything about her, apart from this apparently”

Zemo’s eyes snapped back to Sam but this time there was no amusement in them, instead a angry glaze as he frowned, “Best friend?” he repeats, standing up and walking over to Sam. “You hardly know her at all”

Sam scoffs as he raises an eyebrow at Zemo attempting to get into his face. “And you do?”

“Yes” Zemo instantly replies, “I know she was born in Novia Grand, Sokovia. Just like me. I know which schools she attended, the same as mine, I know what her favourite meals are, we had them whenever she came round to my house. I know her favourite band, I took her to their first concert. I know everything little thing about her Sam, and you know nothing”

Sam’s eyes widen at Zemo’s confession, realisation dawning on him. “You were childhood friends”

“More than friends Sam, we were lovers. We were the first people we dated, we were each other first kiss, we were each other first time” Zemo claims as if bragging to Sam

“Yet you didn’t know she was in the Army, you didn’t know she had a prosthetic leg did you?” Sam asks and when he sees the slight fall in Zemo’s face he smiles, “You used to know her Zemo, but obviously, you don’t know the person I know now”

With a pair of tweezers lent to you from Sharon, you pull your trouser leg up and search around in your prosthetic leg attempting to find the bullet lodged inside and pull it out. You could see the bullet but you couldn’t quite get the right angle to pull it out making you groan in annoyance.

You were about to throw the tweezers across the room in anger when you heard a knock against the door. You were currently sitting in one of Sharon’s guest rooms as lot were staying at Sharon’s place for the night to rest up then go and find the scientist tomorrow morning.

“Y/n?” you hear his voice call out from the other side

You sigh rolling your eyes, “What do you want” you snap

“May I come in? We need to talk”

“I don’t want to talk”

You hear the click of the door and Zemo pushes it open to stare at you in a slight annoyance. His eyes then move down to the tweezers in your hand and your leg. He takes a few steps towards you, his hand out as he closes the door.

“Let me”

You hesitate for a moment but finally, give in and hand him the tweezers. He pulls out a seat beside you and gently puts the tweezers through the hole in your leg.

“How did it happen?” he asks as he concentrates on your leg while at the same time trying to create polite conversation.

“Like most injuries out there. One of the soldiers was on the floor, shot a round of bullets into my leg. The doctor there couldn’t save my leg so I had to get it amputated”

He nods, finally grasping the bullet with the tweezers and started to pull it out. “Serving in the army, it’s admirable. Something very like you. I was in the Sokovian armed forces. EKO scorpion”

You nod as you watch him pull the bullet out and place it to the side. “I remember reading about it in the news”

His eyes, flickering to you, glimmer with amusement. “So you kept track of me?”

Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as he caught you out. You glance away from his intense stare instead to the table. “Did you really expect that I didn’t? You once were my best friend Zemo. It’s hard to let that go. I saw you got married, had a child. I’m sorry about what happened to them”

It was Zemo’s turn to look away now, feeling the pain in his heart ignite as he thinks back to his previous family. “My son, he was born on your birthday”

“I’m surprised you remember my birthday”

He smiles slightly, finally turning his eyes back to yours, “Of course I do. Every year I’d drink a toast to you. You said that I was your best friend and hard to let go of that. Well, it’s the same both ways y/n. I couldn’t just forget about your existence.”

“I had to leave” you whisper

“I know. I know why you left, and I know why you broke up with me in the first place”

Your eyes flash to his in surprise and widen seeing how they were swarmed with tears. “Because of my family, they never would of let us marry because of your status. Y/n I would have left all of that behind for you, without a second thought”

Shaking your head you reply, “I couldn’t have asked that of you Zemo”

“And that’s one of the reasons why you are so perfect. You always put me before you, now this time I am asking you to finally let yourself choose. If you want me to leave say and I will leave. But if you don’t say I will stay with you, and I won’t let you leave again”

“We’re not who we once were, Helmut” you mutter, finally letting yourself use his first name and with that, he already knew your choice. His hand goes up to cradle the side of your face gently, moving it nearer to him.

“Then let’s discover each other, all over again”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he pushed his lips on you, fitting perfectly against yours as if they were made for you. He poised there, hoping he wasn’t being too forward but his lips smirked as you started to move your lips on him, crashing them on top of his for action, which he kindly gave.

His tongue poked your bottom lip, begging for entrance. One which you allow as you wrap your fingers behind his neck, getting tangled in his hair.

You could hardly believe this is where you were, once again with Zemo, his lips upon yours, desire between your legs. In the last twenty years, you had often dreamt of reuniting with Zemo, experiencing this moment again but you never thought it would happen. But here you were.

His hands travelled down your back, swooping under your butt as you wrapped your leg around his waist. Swiftly he lifts you off the chair and walks you over to the bed, placing you down on it and crawling on top of you.

His lips trail down your cheek, across your jawline and down onto your neck, sucking on that delicate pulse spot. A moan escapes from your lips and he pulls back chuckling. “For so long now I’ve longed to hear you moan for me Princess”

You just groan, your hand pushing his face back into your neck making him laugh but he quickly goes back to making a hickey on it. His fingers trail down to your shirt, slowly lifting it and once again he pulls away to be able to lift the shirt off you.

He holds back for a moment to admire your beauty. His hands move behind your back and swiftly undoes the clasps on your bra, tugging it off. He groans seeing you for all your glory and buries his head in your boobs. ‘Oh how I have missed these’

While his mouth latches onto your breasts, smothering them in kisses as his hands go to undo the buttons on your trousers. He starts to tug them down, with no sense of being gentle but rather a primal urge taking over him. He manages to tug them off you and then his lips move down even further. He trails his tongue from your breasts down your belly, leaving a trail of saliva. As he reaches your underwear, his teeth latch onto it. With a slight groan from his lips, he then pulls them off, sliding them down your legs and flicking them off to the floor along with your other discarded clothes.

He sighs in contentment as he buries his face into the side of your thigh as his fingers trail your prosthetic leg. Leaning forward he places a kiss on it, then trails upwards, littering it in soft kisses. The only softness you’ll be experiencing tonight.

As you feel him get nearer your core you let out a shudder in anticipation, as you shudder you feel his lips suddenly press against your core. He instantly latches into your clit, his tongue dancing on it, twisting it in circular motions. Your hands instantly grasp his hair, holding him close to your core, not letting him go. Not that he ever want to. Sandwiched between your legs is where he belonged.

“If I remember correctly, you always liked this part”

You let out a shocked gasp as suddenly a finger presses against your entrance and then slips inside of you, with ease from how wet you have become. He slides the finger all the way into the end, letting a moan rip out of your throat.

“It seems I do remember correctly”

“Instead of commentating everything why don’t you put that mouth to good use” you groan, pushing his face back into your crotch. His tongue instantly went back to your clit as he started to thrust his finger in and out of you, making sure it brushes against your walls. As you start to let more little moans he thrusts another finger inside, opening slightly to stretch you out.

You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening as he worked his tongue on your clit and his fingers in and out of you at a rapid pace. Then his fingers hit just at that right spot and your walls fluttered around him. You hardly got enough time to choke out a warning before you were gushing all over his fingers. When your climax started to edge away he pulled his face back from your clit, removing his fingers and while holding your eye contact he stuck his tongue out, lapping up your juices on his fingers.

He moans slightly as he licks it up, his eyes fluttering half close, ‘Mine Gott, I forgot just how good you tasted’

“Well let’s see if you are as good with that dick as you were in the past” you tease, pulling his face towards your to encompass in another kiss. As your hands hold his face to yours his fingers feel up the side of your waist, ghosting over your skin creating goosebumps.

You could sense when his fingers started to trail to his trousers though and you pull away from his lips making him whine.

“Strip for me”

He tilts his head smirking as he looks up into your playful eyes. “As you wish my princess,” he says as he climbs off you, standing at the end of the bed. Slowly he tugs off his large coat off, laying it on the side of the bed. Next, he works on his turtleneck, slowly tugging it up to his chest, then over his head. Soon it joins the steady growing pile of discarded clothes. Next, he quickly tugged down his trousers and boxers, his patience starting to wear thin.

As he pulled them down exposing his dick you hummed in approval. “Now isn’t that a sight for sore eyes”

“And you were complaining at me for talking” Zemo murmurs, stepping forward to crawl back onto you but your hold your hand up to stop him. “Put the coat back on”

“I see in our time apart you’ve become more demanding,” he says as he picks up the coat and slides it back onto his naked body. As he finally gets to crawl back on top of you, you grasp the fur collar and pull him closer to your face.

You run your fingers through his hair, making it even messier than it was before. Parts of it fell onto his forehead. His hands move down to hold his dick by your entrance, rubbing it against your folds. For a moment he hesitates, moving his head to rest against your forehead in anticipation.

“You’re still as beautiful as when I last saw you”

With that, he pushes into you, rather quickly because of how desperate he was to feel you around him. As he bottoms out he groans, pushing his face into the crook of the neck as you grasp the back of his head gasping. He stays still for a minute, treasuring the feeling of your walls clasping onto him. Then slowly he pulls mostly out of you, till just his head hung in your, and then thrust back into you.

He started to pick up speed, hearing the increase of your moans against his ear. His grunts and moans start to intertwine with yours as you both chase your pleasure.

“Gott, you are so perfect my princess. You feel so good around me” he’d groan into your ear as his hips thrust repeatedly into your, the sounds echoing on the walls of the room. His fingers sneak down your belly to your core, rubbing against your clit. Instantly your back was arched and your fingers grasped onto the coat.

“God Helmut, I don’t remember you being this good” you moan and with your words he speeds up, pumping inside of you. His head kept brushing up inside that perfect spot inside and with his fingers twisting on your clit you could feel your climax steadily approaching.

“H-Helmut, I’m going to, soon I’m-” you tried to get out between moans but there was no need to as Zemo could feel how close you were for the way your walls clung around him tightly.

“Come for me Princess, let me feel you. I need to feel you again my love, after so long”

And his words were music to your ears as you feel the knot within you snap and your wetness gushing over his dick. Zemo bites down on your neck, trying to be gentle, as he feels your walls grasp you even tiger as he thrusts into you. Not long after he felt his own release coming and as you lay there panting he thrusts in time to his release until he squeezed out every last drop.

He hovers over you for a moment, panting, wanting to remain in your warmth for just a moment longer but eventually he pulls out and collapse beside you.

He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, burying his face in your hair.

“Thank you Helmut” you whisper

“No my princess, thank you for forgiving me for everything I’ve ever done to you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I don’t deserve your love but I desperately need it. I won’t lose you again my darling”

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