#to go work a job where I don’t get a shred of respect from anyone outside my office

[becca-e-barnes]

Take Care of Everything

This is my first ever fic for a writing challenge omg I’m so excited! Huge congratulations to @balenciagabucky for hitting 3K followers!! That’s such a huge milestone and thank you for organising such a fun challenge! So excited to read the rest of the submissions 💗 @dulceslibrary

Pairing: Personal Assistant! Bucky Barnes x Lawyer! Reader

Word Count: 3.5k maybe?

Summary: There’s only one thing in your life that your PA doesn’t take care of

Warnings: Smut, praise kink, pet names, protected sex (go me for writing something safe sex for a change), court mention, lil fluff, mile high club

Minors, do not interact.

“Un-fucking-believable.” You couldn’t stop the roaring boil of the blood in your veins, storming out of the court room with your long black gown billowing behind you. Being one of the top barristers in the country brought it’s fair share of high profile cases but this one had got on every last nerve in your body and you were out of patience.

The case itself wasn’t the problem. The issues were straightforward enough and applying law to fact, at the most basic level, your client had done nothing wrong. It should have been essentially cut and dry. The problem was the opposing council and the lack of intervention from the judge.

The prosecution had torn your witness to shreds. You had tried to warn the poor woman beforehand, as you did with every client, but on the stand, she had just crumbled under such an intense and downright ignorant line of questioning.

It shouldn’t have even been allowed in the first place. The judge should have stepped in and clipped the opposing council’s wings but the damage was already done and now you would have to pick the pieces up when court resumed on Monday.

“How did it go?” Your personal assistant must have been leaning outside the courtroom door for who knows how long, his suit somehow as neat and pristine as always, despite the fact it was the end of the day.

“Fucking dreadful, Terry was an asshole to Andrea and she lost it. Should’ve known he’d pull shit like that, he’s always a cunt on Friday evenings.” You practically spat the words out, heels clicking on the floor as you made your way down the marble hall to collect your things and begin to put an end to this miserable week.

Part of you almost wanted to laugh at how Bucky had developed the skill of being able to keep up with your pace without even having to look up from his blackberry. That only came from years of practice.

“Terry loves playing with fire. Fuck him. If anyone can put him in his place on Monday, it’s you.” Bucky still hadn’t taken a second to pull his nose up from his phone, his steps landing in perfect time with yours until you reached the chamber at the end of the hall, throwing the heavy wooden door open in front of you. Bucky filtered in behind you of course, closing the door behind him before slipping his phone neatly into his pocket.

“Thought your doctor warned you about your blood pressure? You gotta calm down.” Bucky’s face showed he was genuinely concerned, his eyebrows knitted together in disdain but there was nothing new there. He had worked for you for years now and truth be told, he was damn good at his job, not to mention the fact he was the closest thing to a friend your busy schedule allowed you to have.

“I’ll calm down when I’m dead. We need to get to the airport if we’re going to make that flight for the convention.” You pulled your wig off, setting it neatly into the little wooden closet before removing your gown, hanging it up alongside the other worn ones from earlier in the week so they could all be dry cleaned and back in the closet for Monday.

“It’s a private jet honey, it can’t leave without you.” Bucky laughed softly, knowing you were worked up and hoping a little joke would ease the tension.

You had to admit, you were so thankful for Bucky. He was devoting the prime of his life to making sure you had everything you needed, your life only felt so seamless because Bucky made it that way. He didn’t just manage your calendar and fetch you coffee like any other PA, he lived and breathed you. He went everywhere with you, crashing in your spare room at least three nights a week because you had both worked yourselves to exhaustion. He never missed anything. He had a solution for every problem, nothing was too big for him to tackle and given the chance, you two could absolutely take over the world one day. You confided in him, and he in you, getting to know every tiny detail of his life in the past few years, right down to that fact that neither of you had seen your family or been on a date in months. Hell, he’d went as far as buying you a packet of batteries one Monday after a particularly long and stressful court hearing.

“Here, got you these.” He had smiled mischievously as he handed them over to you, chuckling a little at your confused expression. “For your vibrator. Looks like it’s gonna be a long week.” You took them gratefully, joking with him that you really would need them, tucking them into your handbag and damn were they appreciated. The following morning he had asked how you had got on and you could only laugh. You didn’t tell him how thoughts of him had come into your head right as you had gotten close. Similarly, you didn’t tell him how painfully intense your orgasm had been when you imagined him on the bed with you, watching you come apart against the plastic toy. You could just picture his hungry gaze, watching how your body gushed as you released, nipples pebbled from arousal and your lips parted, a single whimper of his name escaping you as you rode out your high.

No, that was a little secret you would keep to yourself. He didn’t need to know your dirtiest fantasies. He was an employee. An employee that often arrived at your bedroom door shirtless and smirking, holding a stack of freshly made pancakes on the mornings he stayed over at yours but an employee nonetheless.

—————————

The cab ride to the airport would have been silent if it hadn’t been for the gentle tapping of your thumbs and Bucky’s racing over your respective phone screens. You had at least two dozen emails left to reply to and your eyelids were beginning to get heavy, the body heat radiating from Bucky in the cab’s back seat making you drowsy. You took a second, squeezing your eyes shut to force away the tiredness before going back to typing relentlessly.

The trip to the airport was short, Bucky had competed the preflight checkin so you essentially stepped straight onto the plane, taking a seat by the window, with Bucky taking the one opposite you. Takeoff was smooth as always, your phones picked back up as soon as it was safe to do so. But with the glowing screen came a fresh wave of drowsiness, your eyelids threatening to close of their own accord.

“Shit, Buck did you pack my -“

“Glasses? Left side of your bag, under the tissues.” Bucky finished your sentence for you, not looking up from his phone.

“And my -“

“Eye drops? In your makeup bag.” There it was again. What surprised you most was that Bucky didn’t even need to see you to work out exactly what was wrong.

“Do you really just take care of everything?” You huffed out a little laugh, digging through your bag, finding both your glasses and eye drops exactly where he told you they would be.

“Everything but you.” He chuckled, finally setting his phone down.

“What do you mean ‘everything but me’? All you ever do is take care of me. You organise my shopping and dry cleaning for god’s sake.” The whole notion of Bucky doing anything but taking care of you was just insane because you sure as hell didn’t have time to do any of those things for yourself. That’s what you hired him for after all.

“I didn’t mean like that. I meant like really take care of you. You’re so damn up tight.” You knew by the little chuckle that accompanied his words that he meant it affectionately but it still made you slightly defensive.

“I’m not up tight.” You protested. Normally you would’ve let harmless comments like that slide but the combination of your shitty day and the fact you were so sleepy made it impossible to not seek out conflict. This was the life you were used to after all. A life of treating almost everyone you came across adversarially. It was second nature to you at this point, inside and outside the courtroom.

“Come on, you seem to forget I am your calendar. You think I don’t know you haven’t gotten any in months? You should get laid, that’s all I’m sayin’. Wouldn’t kill you to have an orgasm every once in a while.” The words roll off his tongue like it’s nothing and truth be told, if you were in better form, this would have been a perfectly normal conversation between the two of you. Neither of you were particularly shy when it came to talking about your hookups.

You hated how right he was. You hated that you hadn’t been touched in months and Bucky knew that. You hated that most days, you were too exhausted to bother tending to your own needs. And you hated the warmth spreading through your body at the thought of Bucky finally taking care of you.

“Don’t know Buck, an orgasm might actually kill me with my high blood pressure.” You needed this conversation to turn more light hearted and you needed it fast, before your head became so clouded with need that Bucky picked up on it.

“I mean, I handle everything else for you. Wouldn’t even mind if that became part of my remit.” You almost couldn’t believe how carefree and nonchalant this whole conversation seemed, Bucky hoping you missed how he cock twitched in his trousers. Of course you didn’t. You missed nothing.

“If what became part of your remit?” You quizzed firmly, trying not to give anything away but knowing your eyes had gone big and doe-like, entirely of their own accord. This was a dream come true.

“You. Actually taking care of you. However you need.” His stare was intense, watching you keenly to determine whether he had horrendously overstepped and was about to get fired.

“Why would you even want to?” Your voice carried every single ounce of confusion you were feeling, staring Bucky down with an intensity that mirrored his own in that moment.

“You’re far too smart to act dumb.” He replied softly, knowing it was all or nothing now. If he was getting fired, he might as well be honest. His head tilted downwards, drawing your attention to the bulge growing in his suit trousers. Years worth of need and longing bubbling over all at once.

“If you want this, tell me. If not, that’s fine. But it doesn’t need to be anything romantic. Can be just sex. Whatever you want.” He was doing his very best to stay calm, his brain finally catching up with his mouth and considering that he was now in way too deep to just apologise and about to get his ass handed to him at thousands of feet in the air by one of the best legal minds in the world.

You’d never wanted anything more in your life. It was almost like Bucky was dangling himself in front of you. A piece of meat before a lion that could be snatched away at any second. You weren’t going to give him the chance, professionalism be damned. You were out of your seat and onto his lap in a flash, your pencil skirt hiked up to allow you to bracket his legs in your own.

“Are you sure about this?” Your quizzed softly, giving him one last chance to back out before you lost all self control.

“Do I feel like I’m not sure?” His voice was almost a choked whisper, his hands landing on your hips to press you down against his stiff cock.

You’d never seen him like this before. Horny and needy and losing himself in the feeling of you on top of him after years of fantasies. He had tried to curb the fantasies but his body didn’t allow him to. You were all he could think of on those lonely nights, a hand wrapped around his cock, groans and whimpers escaping until he came over his hand, a cry of your name pulled from his lips. He thought you would never know. And now here he was, the woman of his dreams perched in his lap, asking to be taken care of. Even the filthiest parts of his brain couldn’t have come up with this.

He could never have dreamt how you moved forward so tentatively, your lips hardly even touching his. He was used to seeing you confident, in control, the calmest person under pressure and yet here you were, unsure of yourself for the first time, he imagined, in your life. You both kept your eyes open for a little while, your lips sliding together gently, getting a feel for one another, up until your teeth sank into the plush skin of his bottom lip and an actual groan left him, his eyelids fluttering shut. The sound could’ve made you quiver with need. It was so alarmingly sexy, knowing your huge, sexy PA could be taken apart with the smallest touches. Suddenly, this seemed to be as much, if not more, for Bucky’s benefit than your own.

“Thought this was for me, hm?” Somehow your condescending court voice was pushing him over the edge. You felt one of his hands come up, tangling in your hair while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling your core flush with his clothed cock. He kissed you with a burning intensity that made your head swim and your pussy throb, loving how he was taking control but still hurtling further into a breathless, needy state.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve thought about this. Didn’t think we’d be joining the mile high club.” He huffed out a little light laugh, using his grip on your waist to help you roll your hips over his growing erection.

“Couldn’t have been thinking about this for as long as I have.” You smiled softly, letting out a little gasp as his cock nudged you just right through your panties that you were sure had been soaked through already. His eyes went wide at your admission, his dick twitching deliciously underneath you.

“Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” He whispered, making you laugh at how eager he was.

“I won’t be able to wait until we’re off this plane Bucky. You gonna fuck me right here?” You teased him softly, your faces so close, your tiny hands running down his pristine shirt, toying with the buttons. When you began to graze his chest gently with your nails, it was like a switch flipped inside Bucky. He thrust up against you with a growl loving the yelp you let out, one hand now squeezing your ass, the other massaging your breasts through your blouse.

“Gonna fuck all the stress out of you. Gonna have you leavin’ this plane leakin’ and cockdrunk.” Somehow you didn’t even doubt his words and you had to admit, it did sound quite appealing to give up the control for a while, just letting Bucky take over.

“Gimme all you’ve got Barnes. Gotta make it worth my while or this is gonna be the last time you get the chance.” You couldn’t help but tease him before instantly realising that might have been a mistake, his lips burning hot as they worked against your own, needy, insistent and as always, eager to please.

His mouth was relentless to the point that you found yourself practically dry humping his cock, your hands laced in his hair while his untucked your blouse from your skirt, greedily holding onto any skin he could reach. He tasted of peppermint and coffee, smelt like the expensive aftershave you were so fond of and felt like a man who’s only purpose in life was to make you cum until it hurt.

“Need you. ‘Nside me. Now.” You managed somehow to pant the words out between the fervent slide of his lips over yours, his tongue dipping in to taste you, never wanting this to end.

The feeling of your much smaller hands landing on his belt buckle made him look down but he could’ve cum then and there at the sight that met him. The front of his suit pants were slick with your mess, proof that he wasn’t just dreaming and you really were needing this just as badly as he was.

“You’re so fuckin’ ready for it aren’t you? Look at the mess you’ve made. Why didn’t we do this years ago?” He was groaning, shifting in his seat to help you get his trousers and boxers down. You couldn’t help how you gasped a little at the sheer size of him, his cock thick and long, the head slick with precum, proud veins running up his shaft. He looked Godly. Two firm pumps was all it took to have his head thrown back against the plush leather seat, cursing and bucking against your hand, aching for more.

“I’m sorry Buck, I can’t wait any longer.” You panted, his lips attached to your neck now, kissing, licking and sucking all his frustration into your skin. If there was a time for foreplay, that wasn’t it. Neither of you had the patience right now.

“Thank God, needa feel this pretty pussy.” He all but whispered as you lined him up at your soaking entrance.

“Shit Bucky, you got a condom?” You asked anxiously, stilling yourself at the last second.

“My bag, zip compartment at the front.” He replied quietly and sure enough, that’s exactly where you found a packet. Tearing the wrapper off, you slid it down his length earning another groan from the huge man who was practically shaking beneath you.

“You think of everything.” You giggled, finally beginning to slowly sink yourself down onto him. Your laugh quickly turned into a breathy moan, your breath mingling with Bucky’s and you noticed how he made a very similar noise. You pressed yourself down slowly, your body having to adjust to the stretch.

“So tight, fuck. Shit, never felt a tighter pussy in my life.” He whispered when you were finally seated on top of him. He pulled your skirt out of the way to appreciate just how connected your bodies were in that moment. His cock just seemed to fit perfectly, so snug you could’ve cried as you began to slowly work your hips against his.

“Oh my god Bucky you’re huge.” You should’ve been embarrassed by how high and needy your whine came out but right then and there, you didn’t care.

“It’s all yours sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so good you never need another cock again. Gonna ruin anyone else for you - fuck.” Under normal circumstances you would’ve chastised him for being so overconfident but feeling how his cock nudged your sweet spot perfectly, you thought he might actually be right.

“Gotta fuck you angel, can’t just sit here anymore, ‘s driving me crazy.” He just couldn’t keep himself still any longer, lust burning behind his eyes in a way you had never seen in him before. You lifted yourself up slowly, feeling his length slipping from you, your walls fighting to pull him deeper until you sank back down, taking the whole length at once. The strangled cry that left Bucky was incredible. You repeated your gentle rise and fall, setting a decent pace. Every sharp fall of your hips tore a needy gasp from both of you, the sweetest spot inside you throbbing from the almost constant onslaught. It was everything you craved. Bucky was grasping at every curve of your body, lost in the feeling of your soft skin and the grip of your silky walls and the smell of your shampoo as you rode him, building speed as your pleasure built in your lower belly. The wet sounds escaping where your bodies were joined was nothing short of obscene, only fuelling Bucky to meet each of your thrusts with his own.

“Oh my god, I -oh oh- I can’t, can’t take it Bucky please.” You groaned, manicured fingernails digging into his chest.

“I got you honey. ‘s okay. Gonna take such good care of you when we get to the hotel. Just want you to cum once for me now, okay? Take the edge off. You feel so good wrapped round me. You know what else I can feel? Your pretty pussy is leakin’. Feel you drippin’ down over my balls. Never felt anything so hot in my ‘ntire life.” His fingers fell to your clit, rubbing neatly as if he had been trained to do nothing else. You were on cloud nine, your high so close but not quite there yet.

“Bucky, gonna cum. Oh fuck!” You whined, your orgasm hitting you like a train. You came with a loud cry, eyes squeezed shut, rocking against him more than fucking so his cock stayed buried inside you.

“Shit, how did you get even fuckin’ tighter. ‘M so close.” He whispered against your neck, broken and needy. Your high had all but subsided, aftershocks still pleasantly coursing through you as you went back to letting your hips rise and fall so Bucky could finish. It only took four more well timed thrusts before he was cumming with a shout, pulling you flush against him as his balls emptied into the condom.

You were both spent and sweaty but more satisfied than you could remember being in months, your chest pressed to his as you both came down, craving a little extra affection. Bucky held you for a good few minutes until you felt his cock softening, knowing he really should get cleaned up. You let him slip from you, pulling your skirt down to take your original seat across from him again.

“Gimme a second.” He whispered, kissing your forehead before making his way to the little bathroom, returning a few minutes later looking just as put together as ever, apart from his telltale grin.

“Jesus, we should do that more often.” You smiled quietly when he returned, letting him settle in the chair beside you this time, the dividing arm rest pushed out of the way so you could cuddle as much as possible given the limited space.

“I can’t stop now honey. That pussy is addictive.” He smiled, happy to see you leaning so comfortably up against him but even happier when he heard your soft little snores.

Taglist:

@harrysthiccthighss @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @justatirednightowl @littlecanadianlani @babebr @sebsbrokentoe @badgirlwolfy

[atlabeth]

everything happens for a reason part one - zuko x fem!reader

I am not your concern 

masterlist | part 2 

summary: as a servant in the fire nation, you’ve learned that life is often unfair. but as you venture through a tumultuous relationship with a certain prince, you come to learn a very tricky lesson: everything happens for a reason.

a/n: im so excited about this guys you dont even know. i have so much planned and i hope you all love it as much as i do - just for reference, in this first chapter y/n is 9 and zuko is 10

wc: 2.3k

warning(s): mentions of a raid, reader and zuko both being little shits lmao

chapter title comes from not your concern by the hush sound! 

Y/N sprawled out on the grass and sighed contentedly as the sun shined down on her and her mother. Today was easier than most as they had been given the day off, an occasion that was rare in the royal palace. She closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh scent aerating their surroundings. Her senses were blessed with a mix of sea salt and fire lilies, an ever present reminder of the two worlds she walked in.

“Y/N,” her mother chided as she glanced down at her daughter from her sewing. “You shouldn’t lay in the grass like that. You know how hard those stains are to get out; I don’t need even more work on my plate.”

“Yes, mother,” she sighed as she sat up with mock exasperation. “I just feel like I should take advantage of this! We spend all day inside, and now that we’re out here you’re worried about things like stained clothes.” Y/N pushed herself to her feet and spread her arms out as she spun in a small circle. “Life is short, and I already spend all of it sewing and healing. Don’t you think I deserve some grass stains?”

“Did you find your way into the poetry books again?” she joked. “Of course I think you should have fun, but you know how things are here. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

She continued to twirl, the soft breeze a welcome sensation on her skin. “I know, I know, but you don’t need to worry! I can—”

“Dear, watch where you’re going!”

Her mother’s warning didn’t reach her in time, a fact that became known to Y/N as she collided into the boy in front of her. A small gasp escaped her as recognition filled her now wide eyes.

“Prince Zuko!” she exclaimed, nervous hands finding their positions as she bowed. “Please forgive me for the accident, I didn’t realize you were there.”

Y/N had never spoken to the young prince directly — she mainly shadowed her mother while she did her work around the palace or honed her healing abilities under the watchful eye of Rika, their most skilled healer — but she knew enough to understand that she was to never disrespect the royal family in any way.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a small smile, alleviating the tension that had built up in her shoulders. “I’m sorry too, I wasn’t paying attention either. I actually came here for some help.” As she straightened her back, she noticed the bundle of fabric he was holding. “Are you Kura?”

“Oh, no. That’s my mother.” She pointed behind her where her mother greeted the prince with a respectful nod and smile of her own. “Did you come to get something fixed? She’s the best seamstress in all of the Four Nations.”

“My daughter flatters me,” Kura chucked. “What is it that you require, Prince Zuko?”

“She’s right, actually.” He held up the bundle of cloth which Y/N now recognized as one of the many outfits he owned. She didn’t consider herself a jealous person, but the prince’s extensive wardrobe was an exception to that rule. She had one set uniform for her work supplied by the Fire Nation, and a threadbare set for everything else that her mother had bought for her after saving up what little copper they had to spare. Y/N didn’t mind it too much as she was able to practice her sewing whenever the seams broke, but she was sure that her handiwork made up more of the outfit than the original by now.

“I tore one of the sleeves while I was training with Azula,” Zuko expressed with a frown. “I showed it to my mother, and she said that Kura would be able to fix it. I had to go through every single servant to find you, so I really hope you can. ”

Kura set her current project down and took the cloth from the prince, examining it with the skillful eye of a seamstress before meeting his eyes with another smile. “Of course, dear. I should have it ready for you by tomorrow; my daughter will deliver it to your quarters around midday.”

“Do it well,” he demanded. “I can’t focus on my training if my clothes are falling apart.”

“Hey!” she spoke up, scowling as she crossed her arms. It was like every shred of sense Y/N had disappeared the moment he talked down to her mother. “This is our day off, so you should be thankful that my mother is taking time out of her day to do this for you. Be nicer to her.”

“Y/N!” her mother scolded, her tone frantically apologetic as she turned back to the prince. “Please, forgive my daughter. She speaks her mind far too often, she doesn’t mean any disrespect.”

“No, you’re right.” A thoughtful expression found its way onto the young boy’s features, his eyes trained on her own displeasure. “My father always talks that way to the servants and I guess it came off on me. I’m sorry. It’s not nice.”

“Apology accepted,” Y/N said reluctantly.

“Thank you for your help. I’ll make sure to tell all my friends about your work.” The young prince smiled and walked off, though not without a curious second glance at the girl who righted his wrong.

As soon as the prince was out of range, Kura began to berate her daughter. “Y/N, by now you have to understand that under no circumstances may you ever speak to a member of the royal family like that! Do you know what kind of punishment you could’ve gotten if anyone else was around to hear that?”

She sighed and settled back on the ground, plucking a blade of grass from the ground. “I know, mother, but he needs to learn manners, prince or not!”

“That’s not how it works here. Our job is to serve the royal family without question. Sometimes they say mean things, but we can’t do anything about it. Apologies are not yours to demand or accept.”

“That’s not fair,” she mumbled as she wrapped the strand of grass around her finger. “Back home I could say whatever I wanted.”

“I know, honey, I know. But we’re not at home anymore, so the rules there don’t apply. We have to follow the rules that are put in place here. Can you promise that you’ll do that for me?”

“Yes, mother.” It was a phrase that seemed to always be at the tip of her tongue now that constant apologies were littered throughout her days, usually accompanied by a sigh.

“I miss home,” The murmured sentiment was almost too soft for Kura to hear and her heart sank. Her daughter’s gaze was trained on the ground, idle fingers tapping against her legs, and she put a momentary pause to her sewing with a sigh.

“Dear, don’t you have a healing session today with Rika?”

“You know I don’t,” she grumbled. “It’s my day off, which no one seems to remember.”

“Y/N.” Kura’s voice was more firm and she now understood that it wasn’t so much a suggestion as a demand. “I think you should pay Rika a visit.”

She heaved an exasperated sigh and stood up in a far more exaggerated gesture than necessary. “Alright. I’ll see you later tonight, mother.” And as Y/N began her walk back to the palace, a sour feeling brewed in her chest.

Kura watched on, unable to prevent the fear that permeated her thoughts. They were fortunate that the young prince was generous, but along with his mother they might’ve been the only two who shared those views in the royal family. She hated having to constantly admonish her daughter — the girl was too young to constantly live in fear, especially having already been through so much — but in the Fire Nation they couldn’t afford to do anything less. A spitfire girl like her daughter was constantly treading on thin ice, and it was all she could do to keep her safe.

Kura feared the day when she wasn’t there to protect her.

-

After a short walk that consisted of muttering things to herself and taking her anger out on the pebbles unfortunate enough to be in her path, Y/N found herself back at the palace. She let herself into a side entrance meant only for servants and set on her way to the infirmary when she collided with someone else — an apology was already on the tip of her tongue when she recognized it was Prince Zuko once more. She truly had rotten luck.

Y/N shot quick glances around to ensure that they were alone, then lowered her voice just for extra security. “My mom says I’m not supposed to talk to you like this, but I don’t care. Just because you’re the prince doesn’t mean you can just go around bumping into people!” she whispered angrily.

“But— you were the one who bumped into me the first time!”

She could feel her face heat up from embarrassment and she crossed her arms. “Just— whatever! Do you want something or do you just like popping up in places you're not supposed to be?”

“I guess I just wanted to talk to you,” Zuko shrugged. “I’ve never really seen you around before, and you’re interesting.”

Y/N scrutinized him trying to find out if he was tricking her somehow, but after staring at him for a solid ten seconds she finally caved. “Fine,” she said, already beginning to walk. “But you’d better make it fast. I have to get to a healing session.”

He took a few quick steps to catch up to her and frowned. “I’m the prince. Technically I could order you to stop and you would have to listen.”

“Yeah, well when it’s just the two of us, you’re just another boy. I don’t have time to talk to boys for hours.”

His brows creased for a moment as he thought about it, then ultimately shrugged once more. “Okay. You said you were going to a healing session- does that mean you’re a waterbender?”

She nodded, and Zuko waited for her to explain further. He heaved a sigh, realizing that he was going to have to carry this conversation. “Well.. what’s a waterbender doing in the Fire Nation?”

She fixed him with a puzzled look. “I’m a servant. That’s why I’m here.”

“I know that,” he frowned. “But most of the servants here are from the Fire Nation, and there are hardly any around your age. I’m just trying to get to know you better.”

Y/N sighed heavily — she now knew that the child prince of the Fire Nation had zero sense of boundaries, and if she wanted to get him off her back she had to answer to his satisfaction. “My mother is a waterbender from the Northern Tribe. She left home when she was young to travel the world and help who she could with her healing, and eventually she fell in love with an earthbender. That was my father — they ended up marrying and settling down in his village where they had me a few years later. Last month, my village was raided by the Fire Nation, and my mother and I were captured after they discovered we were waterbenders. And now I’m here, being annoyed by a prince.”

Zuko frowned once more — it seemed if he continued hanging out with this girl the expression would be stuck permanently on his face — and he suddenly felt ashamed for pushing. “I’m really sorry,” he muttered. “I had no idea.”

She heaved another sigh and shook her head. “Yeah, well they probably keep a lot of the bad things they do from you. It’s easier to send raids to destroy families when your children don’t know.”

“What happened to your father?” he questioned.

Y/N’s body stiffened, and she had never been more thankful to see the infirmary door. “Save your questions for next time,” she grumbled.

Zuko’s eyes lit up, her earlier stumble going unnoticed, and a small smile found its way across his lips. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

She managed to cover up her own growing smile with an ambivalent shrug. “As long as you don’t bump into me again.” Y/N opened the door and gave him a polite parting nod before disappearing inside.

“Good afternoon, Master Rika,” she said with a small bow. “I know this is unexpected, but my mother insisted that I come here to—”

“Let me guess,” the older woman interrupted with a raised brow. “Kura got tired of you and sent you here to annoy me instead?”

Y/N chuckled and rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she pushed the sleeves of her tunic up to her elbows. “When have I ever annoyed you?”

“That’s a question you don’t want me to answer,” she joked as she rummaged through the closet to get supplies. “Besides, what was that smile for? Meet a boy on your day off? A girl?”

Her eyes widened momentarily and she felt the heat rush to her cheeks intensely. “I don’t ask you about your life while we heal, you shouldn’t ask about mine!”

Zuko, who had been eavesdropping by the door in an extremely un-covert fashion, felt an even bigger smile. The girl was prickly as a cactus, but he found himself strangely drawn to her — not in spite of it, but because of it. He was so used to anyone he talked to outside of his immediate family and friends bending at the knee to fulfill his every will, and it was exhausting at times. But this girl — Y/N, as he had learned — was the complete opposite.

He started to walk away, sure that he was late for some kind of session of his own. Zuko found himself thinking of the glimpse of a smile he got, already finding himself scheming up ways to make it return.

And despite her request, he was almost certain he would try to bump into her again.

[arvandus]

Icarus (Overhaul x F!Reader)

Ah yes, once again so late on this. This one gave me grief because the characters kept deviating from what I had originally planned. >.< But I worked through it, and here we are.

This is for the BNHarem's “On The Job” Collab for May, which you can find here.

Also, don’t judge my super simple title headings for my fics 😂 I always do these late at night when I should be asleep, so generic background with fancy text is the best I got to offer.

Trigger Warnings: 18+ ONLY!  1 instance of aggression/abuse (hair grabbing/pulling - nonsexual), unprotected sex (fun in fiction, dumb IRL), mutual masturbation, overstimulation, bondage via quirk abuse, degradation...

I think that about covers it.  Once again, I’m terrible at TWs so let me know if I missed anything or if anything is inaccurate. 😬 I just kinda write what I want and don’t really think about the labels when I’m doing it.

Pairing: Overhaul x F!Reader

Word Count: 8281

You hadn’t meant to get caught.  Really, you weren’t even sure what had possessed you to do it in the first place. Desperation? Horniness? Stupidity?

 All of the above?

 All you knew was that it was a poor decision brought forth by the gradual culmination of a single annoying, unavoidable fact: you were disgustingly, shamefully, sinfully attracted to Kai Chisaki.

You weren’t exactly sure how or when it started. There was no “aha” moment, no “big bang” of desire.  Instead, it was subtle, gradually coating your unsuspecting mind like layers of sediment. A shiver down your spine when he spoke your name.  The quickening of your pulse at the briefest of eye contact. And the ever-growing presence of intrusive, curious thoughts.

 Like his hands.  You always noticed them, the white of his gloves drawing your attention like a beacon whenever he was within eyesight.  They were dangerous hands, deadly weapons that you’d seen in action firsthand.  They were a thing to be feared and avoided.  But some strange part of you couldn’t help but wonder... what did they feel like?  You imagined they’d be soft and perfectly manicured, oddly delicate for such a violent man; gentle hands packed with destructive power.

 Or his lips.  They were always covered by his mask.  You never, ever saw him without it.  You imagined what your name would look like on them as he spoke, how they’d feel on your skin.  Would his lips also be soft? How about his kisses? Would they be cautious and controlled, or rough and hungry?

 It didn’t help that he was, in his own way, very attractive.  Just like how his dangerous hands were hidden within innocent white gloves, he was the devil hidden behind a pretty face. A sharp, beautiful jawline. Smooth porcelain skin. A crown of auburn red hair, closely cropped, but still long enough to run fingers through.

 You bet that part of him was soft too.

 The one part of him that wasn’t soft were his eyes.  They were beautiful, certainly… as gold as Heaven’s gates and framed in long, perfect lashes.  But they lacked the warmth of Heaven.  Instead, they spoke of cold arrogance. And if you stared into them long enough, you could see a barely contained disgust lurking beneath their haughty exterior.

 The disgust didn’t bother you, not anymore.  Everyone disgusted Chisaki, and everyone in the Shie Hassaikai knew it. He even made his closest confidants, some he’d known since childhood, wear masks so he wouldn’t share the same air with them.  

 He had you wear a mask too, of course. Simple and white, it covered only your lower face, much like his own.  That much you were grateful for, considering some of the masks you’d seen others wearing.  Your only explanation for the slightly less coverage was that your secretarial position made you a frequent point of contact for those outside of the organization.  You handled incoming calls, visitors, and scheduled meetings between Chisaki and his affiliates.  No doubt he wanted to ensure you were making a good impression while still operating within his mysophobic requirements.

 First impressions were everything to Kai.  Even more so since he took the Boss’s place under dubious circumstances. Still, his long-held reputation for extremist thinking and violence preceded him, and not everyone was in support of his unexpected promotion.  As a result, many people within the organization parted ways following Chisaki’s rise to power... and soon after they mysteriously went missing, never to be heard from or located again.  You had no doubt that it was Chisaki tying up loose ends by sealing loose lips.  After all, they say the mouth is the source of disaster.  And Chisaki valued confidentiality above all else.

 The message he sent was clear: adapt or die.  When given such colorful options, the choice on whether to go or stay became a simple one.

 So, you adapted.  As long as you followed orders, kept your eyes down and your mouth shut, you were safe. After all, it was better to be the right hand of the devil than to be in his path.  The only person you really had to fear was Chisaki himself, and you knew him well enough by now to know how to stay on his good side.

 And all in all, it really wasn’t all that bad.  Sure, you had to orchestrate the occasional clean-up when he disposed of someone who displeased him.  But that wasn’t much different than what you’d dealt with when you worked for the Boss, either.  Sure, the aftermath was messier and it happened far more often.  But violence was violence, and when you worked with the Yakuza long enough, you got used to it.  And despite the odd working conditions and ever-present undertone of danger, you remained good at your job. As such, Chisaki brooked no complaint. He tolerated you, and you tolerated him. Interactions were brief, words exchanged were polite and respectful even though they lacked warmth.  But it was just a job, right?  You didn’t need warmth.

 So why did you feel so dissatisfied?  Why did you constantly feel that something was missing, a longing you couldn’t entirely describe?

 The need only ever waned when Chisaki was in your presence, whether it was to discuss upcoming meetings or simply passing by your desk to get to his office. The dissatisfaction would melt away into a warmth that extended deep into your fingertips whenever the cold-hearted man bothered to look you in the eyes. And when he wasn’t looking at you? It was like being thrown into a winter blizzard, the aching cold returning to pull the corners of your mouth down into a silent frown.

 You craved his attention.  It was shameful and pathetic and you could only imagine the scorn he’d give you if he knew, but you didn’t care.  To be graced with the attention of a man who cared for no one brought a different kind of satisfaction.  The rare treats of attention Chisaki did grant you, whether intended or not, scratched an itch that only he could scratch.

 As time passed, the intrusive thoughts became more frequent, evolving from odd curiosities to shameless lust.  They began to occupy your dreams, forcing you awake with a hot ache between your legs. That was when you really began to realize how in deep you were.  It wasn’t just a simple “attraction.”  You wanted him.  At first you tried to deny and ignore, suppress and excuse.  After all, this was Overhaul.  Wanting him was like wanting the sun in your hand, and just as dangerous. Apparently though, it made little difference to your hormone-addled brain.  It didn’t help that the secretive, forbidden thoughts brought their own special addictive flavor of the taboo.  

 You began to act different in front of him.  Nothing too obvious, of course.  After all, you knew Chisaki wasn’t the type to indulge in desperate women. To be honest, you weren’t even sure Chisaki indulged in women at all.  All you did know was that whenever women tried to gain his favor through flirtation, Chisaki quickly and harshly shut it down.

 So, it was little things... the extra second to release a paper from your grip after he’d grabbed it, the lingering of a glance.  You didn’t so much change the style of your attire – skirts and blouses were already the norm for your position – but you changed the colors. A blouse that matched the purple feathery softness of his jacket, golden jewelry that matched his eyes.  Little messages waiting in secret to be picked up, yet subtle enough that they could be excused as nothing more than coincidence. It was risky, but the thrill of the game gave you an outlet for your roiling feelings.  In the end though, it made no difference.  There was nothing about you that seemed important enough to turn Chisaki’s head more than was professionally necessary.

 Which is where the state of things were when you found yourself alone in his office one evening. You had thought he was still working at the time. You’d stepped away to shred some incriminating documents and burn the scraps in the kiln outside.  It was your last task for the day, so you’d entered Chisaki’s office to announce your departure for the evening.  Except when you entered, the space was empty, with all traces of him gone.  No papers remained on his desk.  His gloves and plague mask were gone.  With an annoyed huff you had stood there, bothered that you’d missed him.

 Quietly, you walked to his desk, and gently caressed the mahogany wood.  It was immaculate of course, free of dirt and fingerprints.  You knew it would be because he cleaned his space every evening before he left, and you cleaned it every morning before he arrived.

 You sighed as you retrieved the paper towels and cleaning solution.  No harm in giving it a second scrub to save yourself some time tomorrow morning. It wasn’t like anyone would be foolish enough to enter this space without Chisaki present anyway.

 You should have just left it at that.  But as you walked around his desk to wipe the surface with the damp towel, your bare legs just below your skirt bumped his chair. Soft leather, still warm from where he had sat, greeted your exposed skin.

 That should have been your first clue.

 But your mental alarms never sounded.  Instead, you figured you had just missed him.

 You should have just left, but you didn’t. The warmth on the chair was enticing you. He was gone, right?  Left for the evening.  What harm could it do to indulge just a little bit?  With your heart pounding with excitement, you carefully sat down in the warm leather. Immediately the scent of Chisaki’s body wash and clean clothes cradled you.

 That should have been your second clue.

 But you were already too wrapped up in your enjoyment.  You relished in the sensations, leaning back as you closed your eyes.  It was the closest you’d ever felt to him, as if his very presence was there with you. Your desire purred deep in your gut at receiving its first nibble of satisfaction.  If you closed your eyes, you could pretend he was there, holding you.

 Your kept your eyes closed as your imagination began to take root like weeds in your mind, making your skin feel hot.  Your fingers grazed the inside of your thigh, dipping beneath your skirt while your heart pounded.  What if those were his fingers?  The vision combined with the sensations of touch and smell were delicious, and you wanted more.  You dragged the pads of your fingertips up even higher, your arm starting to push your skirt up with it.  Your legs parted easily, as you let out a shaky breath.

 You shouldn’t be doing this.  Not here of all places.  But there was something so sinfully satisfying about it, the danger only heightening the sensations.  After all, the reward was only as great as the risk it took to earn it.  And this was the highest risk you could take, short of literally throwing yourself at him.  Besides, it wasn’t like your fantasies were ever going to come true. Maybe satisfying yourself - right here, right now – would be enough to finally give you the peace of mind you needed.

 And dear God, did you need it.  You could already feel the heat growing in your loins, the moisture dampening your panties.  Your fingers finally brushed against the warm cotton fabric covering your sex and you let out a soft gasp.

 What Chisaki didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  He was gone, right?  And you were going to clean up any traces of your little visit before you left.  He’d be none the wiser.

 Your fingers slipped beneath your underwear to meet the hot, slick flesh of your folds, your clit already plump and ready with arousal. You knew it wouldn’t take you long to cum, but you wanted to enjoy this, to savor it as the only opportunity you’d get.  You certainly weren’t going to do this again.

 So, you teased yourself, fingertips softly dragging slow circles around your entrance before dipping in.  A shaky moan left your lips, the quickening of your breaths matching the racing of your heart.  In and out you dragged your fingers, relishing in your sleek, sensitive walls, occasionally breaking your rhythm to spread your juices over your swollen labia. You revisited your clit and stifled your moan with a bite of your lip as you began to slowly massage it with practiced skill.  It felt so fucking good.  The scent of yourself mingled with the scent of Chisaki, and you spread your legs wider, leaning back farther into the seat.  You could feel the surge beginning to swell, and you knew it would be soon. Vivid fantasies danced on the inside of your eyelids, and you were fully enthralled, fingers skimming fast circles over your swollen bud as your other hand began to massage your breast through your blouse.

 “Fuuuuuckk....Kai....” You moaned.

 “What do you think you’re doing?”

 The familiar voice made you jump so hard, you nearly fell out of the chair as your eyes flew wide open.

 There was Kai Chisaki, staring down at you from across the desk – his desk. And there were you, sitting in his chair, spread eagle.

 Your breath was knocked out of you and you felt light-headed with panic.  You caught sight of the shoji screen behind him, wide open to the evening air.

 FUCK. Of course.  You forgot to check outside.  He must have stepped out for some fresh air before returning to his office.

 Shit. Shit, shit, shit.  You hadn’t heard him enter.  How long had he been standing there??

 “I asked you a question.” The man seethed through his plague mask.  His gloved hands were clenched into angry fists, and his eyes... eyes that you’d always craved to see you... well, they saw you now, and you were terrified.

 Immediately, you closed your legs and stood up from his chair. Your mouth babbled soundlessly before your voice finally came, tight and small.

 “I’m sorry.  I’m so so sorry.”

 “I didn’t ask for an apology.” He hissed.

 “I know, I’m sorry.” You blubbered.

 “Come. Here.” Chisaki demanded.

 You obeyed, struggling to adjust your skirt as you approached him from around his desk.

 “I didn’t tell you to touch your clothes.” His tone was quiet and constrained yet sharp as a razor’s edge, each word uttered with meticulous precision.

 You stared at him in shock as you slowly removed your hands from your rumpled clothing.  His eyes raked over you, top to bottom, and left you feeling... exposed.

 “Look at you...” he grumbled.  “Disgusting.”

 His mask was unnerving, blocking the lower half of his face and keeping you from being able to fully read his facial expression.  His gold eyes were threatening – predatory like a wolf.

 He was going to kill you.  You knew it was coming. He’d killed others for far less.  But you weren’t ready for it.  You didn’t want to die.

 You dropped to your knees and bowed low in front of him, shrinking yourself to fit beneath his harsh glare.  “Please, Mr. Chisaki-“

 “Overhaul.”

 “Overhaul!” you corrected, as you bowed your head lower to the ground. “Please forgive me.  I meant no disrespect.”

 “No disrespect?” he sneered.  “You debase yourself in my seat, my place of business, and claim no disrespect??”

 His left hand reached forward at lightning speed and grabbed you by your hair, forcing your head back until you were looking him straight up at him.  You winced against his harsh hold on you, yet clenched your teeth in an effort to keep your silence.  He glared down at you as his next words came out through what you could clearly hear as clenched teeth.  

 “Clean it up.”

 With that, he shoved you away from him. On shaking, clumsy legs you pushed yourself to your feet and made your way back to his desk, your skin hot with shame and your ears ringing.  

 You did as he commanded, grabbing the cleaning solution and spraying his seat before carefully, meticulously, wiping every inch of the rich leather.  Minutes passed in silence as you made sure that no spot went unnoticed, even ensuring that the table was once again cleaned as well. By the time you had finished, Kai’s temper seemed to have dwindled to a simmering flame.  His hands were no longer clenched in fists at his sides. Instead, they were tucked deep into his pockets as he supervised you.  It did little to comfort you though... you knew that Chisaki’s reflexes were faster than you could dodge.  He’d catch you before you even reached the door.

 Not that you’d try to.  You knew better.

 When the chair was finally pristine, you disposed of the last of the soiled paper towels in the wastebin and returned the cleaning solution to its home. The task was done, but you didn’t stop. You picked up the trash can with the intent of disposing of its contents; you knew Chisaki wouldn’t want it sitting in his office.  

 It was all to buy you time. Time to figure out what to say or what do to convince Chisaki to spare your life.  But you didn’t even make it to the door before Chisaki’s voice halted your retreat.

 “Where do you think you’re going?”

 “I... I was just...” you stammered.

 “I didn’t give you permission to leave.”

 You swallowed and set down the trashcan.  He approached you slowly, until he was a mere few inches from you. He was so close that you could smell his cleanliness and see the pupils of his eyes dilate as he stared at you.  Slowly, he grabbed the mask that was covering your mouth and nose and removed it from your head.  You stopped breathing.

 There was something... electric in the air.  You could feel it on your skin, making your hairs stand on end and your flesh tighten with goosebumps.  His eyes peered at you intently, taking in every subtlety of your face.  Your lips, your eyes, your skin... and beneath the weight of his stare, you could feel the fear start to transform, replaced by something else entirely.  Something familiar that’d been plaguing you for months, lighting your veins with fire and threatening to incinerate you if it wasn’t released.  After all, part of his allure was the danger. And he hadn’t killed you yet, which meant... something.

 Chisaki’s gaze began to wander beyond just your face, taking in your still rumpled clothes.  The top couple buttons of your blouse were undone, exposing the skin of your neck and the edges of your bra.  Your skirt was still askew, and although he couldn’t see it, you became acutely aware of your still-damp underwear trapped between your folds from when you had hastily closed your legs earlier.  You stared back at him, waiting for him to do something, say something.

 And that’s when you noticed it... a faint flush across his pale cheeks, peaking out from beneath his mask. His chest was rising and falling with each breath, and it was as if he were contemplating something, silently weighing a decision in his closed-off mind.

 A strange bubbling sensation began to build within your chest, foreign and oddly out of place.

 Hope.

 Finally, Chisaki spoke, his voice unusually calm considering the trouble you were in.  “Follow me.”

 Not one to disobey him, you did as he requested as he made his way over to his desk and sat down in his chair.  Then, with an open hand, he gestured at his desk.

 “Sit.”

 Confusion.

 “W-What??” you stuttered.

 “I said sit.” He replied.

 You did as Chisaki commanded, fitting yourself between his legs and his desk before hopping up slightly onto the surface you’d just cleaned. You were right in front of him now, your hands in your lap and your ankles crossed as you realized just how perfect this arrangement was for him to see directly up your skirt.  You worried your lip between your teeth as you watched him assess you.  His elbow was resting on the armrest of his chair, his fingers supporting his face along the jawline as he stared at you with his head cocked at an angle. If it were any other situation, you’d say he looked almost bored... but the glint in his eyes spoke of something else entirely.

 “Continue.” He stated.

 “What? What do you mean?” you asked.

 His eyes stared at you knowingly.  “You didn’t get to cum, did you?”  You shook your head, stunned at his words.  “Continue.” He repeated.

 “Right here?”

 “Where else?  It was good enough for you earlier.”  His tone dropped slightly as his eyes narrowed.  “Continue.”

 Your heart pounded in your ears as you uncrossed your ankles, and with shaky hands began to trace your fingers up your thighs just as you had done before. Except this time, the experience was entirely different. Instead of closing your eyes like before, you kept them open to stare at your observer, watching for his reaction.  So many times you’d fantasized about this... about his eyes being on you and only you... and you weren’t going to miss a moment of it.

 With your eyes locked on each other, you inched your way up to the space between your thighs, your legs parting to grant you access.  Chisaki didn’t look down.  Not right away, at least.  Instead, he continued to watch your face, his body still and silent.  With the heat of his gaze on you, you finally reached your center where your warmth greeted you.  It was still slick from earlier, your fingers sliding easily along your labia as you began to tease yourself for the second time that evening.  You let out slow, shaky breaths as your fingers rubbed slow, lazy circles over your glossy lips.  

 Chisaki still didn’t break his gaze from your eyes, and a part of you wanted him to.  You wanted him to acknowledge what you were offering him and know that he liked it. A small, devious smirk found itself on your lips as you pulled your fingers away from your pussy to show him the evidence of your arousal stretched across your fingers.  It caught his attention just briefly, eyes flicking to your display, before he watched you lick the glistening strands from your fingertips, the soft sounds of your sucking filling the empty, quiet room.

 Chisaki’s eyes narrowed, and the smirk on your face widened.  Soon your fingers were back between your legs, massaging your clit again as your skin began to feel flush with heat.  Round and round the pads of your fingers went, with painstaking slowness that you drew out just for him.  You wanted to show him how good his presence made you feel.  You wanted him to see how badly you wanted him.  Your lips became more swollen, your clit more sensitive. Already you could start to feel the tension build.  It was almost too easy, your body ready to surrender at the drop of a hat.  But you weren’t going to let it happen, not yet at least.  You wanted to draw this out, to savor it in case it never happened again.

 With half-lidded eyes you stared at him as you parted you folds for him, fully exposing yourself. For the first time, his eyes drifted from your face to stare directly at your desire for him – your tight hole open and waiting, every inch of your swollen cunt drenched in glistening arousal.  Chisaki was captivated and you felt your blood surge.  You needed more. With your fingers still spreading yourself open, you dipped your middle digit into your tight heat.   Pleasure bloomed within you and a soft groan vibrated from the back of your throat. With each draw of your fingers, your breaths quickened, your back arching as the tension began to build.

 You struggled to keep your eyes open, to watch Chisaki as you brought yourself closer to orgasm, but it became increasingly difficult. You were single-focused now, chasing your much-needed release with each plunge of your finger into your soft depths.  Your body accommodated it welcomingly, and so you added a second, once again relishing in the renewed stretch that caressed your inner walls. The faster you pumped your fingers, the better it felt until your nerves were singing that familiar hum.  You flowed seamlessly into the final phase, your wet fingers leaving your entrance in favor of rubbing hard, fast circles over your clit.  The finish line was in sight now as your body sprinted with tense, aching muscles and breathy moans.

 You came with a gasp, back arching and thighs twitching as you rode out your orgasm. As you neared the end of it, you dipped your fingers in one last time as your walls gave one last final spasm of pleasure.  Gradually the wave of your euphoria calmed, returning to the gentle, lapping waters of desire that still moved within you to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

 You opened your eyes to see Chisaki still staring at you silently, his eyes once again locked onto yours. The flush across his cheeks was very much apparent now, yet his posture remained unmoved. Still, out of curiosity, you dared a quick glance down to his lap to see his hand strategically placed over the bulge in his pants.  Was he trying to hide it?  Because he was failing.  Or was he stroking himself through his clothes when you weren’t looking?

 “Again.” He ordered.

 Your eyes bulged.  “Again?”

 He didn’t bother to answer, instead waiting silently.  You were a bird trapped in the golden cage of his eyes as your mind struggled to recover enough from the hazy aftereffects of your orgasm to think straight.  He wanted you to do it again?

 At first you were hesitant. You knew your body was still sensitive from what had just transpired.  But then again… your eyes stared at Chisaki’s crotch again as he waited for you.  No doubt he saw you staring, yet he did nothing, said nothing.  It almost felt like an invitation… or a dare.  Do it again and see what happens.

 Fuck. You’d already gotten under his skin... might as well see how deep you could go.

 Between your orgasm only moments before and the juices still coating your pussy, the sensations of your touch at first felt almost... numb.  Except for your clit.  That part was still sensitive, making your muscles twitch and your breath hitch in your throat as you moved your fingers over it experimentally. You kept your touch gentle at first, careful to give your body time to respond as you reawakened the lust that still lurked in your core.  With dark eyes you began to stroke yourself for him again, pulling soft pleasurable moans from your gently parted lips.  It was definitely more intense this time, and you could already tell that this next orgasm would surpass the one before it.  Still, you drew it out as you watched Chisaki.  Or, more specifically, watched his free hand.

 It didn’t take long... you watched his fingers grip around his hard-on through his pants, his hand slowly moving up and down his restricted length.  You bit your lip at the sight and immediately felt a generous wave of hot arousal bloom between your legs, your nipples hardening achingly.  It wasn’t enough to capsize you into ecstasy, but it certainly pulled a needy whimper from your lips.  

 You dipped your fingers into yourself, feeling your walls flutter as you imagined what it would feel like to have Chisaki inside of you.  With each curl of your fingers the heat grew, like the sun reaching its zenith.  You wanted it.  You wanted to cum so badly.  But you wanted to see him even more.  So, you neglected your puffy clit in favor of unbuttoning your blouse just enough to grant you access to your sensitive breasts.  You pushed aside the cup of your bra to free the plump flesh, the bud at its center tightly puckered.  With deft fingers you massaged the soft skin before rolling the nipple slowly between your fingers, pulling more soft gasps and gentle hums from your lips.  The more you groaned and teased yourself, the more Chisaki stroked himself as he watched you, his eyes glowing with hunger.

 It wasn’t until you began to lose yourself, your eyes beginning to drift closed as you moaned and whined to the ebb and flow of your pleasure, that your patience was finally rewarded.

 You could hear it over the sounds of your lewdity – the ‘click click click’ of a zipper being pulled down.  You opened your eyes, not even attempting to hide your eagerness, as Chisaki freed his cock from his pants.

 It was beautiful just like the rest of him; long with a slight curve, its tip red and shining with precum.  Veins stood out in relief, trailing his length like vines, thick and beautiful. You swallowed at the sight of it, desperately wanting to know what it would feel like to have that in you.

 You hadn’t realized your own movements had frozen until Chisaki’s smooth voice cut through your thoughts.

 “I didn’t tell you to stop.” He said, as cool and professional as ever as if he didn’t currently sit before you with his dick in his hand.  

 He was gloating, you knew it... your stunned silence at the sight of his cock stroked his ego just as much as you touching yourself for him did. And you knew that, above all else, Chisaki loved to have his ego stroked.

 “Y-yes Mr. Chisaki...” you whispered, before your fingers began moving again.

 You continued to stroke and play, penetrate and rub as you watched him take his long cock in his hand and begin long, steady strokes.  Even now, he still kept his gloves on, and somehow that made his every move even hotter.  He was no longer propping his face up with his other hand.  Now, he was sitting up straight, eyes on your needy cunt as you put on your show for him.  You could see it, the tension in his temple that came and went, hear the ragged, quick draws of his breaths through his mask.  Your own arousal grew in response, egged on by him searching for his own sweet relief at the lewd sight of you.  It blossomed like a watered seed as you drank in the man in front of you – his hand pumping, precum dripping.

 It was the push your sensitive body needed.  You came surprisingly fast, your orgasm crashing over your body with greater intensity than the first.  Moans and gasps ripped from your throat as your body spasmed, and you made no effort to quell your cries, too consumed by your own pleasure.  With eyes squeezed shut, your hips rocked as you grinded yourself against your hand, your entire body singing in unbridled bliss.

 You were given no respite.  As soon as the pleasure eased just enough for your hips to still, Chisaki spoke.

 “Again.”

 Your eyes, still closed, flew open to look at him with incredulity.  You weren’t even recovered yet, your cunt still twitching with the aftershocks of pleasure. You knew that touching yourself without some sort of break was going to lead you down a jagged, torturous road of overstimulation.  It made your legs start to close up instinctually in denial.

 Your mouth moved silently before you pushed the words out.  “B-But... I can’t....”

 Chisaki’s eyes narrowed, his brows lowering... and along the edge of his mask, you could see his cheeks lift slightly.  He was smirking at you. Cruelly.  

 “You can, and you will.” He said.  A wave of his fingers told you to reopen your legs for him, and you did, slowly, as if you were a puppet on strings.  “Again.” He repeated.

 Chisaki took a moment to remove the glove from his stroking hand before giving his cock a couple more languid strokes.  You stared at the exposed skin in awe.  It was everything you imagined it’d be... pale, smooth, nails clean and perfectly trimmed.  Between his hard cock and his ungloved hand, you stared in shameless longing as an excited chill coursed down your spine.  Maybe… maybe if you were good…

 You swallowed the dryness in your throat and returned your fingers to your core, flinching as you brushed against your sore, overstimulated clit.  Chisaki returned to pleasuring himself as you performed for him, his hand pumping steadily.  Watching him masturbate to you was delicious.  He didn’t rush, instead opting to taking his time, his hand moving smoothly from base to tip, occasionally pausing to run his precum over the head, the shine glinting in the light.  You subconsciously licked your lips, wondering what it would taste like. Would you lick it from his tip? Or his finger?  Maybe both?

 You matched your pace with his, letting his own strokes guide your hand.  The synchrony made your pussy ache more than ever, even as your body screamed for freedom – a break from the constant wave of stimulation that you were subjecting yourself to.  It made you feel closer to him, more connected - as if he were a part of your pleasure without actually touching you.

 But dear God, you desperately you wanted him to touch you.

 He continued his strokes, slow and easy.  Whether it was for him or for you, you weren’t sure... you weren’t even sure if he was aware that you were pacing yourself with him.  His speed gradually quickened, the muscles of his forearms tensed and twitching as he pumped his hard cock with growing fervor. It was the hottest thing you’d ever seen, his eyes starting to roll back in his head as he began to lose himself to the pleasure, legs twitching slightly as he came close... Your heart pounded with excited anticipation as you dipped your fingers into your core, feeling your walls flutter with need.  It was happening... he was going to cum...

 But he never did.  Instead, his pace began to slow as his eyes refocused on you. That was when you realized….

 Chisaki wasn’t trying to cum yet… he was edging himself.

 Maybe he was waiting for you.  Or maybe he had his own agenda.  But either way, it was clear to you that he was delaying his orgasm.

 The hypocrite.

 Still, you wanted to please him. You wanted to give him want he wanted, because then maybe he could give you what you really wanted.  But no matter how hard you tried, no matter how fucking hot the entire situation was, your own orgasm evaded you.  

 It was more than just the repeated orgasms and overstimulation.  The real issue was that your fingers no longer satisfied. Not after seeing what he had to offer, and certainly not after seeing how horny you made him.  You wanted him to touch you, to put his hands on you, to feel his cock in you... A frustrated whine escaped your lips as you felt your resolve break.

 “Please, Mr. Chisaki...” you begged.  Chisaki’s eyes left your open pussy to lock with yours.  Their golden depths burned holes into you, and you licked your lips under the heat of his stare. “Please touch me...”

 Chisaki froze mid-stroke.  “Touch you?” He said it as if the idea repulsed him, yet his eyes betrayed him as he looked back down between your open legs.

 “Please,” You begged.  “Don’t you want to?”

 His brow was deeply furrowed, and you knew he was having his internal debate, just as he’d had before.  After all, what you were asking was no small order.  You knew how he felt about touch.  No doubt he would have already been balls deep in you had it not been an issue for him.

 But that was why you begged. And pleaded.  And groveled.  Anything to make him set aside his golden rule, even if just for one night.

 “Please...” you whined one last time.  “I’ll do anything.  I need you, Kai...”

 Something about you using his given name did something.  His eyes widened slightly, his flush reaching down to his exposed neck.  Then his eyes narrowed, as he stood from his seat.  You watched with a mix of excitement and trepidation as he carefully removed his jacket and loosened his white tie.  He towered over you, his stare pinning you somewhere between his contempt and his hunger as he undid the cuffs of his black shirt and rolled up his sleeves to the elbows. It made your pussy throb and your heart pound as you stared back at him, completely vulnerable.  He stepped forward slightly, filling the space between your legs with his presence.  Even just the graze of his pants against the inside of your knee was enough to set off fireworks on your skin, causing your breath to hitch in your throat.  His cock was still out and hard, mere inches from your tight, needy cunt, and it took every ounce of willpower not to scoot down and close the gap between you.

 You waited.

 “Touch you...” he muttered through his mask, his voice low.

 Chisaki’s eyes raked over you, taking in every inch of you.  Your trembling, parted lips and large pupils; your exposed breast with its perky, hard nipple; your swollen and glossy cunt framed in ruined underwear that was carelessly shoved aside; the sweat from your thighs coating his desk.

 “So fucking filthy.” He breathed.  The profanity sounded strange on his lips, almost more like a prayer than an insult.

 He stared at one of your thighs as he slowly placed a warm, gloved hand on it. You reacted immediately, gasping at his touch, and his eyes darted to yours.

 “...And needy.” He added.

 From your peripheral you could see his other hand grip his cock and begin to pump it. You tried to watch... you wanted to watch.  But the heat of his hand on your thigh made nearly everything else fade away until it was all you cared about.  Your breaths began to come in hot pants as your body trembled beneath him.

 “I didn’t realize that you were so desperate for me.” He said calmly as he continued to stroke himself.  His gloved hand squeezed your soft flesh until you were moaning from the mixture of pleasure and pain. “Pathetic.”

 You were pathetic.  But you didn’t care.  You’d say anything, do anything, just to have him keep touching you.  And if he wanted you to beg?  To cry? To humiliate yourself to earn his cock?  You’d do that too.

 His hand slowly eased its grip as it began to move up, up, up until his thumb nestled in the crook of your thigh, just shy of your sensitive, swollen folds. Your hand immediately made way for his as you laid down completely onto his desk, your world spinning.  A warmth fell over you like a blanket, every fiber of your being pulsing at a low hum; you were a glass vibrating at a frequency just shy of shattering.

 Chisaki’s voice floated through your haze like a faraway song carried on the wind. “You were so eager at first.  So willing to shame yourself – shame me – to get what you wanted.”  He scoffed. “Now you can’t even do as I say.”

 You could feel his thigh twitch against yours as he began to pump himself faster. His cock was so close to your pussy that it was torturous.  It made you want to cry.  You could feel the warmth of fresh juices begin to flow from you, coating your entrance in invitation, as you prayed to all the gods above and below for him to enter you without mercy.

 But it never came.  And his hand never ventured further.  Slowly, your thoughts trickled back ever so slightly, and you realized he was waiting for you to speak.  Slowly, around a heavy tongue, you made clumsy words.  “I... I’m sorry...I’m trying... is hard...”

 Chisaki tsked.  “You’re afraid.  Afraid of pushing past your limits. So now I’m going to help you.”

 His gloved thumb crossed the threshold to your swollen bud, and your world exploded into color as a sharp zing of pleasure erupted from between your legs. You cried out, your body spasming, hips writhing to escape his touch. It was too much...

 “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

 Then he did something you didn’t expect – his bare hand released his cock and slammed down onto the desk.  The surface rippled beneath you, transforming until smooth arches of dark mahogany wrapped themselves over your arms, effectively pinning you down.

 Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, your breaths coming out in quick, panicked gasps.

 “Kai!” you protested.

 He bent over you and grabbed your jaw in his gloved hand, his plague doctor mask inches from your face. “You wanted me to touch you,” he whispered.  “Now you’re going to get what you asked for.”

 The look in his eyes wasn’t as controlled as before.  Sure, the disgust and hunger were still there.  But there were more emotions now, peaking through the cracks of his practiced façade.  Anger, contempt, fear, desire, longing... and something else; something wild and unhinged.

 Something within him was on the verge of breaking, of being set free, and you were the one responsible.

 He straightened himself up and returned his gloved hand to your sopping core, his cock once again in his bare hand.  His thumb found its home again, nestled firmly against your engorged clit.

 He wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t slow.  Instead, his thumb ran swift, relentless circles, the digit igniting every frayed nerve. Each swipe had you crying out as wave after wave of sharp, jagged pleasure assaulted you, without so much as a second of recovery in between.  And as Chisaki raced you towards that inevitable cliff, his own hand pumped himself hard and fast.  His strokes began to become erratic, his composure slowly slipping as you began to unravel before him, your whines and cries luring him to follow you to the point of no return.  You could feel his own legs began to spasm against your inner thighs, his hips beginning to jut forward with each drag of his palm along his hard shaft.  The gap between your two bodies began to close, until you could feel the tip of him brush against your core. In that instant, you came undone beneath him with his name spilling from your drooling lips.

 The temptation was too much.  He entered you as you came, his cock burying itself within your clenching walls with a single thrust.  Your legs wrapped around him instantly as your body exploded into a mess of tears, shrieks, and trembles.  With one hand on your hip and one working your clit, he fucked you through your orgasm as you cried and panted, his own grunts joining your one-person symphony as you felt every fiber of your being shatter with white hot pleasure. It was all-consuming, disorienting.  You weren’t even sure you were a person anymore.  You could feel nothing else, see nothing else except the man inside of you, hovering over you, filling your existence.

 It didn’t stop. Even after you were a blubbering mess, tears streaming down your cheeks, your thighs and cunt sore, Chisaki kept going, his cock reaching new depths as it dragged against your spasming, sensitive walls.  His breaths were heavy, each pant labored until he ripped his mask off his face.  It was like a switch had been flipped, changing Chisaki from a man in control to nearly animalistic.  Teeth bared, sweat beading across his forehead, golden eyes absolutely feral. His thrusts took you past your orgasm, unrelenting, and you cried and babbled for him to stop, it was too much, your body couldn’t take anymore.  But even as your string of incoherent words begged for the end, your body spoke of a different kind of freedom, your legs tightening around Chisaki’s waist in an effort to pull him impossibly deeper into you.

 Chisaki snarled, releasing his hand from your cunt as he continued to fuck you, and removed his remaining glove with his teeth.  Suddenly, the white fabric was being shoved into your mouth, gagging your broken words behind its white cotton that smelled and tasted of you.

 “Shut up.” He growled.

 You could see the hives breaking out across his damp, flushed skin now at the contact, but it no longer seemed to matter to him.  And it didn’t matter to you either.  You were wrapped up delirium, your eyes glossing over and rolling into your head with each drive of Chisaki’s hips. Your hips couldn’t even keep up with his thrusts anymore; his movements were too rough, too fast.  All you could do was lay there and receive him as he pounded you without restraint.  That familiar knot was forming again, a dark beast built from the broken pieces of the last. It was a terrifying thing, a formidable presence that you felt building within yourself that would surely decimate you.

 “This is what you really wanted, isn’t it?” Chisaki grunted through clenched teeth. “You wanted me to fuck you senseless, to ruin this tight pussy of yours like the greedy, selfish bitch you are.”

 His words washed over you and you gave the faintest of nods, your mouth still gagged.

 “So, you’re going to take what I give you. You’re going to cum when I say, as often as I say.”  His cock hit deep as his thumb gave a final press against your clit. “Now.”

 You screamed around the cotton in your mouth, back arching and arms straining against the wood trapping you as the tension finally erupted.  It tore through your veins, making your fluids gush and your pussy clench like a vice around Chisaki’s pumping cock.  Not a moment later, you heard him groan followed by the hot sensation of his cum coating your walls.  It only enhanced the waves of pleasure still wrecking you and your pussy milked him greedily as he emptied himself in you.

 The comedown felt like it would never arrive. Your nerves still sang too loudly, the aches echoed too deep.  But finally, Chisaki’s hips stuttered to a stop and your own body lay limp beneath him. It felt like you were submerged under water, every sense dulled or muted, as you stared hazily at the ceiling.  Chisaki was still in you, his dick twitching sensitively each time your body gave a weak aftershock. You had thought he would pull out, leave you there like the ruined mess you were to go clean himself up.  Now doubt he’d return to his senses any moment and be repulsed by what transpired.

 But he never did.  Instead, he braced himself over you, his heavy, hot breaths coating your exposed skin as he settled through his own comedown while you warmed his cock.  You felt the desk ripple beneath you and suddenly your arms were freed from their restraints, the wooden surface back to its original state.  A moment later, he filled your view as he leaned over you, and you had a brief moment of panic, wondering if you were next. Was he going to overhaul you now? After all, he got what he wanted...

 But he never did that either.  Instead, he removed the glove from your mouth as his eyes traced over your face, marking every feature, every nuance.  Your parted, chapped lips... your glossy, sweat-stained skin... the exhaustion in your eyes...  His thumb came up to wipe away at the tears drying along your cheekbones before running the smooth pad over your lower lip.

 Then he did something you didn’t anticipate, something that surprised you above all else. He bent down and captured your mouth with his, his wet tongue gliding into your stunned, open mouth.  It was strangely slow, uncharacteristically tender, and entirely unexpected.  The fog you’d been swimming in a moment before lifted slightly, and you began to kiss him back, your arm wrapping up around his shoulders before tangling your fingers into his damp, auburn locks at the base of his neck.

 Whatever it was, it was short-lived.  He brought a hand up to grasp the hand you had around his neck, his fingers twining with yours as he placed your hand back down on the desk, pinning you within his hold. He pulled away from the kiss and stared down at you with a dark smirk tugging the corners of his wet lips.  And his eyes... his eyes burned gold like the sun. Not a beautiful, gentle gold that kissed open delicate flowers and melted winter snow.  No, this was a force of unrelenting destruction, the kind that burned deserts, scorched forests... and melted wax wings.

 You were Icarus, fueled by foolishness and arrogance. You’d flown too close, fueled by a false sense of confidence that you could handle whatever it was that lurked within him, that your lust was enough to match his.  But you were quickly learning you couldn’t.  His fire burned too hot, his hunger too deep. He was going to devour you until there was nothing left.  And really, what did you expect from a man who denied himself every human urge in his quest for perfection?  

 The sun could never be controlled.

 And Pandora’s box can never be closed.

 Slowly, he lowered his face next to yours until you could feel his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

 “Again.”

[x-ladyathena-x]

Free

Dean Winchester x Reader

Multi-POV (mostly reader POV with some Dean POV mixed in for clarity and understanding of the situation)

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Fluffy Smut, Smutty Smut, idiots in love

Word count: 4k - Buckle in, it’s a long one! (that’s what she said?)

Summary: An evening at the bunker planning your next hunt takes a romantic & steamy turn as you and Dean confess your feelings for each other.

You’d just finished a hunt and made it back to the bunker. Tired and exhausted, you see Dean at his computer, probably researching the next job.

“Welcome back, Sunshine!” he yells across the massive room, eyes never leaving his computer screen.

You roll your eyes at the pet name, but laugh at the same time. “Smartass.” You mumble under your breath at him.

“Aww, you’re the sweetest, y/n” Dean smirks at you with his goofy fake cheesy grin.

After a little playful banter back and forth, you unload your gear and slump down into a chair at the table that Dean is sitting at with his laptop.

“whew! I’m beat.” You say, rubbing your eyes.

Dean Drains the last bit of the beer he’d been sipping on and gets up for another. He holds up his empty bottle, “want one?”

“yeah, grab me one too.” You say, thinking about the ice-cold deliciousness awaiting you.

Dean walked back to where you were seated. You’d pulled out your laptop by this point and had started running a map spread.

He walked up, opened your beer for you and presented it to you like a waiter in a fancy restaurant would present a bottle of Champaign. “Your beverage, ma’am.” Dean says with a slight bow.

You laugh and take the beer. While you throw your head back, savoring that first sip, you don’t notice Dean watching you with a little smile on his face from having made you laugh.

You set your beer down. “Ok, come look at this.” You say. You’ve got the map pulled up on your screen.

Dean comes up behind you. He places one arm on the back of your chair, the other balancing his weight on the table. You’re acutely aware of how close he is to you. Your body stills. The world around you slows, moving in slow motion. You can feel him hovering right over your shoulder and it feels like an electric charge coursing through your skin.

You swallow. “Right here.” You say, pointing to the screen. “we’ve got intel on vamp nests; here, here, there, and way over here. I think we should begin with this one.” You say pointing to the blue dot. “But I’m not sure when we should hit the others.”

Dean leans forward. He moves his hand from the back of the chair to your shoulder. His fingers graze the skin of your exposed neck. He points to the screen with the other hand. “Well green would definitely make sense to hit after blue. But, as for red and yellow? Shouldn’t make much of a difference which of those we hit after that.” His hand was still on your shoulder and he gave it a quick squeeze. “See? Easy as pie!”

He stopped, hesitating, and looked down at where his hand was. His eyes suddenly became hungry.

Dean slowly began trailing his fingers along the exposed skin on your neck. You leaned into his touch, his hands – his hands! You could feel the strength and power in them at their touch. Oh, that rough touch. It set every molecule in your body humming. When you let out a small groan of pleasure, you could have sworn you felt deans body waver for a moment.

Gently, he moves a wisp of hair that had fallen down the nape of your neck. Taking his time, he allowed his fingers to brush through your hair, making goosebumps appear on your skin.

You shudder and bring in a short gasp of breath at the light, deliberate touch. Gah… this man could bring you to your knees with one touch. Just melt you into a puddle.

Umm, wake up, y/n! you think to yourself. You’re a badass hunter. Humans and creature alike literally fear your name! And here you are melting at the touch of (of all people) Dean effin Winchester… Ugh, get it together, y/n!

You’d never told anyone but you actually really liked Dean. A lot. He’d been on your mind more than usual lately. Maybe it was all the time you two had been spending together? He was fun and funny. And Charming… Oh yea, charming. So charming he just loved charming his way into the pants of every girl he met. You felt your teeth clench at the thought.

Am I jealous? Is this jealousy? You think to yourself. Jealous… jealous of what? Nothing. Something? You didn’t know why you felt that way. Dean wasn’t yours, after all. You knew he only saw you as a friend. Someone to joke around with, hang out with on your days off. He’s made moves on other girls. If he were interested in you, he’d have tried to make a move already. But he hadn’t. Just a little light hearted flirting, but you knew that was his personality. So that’s that. But- but, this?

What was this? What was happening right now?

Dean leaned down and pressed his lips to the back of your neck, resting his forehead against your hair. A deep sigh and the soft flutter of eyelashes tells you that he closed his eyes as he breathes in your scent.

Was this it? Was he making his move? The feel of his face nuzzled in your neck lit a fire burning in your belly. Him. You wanted him. Needed him. And his body language suggested that he wanted you just as bad.

“Dean...” you say breathlessly.

“y/n, I- “

The sound of your name brings you back to your senses somehow.

Making his move. You think to yourself. On you? Who does he think you are?! Some tramp from the bar? How can this man both infuriate and arouse you all at the same time?! This was starting to feel like an emotional roller coaster that you wanted to get off of.

You clear your throat and decide to lay down the law. You needed to let him know that playing around wasn’t your thing. And, of all people, he should know that about you, ugh.

“I’m not one of your conquests. Another one-nighter. So, if that’s what you’re after, you can pump the breaks before you start any of your trusty old sweet talk like honey dripping from your lips.” Mmm… his lips… Snap back to earth, y/n!

He’s smooth, you give him that. And as bad as you’d love to throw him down right here and fuck his brains out, you gather your senses and realize that your self-respect and dignity are more important. But, oh… those lips. The high road sucks.

You take a deep breath, gather yourself, and continue, “I, unlike your long list of hit-em-and-quit-em’s, am a lot of hard work. I require dedication and respect.” You spat the last word out a little more icily than you meant to, but you were seething at the thought of his hands being on anyone else.

Did he just screw some rando less that twelve hours ago? You don’t know. Probably. You clench your fist at the thought.

Dean moves suddenly. Swiftly. Like the predator you know him to be out in the field while hunting. Taking you by surprise, he kneels beside you, grabbing both your hands, turning you sideways in the chair to face him. He looks up at you with deep sadness in his eyes.

“Y/n, I- I haven’t. N-not once. Not since I- I realized…”

-----

Dean couldn’t stand it anymore; he couldn’t bear to hear the heartbreak in y/n’s voice. And he did hear it. Even though she tried to cover it; lacing every word with venom. He could still hear it. And it broke him inside.

What makes him good enough to deserve someone like y/n? She was way better off without a messy relationship with him. A relationship that would inevitably end in heartbreak. Heartbreak for one of them. Because in this life, the life of a hunter, having your heart ripped to shreds by the loss of a loved one was part of the reality. He was so scared to allow himself something good.

Good? Why do I deserve good? He thought. Maybe death and loss are part of everyone’s reality. Maybe, just maybe he was making the pain worse by fighting this… Maybe she, like him, was also scared. Would she even feel the same if he told her? What would he say? That he’d been in love with her for, well, he wasn’t sure when it happened. They’d always playfully flirted with each other. Sometimes she stole his beer, took a few sips, and handed it back. He liked the idea of putting his lips where hers had been. Dean imagined about how she would taste. He- he needed to tell her. Tell her everything.

Why was he making himself so miserable? This had to end, he was being stupid. It was his own fault for not confessing sooner. Dean gathered his courage. In one fluid motion, taking y/n by surprise, he knelt beside her, took her hands in his, and turned her body to face him.

Dean looked up at y/n. There it was. A mixture of torment, sadness, and longing. All weakly camouflaged by an icy look in her eyes.

“Y/n, I-“ Dean froze. I, what? Come on, spit it out, man! You’ve got this. “I haven’t.” Haven’t what?! Words. What are words? “N- not once. Not since I- I realized…” shit. Dean froze again as y/n’s breath quickened. Her eyes wide, listening to him speak. Her nails unknowingly digging into his palms in nervous anticipation of what he was trying to say. Why couldn’t he just spit it out?!

-----

You feel your pulse racing. You’re hanging on to every word pouring from those perfect lips. Every. Word. As your gaze dances across painfully beautiful green eyes, your expression softens.

“Not since I realized I love you.” Dean finishes in a low, rough voice.

Your breath catches in your throat. Is this real? Are you breathing? Did Dean just say what you think you heard him say?

“Y/n, I love you. And I have for a long time now.”

You release a big breath that you didn’t even know you were holding. Gently you lift his rough hands up to your mouth, brushing your lips across his calloused knuckles.

Unable to speak, you keep your hands on his as he reaches up to your cheek to wipe away a single tear. Am I crying?! You think to yourself. Apparently. Yes. The rush of emotion and relief that you’re feeling, knowing that he feels the same way that you feel keeps you tongue tied.

Your reaction to his words was the catalyst Dean needed to keep going. He continued, “I love you. I haven’t been with anyone for a while now. Not since I realized that you were right in front of me the whole time. Exactly what I’ve been searching for.” Dean was on both knees by this point.

As if Dean were searching for the next words he wanted to say, his head dropped down against his hands (which were still holding yours in your lap) and he drew a shuddering breath.

You could feel his soft hair against your leg. Why does he have to be so damn sexy?! As he composes himself, you reach out and run your fingers through his hair. His head jolts up at your touch. You smile at him, “I love you too, Dean. I just never knew you felt the same. Why are you only telling me now? Why hide it for so long?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you. Or lose you.” He whispered as he looked up at you through his lashes.

“Hurt me? Uh, didn’t ya think this whole ‘apparent unrequited love’ thing was killing me too?” you say sarcastically with a smirk. But in truth, that wasn’t fair to Dean. Because he didn’t know how you felt either. You’d never told him. Sure, you always flirted with each other and you found him insanely attractive and hot. Especially when he got protective over you during a hunt, or some creep at the bar. How many nights did the two of you stay up laughing at each other’s stupid jokes and throwing back a few beers? You’d always enjoyed each other’s company.

You repeat yourself, but softer this time, with longing in your voice. “Why now, Dean? Please. Tell me.”

“Because I was tired of denying myself the one good thing that ever came into my life.” He said heatedly. “Because I can’t think when I’m around you. You drive me absolutely fucking crazy, y/n. I can’t sleep without thinking of you. I can’t eat, hell, I can’t even put a beer to my lips without wishing it was you that I had at my lips. I want. No. I need you in my life. By my side. I need to - taste you. Breathe you. Y/n, I know I’m not the only one that feels this way. I see it in your eyes, I see the way you look at me. And I’m scared shitless of how deep these feelings go. This-“ Dean gestured between the two of you, “Is something that I never even knew it was possible to feel.

Without skipping a beat, Dean put his hand behind your head and pulled you into his lips. It was a tender kiss. Gentle, soft. You could feel the fire growing inside you. He felt so good. Your hands found the stubble on either cheek as you kissed him back. His tongue slipped inside your mouth and found yours.

The kiss became more forceful, and full of need. You didn’t want it to stop. It couldn’t stop. If it did stop, that may be the end of the world as you know it.

Dean stood, pulling you up with him as he wrapped both arms tight around your waist. He began running his hands over every surface of your body he could reach. He pulled you flush with his body, never breaking apart your lips. You could feel the heat radiating off him. You ran your hands down his powerfully muscular back. This. This man. Him. Dean. Dean is what you want.

Dean broke the kiss apart. “I love you, y/n. I love you so damn much it hurts.” He said, his voice breaking.

“I love you too, Dean.” You say, smiling up at his face, tangling your fingers in his hair.

With a small grunt, Dean lifts you up by your ass and you instinctually wrap your legs around his hips. You feel a growing bulge in his jeans. You pull his face back in to yours. You can’t think straight, you want him so bad, you can taste it. Your core is aching with need. The need for him growing more intense. Only he can quench this fire burning you up.

Dean carries you clumsily down the hall to your room. Your arms still entwined around each other, holding each other together, holding the universe together.

Once inside Dean puts you down and you both stand there, staring at each other, breathing heavily. You both suddenly fly towards each other. Grabbing and pulling clothes, pulling each other’s lips down hard on your own. You unbutton Deans blue jeans and he unclasps your bra. Your t shirt and shorts long forgotten somewhere on the floor.

The feeding frenzy of ripping each other’s clothes off slows to a savory pace as you tug and pull off Deans pants, leaving nothing to hold down the massive tent in Dean’s boxers.

He pulls the straps of your bra from your shoulders, slowly. When the cold air hits your nipples, they perk instantly Dean lets out a sharp hiss. “Oh, y/n.” He teases the soft flesh. First with his thumb, then with his mouth. As you feel his tongue against your skin, you let out a sigh of pleasure. His eyes dart up to your face. He lifts his head and softly kisses you on the mouth. “I would love nothing more than to throw you onto this bed and fuck you senseless right now.” Dean said with a growl, but then his expression softened. “But if this is too much, we can stop. You’re in charge… as per usual.” Dean laughs at his own joke and you playfully smack him on the arm, grinning.

“Hey now!” you say laughing, “I’m not always in charge when we do hunts.”

Dean rolls his eyes and says sarcastically, “Yea, ok. Sure…”

You lean in and plant a kiss on his neck, “Well, I guess – since – I’m the one – in charge,” you say playfully between kisses. Trailing them down his chest and belly, stopping at his boxers. His erection obvious. “Then, I’ll accept nothing less than-“, you pull his boxers down revealing his full length. You flash your eyes up to his. He’s hungrily watching you, “-being fucked senseless.” You say as you take him into your mouth.

-----

She was so fucking beautiful. Perfect. The most perfect thing he’d ever seen. As y/n started bringing her kisses down his torso, Dean could feel his erection stiffen even harder. When she stopped to pull down his boxers, he could feel his shaft weeping with anticipation.

He was so worried that he had crossed a line earlier. It totally took him by surprise that y/n wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.

“Well, I guess, since I’m the one in charge, I’ll accept nothing less than being fucked senseless.” Y/n said as she looked up at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. Damn! She was so hot. Dean had never been this riled up by anyone before. Oh, if that’s what you want, Baby, then that’s what I’m gonna-

Dean wasn’t able to finish his thought stream. Y/n had taken his whole length into her mouth. “Oh FUCK!” Dean screamed out, grabbing y/n by the hair. He slowly began to guide her head at the pace he wanted. Her tongue, her mouth, her! She was about to make him come already. Dean pulled himself out of her mouth. “Bed. Now.” He commanded with a sly smile.

Y/n laughed, “whatever you say, Baby.” As she climbed onto the bed, she did a dramatically slow striptease style crawl that made Dean’s erection throb.

Dean crawled up her body, kissing every inch of her he could reach. Y/n made a little pleasurable whine as dean kissed her thighs while he pulled down her lacy black thong. Her center was absolutely dripping wet. Dean wanted to live between those perfect thighs. Spend years there, never come back to reality. Was time even moving at all? What day is it? What year is it? He didn’t care. None of those things mattered. None of it mattered because he had his y/n. His. Mine.

The only thing that existed was the two of them.

Dean dove his face between y/n’s thighs to her soft center. She tasted like Spring sunshine. Dean took his time, savoring every shudder that ran through her perfect body. Every gasp, scream, and moan that came out of her perfect mouth. She was getting close to coming.

-----

Your whole body is on the brink. Every move dean makes brings you closer to the edge. You need this release and you need Dean to give it to you. You feel yourself climbing, building, then suddenly – the earth shatters around you. You scream “Dean! Oh, DEAN!”

Dean keeps going while you ride out the high, he slowly brings you back down. You sigh, “Dean that- that was- I-“ you have no words. He seems to understand what you’re trying to say because he smiles.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Your heart and core flutter at his words.

He climbs between your thighs, positioning himself at your entrance. You place your hands on his hips and start to guide him in. With one smooth powerful thrust, he slides his whole length inside you, filling you up, stretching you in the most delicious way. You both gasp. He smiles and kisses your forehead.

His pumps start slow at first, then become more deliberate, more powerful. You love the protectively dominate power he radiates as he’s on top of you. Dean is a MAN. And he feels good. He feels so damn good. You start to feel yourself building again to what you knew would be another earth-shattering orgasm.

Dean found his rhythm and savored every movement, every stroke. He could stay here for ages.

As you feel yourself building, your need for him grows stronger. Dean... He was yours. And you were greedy for more of him. As his rhythm quickened, you dug your nails into his ass pulling his thrusting hips toward you with more force at each thrust. He catches the hint.

Without ever breaking the two of you apart, he flips you over onto all fours and doesn’t hold back. His urgency makes you cry out in pleasure. “Baby, yes! That’s it!”

“You want more? You want me to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before?”

“YES!” you scream, reaching around and slapping his thigh. That does it. He unleashes himself. You hear him roar with pleasure, holding onto you so tightly, pulling you against him so fast and hard. The sound of flesh slapping echoed around the room mixed with both your cries of pleasure.

“Baby, I’m about to come!” you pant.

“Come on. Come for me Baby.” Dean says breathlessly. “I want to know that I’m the one to make you come.”

-----

Dean was talking out of his mind in the throes of ecstasy. The thought of y/n coming… of him coming inside her, was throwing him over the edge. Just as he felt himself going over, he felt y/n tighten around him.

-----

Just as you feel Dean twitching inside you, you feel yourself tighten around him. The sheer power of your shared climax hit you both like a freight train.

When you felt him pull out, you felt empty with his warmth gone. Dean lays back on the pillows and pulls you into his arms. You settle yourself in the warmth and comfort of his body. Dean absent mindedly plays with your hair as you lay your head on his chest and you both breathe heavily while you float back down to reality.

“Dean?” you say softly.

“Mmm?”

“That was amazing. Absolutely amazing.”

Dean chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “Glad I could be of service.”

He’s such a smartass, you think to yourself laughing. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more honest with you either.” You say, picking up your conversation from earlier. “I know I’m partly to blame for this dance we’ve been doing around each other for - who knows how long.”

“No, you were right. I should have just nutted up and told you how I felt. It just crushes me to think that I was causing you pain because you thought I was seeing other people.”

You absent mindedly draw circles on his chest with your finger. “I don’t know, I suppose we’re both to blame. I mean, look at this mind-blowing sex we could have been having all this time.”

This coaxes a real laugh out of Dean, and you feel his chest moving up and down from the laughter. But then he stops and you see a seriousness wash over his face. The same pain you saw in his eyes earlier, but maybe – perhaps you are imaging it – less pain, more - hope?

“I meant everything I said earlier.” Dean says in a husky, deep voice. “I am scared shitless to lose you, or to know that I’d be the source of your pain if you ever lost me. I mean, hell we’re hunters, we know how this ends eventually.” Still holding you tight, Dean continues, “I guess, If I’ve got one life to live, even if it’s a short one, I want you by my side. Always. I want you. All of you. The sassy you. The smartass you. The bossy you. The…” he paused to run his thumb across your lips, “The incredibly sexy you that I can’t keep my hands off of.” Dean smiles “I didn’t know that happiness like this, or these – feelings - were even possible to feel. And that’s just it. You made me feel. You pulled me out of a darkness that I didn’t even know I was in. You made me – free.”

[the-himawari]

A3! Mizuno Kaya - Translation [SSR] The Company President of April 1st (1/3)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

I’m Tachibana Izumi, and starting today, I’ve become a new employee working at MIZUNO Enterprise! It seems I’m the only employee who’s been recruited this year due to various circumstances, so I’m a little bit anxious…

But this is the start of my adult working life I’ve been longing for.

I’m not sure where I’m going to be assigned yet, but no matter which job is entrusted to me, I’ll do my best so I can contribute to the company...!

-pause-

Isuke: Good afternoon, Tachibana-san! I haven’t seen you since orientation, huh? How do you do? I’m the Human Resources manager, Matsukawa. It’s very nice to meet you.

Izumi: N-nice to meet you! (The Human Resources manager Matsukawa-san; I was surprised at first at his tattered suit that looks unbecoming for a large company…) (But I felt moved when I heard that it was a way for others to let their guard down, and it’s his belief that he wants to cherish things.)

Isuke: Ahaha, are you nervous? It’ll be fine. You may be our only recent-grad hire this year, but don't worry since we plan to support you fully!

Izumi: Thank you very much.

Isuke: Now then, you will take a tour of each department today to gain a better understanding of the various aspects of our work. At MIZUNO Enterprise, we value the independence of our employees—. So after getting a look at the work that we do, you may provide your own request on where you’d like to be assigned. And we will respect it to the best of our abilities.

Izumi: Oh, really…! (As I expected, the company culture sure is free.)

Isuke: So then, he will take it from here. Please go ahead.

Mizuno: Yes.

Izumi: (!?!? MIZUNO Enterprise’s President, Mizuno Kaya…!?)

Mizuno: Good afternoon, I’m Mizuno Kaya. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

Izumi: Y-yes! It’s nice to meet you!

Mizuno: Now then, how about we get going, Tachibana-san?

-pause-

Izumi: (It’s the first time I’m meeting with the President up close since the final interview…)

Mizuno: Sorry for startling you there. As the President, I must be able to properly explain both the company’s positive points and negative points myself—. And it’s a tradition to have the President personally give a tour of the departments to the new hires.

Izumi: I see… (I was surprised at the amazing reception, but I’m grateful for this valuable opportunity. Let’s listen properly to what he has to say.)

-pause-

Mizuno: Here are our offices. Come in. We have a variety of departments in order for the company to function, including Administrative departments such as the the Human Resources department that Matsukawa-san from earlier belongs to.

Izumi: (Woah…! It’s bustling in here.) (That department over there in particular is especially lively.)

Mizuno: Ahh, those guys over there are the members of the Sales department. Shall we head on over?

Tenma: Yeah, in that case, leave it to me. Of course, I’ll definitely deliver results that exceed your expectations. I’ll create the best product that will surprise and leave anyone impressed. Hmph, ME!!! I'm the one in charge here. I’ll make you think it was a good decision to entrust it to me, so look forward to it.

Mizuno: He’s Sumeragi-kun. He’s famous as he’s called the smug-faced salesman and he’s extremely dependable.

Izumi: (I wonder if his smug face conveys to the customer through the telephone receiver… That’s some amazing technology.)

Yuki: The design of this document I made is cute and easy on the eyes, right? Fufu, are you interested? Then let me let you a story… One of our company’s dazzling management philosophies is…

Mizuno: Over there is the beautiful salesman, Rurikawa-kun. He has many fans of his unique aura as well.

Muku: Awawawa, I’m a tri-coloured ballpen where only one of the colours has ran out. And I'm a flimsy, fluttering piece of scrap paper that’s been shredded—. I can’t believe I’m being praised like that…! B-but I’m happy you said so. If there is anything I can help you with, please let me know!

Mizuno: Sakisaka-kun’s called the negative salesman, but he’s humble, earnest, and very kind.

Misumi: How’s the triangle over here~? I recommend this triangle too! By triangle, you mean a triangle~? Yay!

Mizuno: Triangle salesman Ikaruga-kun is a mysterious person… He has more passion towards triangles than anyone else, and everyone is won over by his presentation.

Kumon: Yep, please let me know anytime! I’LL HELP YOU WITH ALL MY ABSOLUTE MIGHT!! I can ride my bike long distances at 100km/h, and I’m totally fine with meetings starting at 4 in the morning too! I’ll definitely, definitely do my best, SO PLEASE CHOOSE OUR COMPANY!!

Mizuno: The hot-blooded, sporty salesman, Hyodo-kun, is a very hard worker and that fire and cheerfulness energizes you.

Izumi: Everyone’s so distinctive, brilliant, and they’re really wonderful people!

Mizuno: Indeed. And the one with the best performance in the Sales department is…

Kazunari: That, and that, and this too—everything’s a-okaaaay! ‘Kay, just leave everything to me~! Got it, piko! Beri-san~! Oh-em-gee, for real! I totes feel you~! It’s wicked lit and hella full of feelsies, right!*

Mizuno: The party dude salesman Kazunari-kun takes pride in his overwhelming communication power. He was also the top sales performer in March.

Izumi: Amazing…!

Tenma: Damn it, just you wait and see. I’ll become the top in April.

Kumon: UWOHH, I’m not gonna lose either!

Muku: M-me neither…!

Izumi: (Woah, woah… sparks are flying…!)

Mizuno: Even so, those guys go out to play after work together and their synergy is impressive as well.

Izumi: ! Oh, really…! (I see, they’re good rivals and coworkers. I bet their private lives are fulfilling too.)

Misumi: Ah, President-san~!

Muku: Could it be, is the person with you the rumoured new employee?

Mizuno: Yes. I’m just giving her a tour of the departments.

Izumi: I’m Tachibana Izumi. It’s nice to meet you!

Misumi: Wahh, nice to meet you~!

Kazunari: Oh man, you’re a fresh, super cutie, huh! Like, legit swooned! Hey, hey, let’s exchange LIMEs, new hire-chan!

Kumon: That’s not fair, Kazu-san! I wanna become friends with Tachibana-san too!

Tenma: Heh, you do seem motivated, and you’ve got quite a good eye. What do you think, how about you come to the Sales department?

Misumi: Working together with you sounds so fun~!

Yuki: That’s fine, right? I’ll teach you lots of different things if you join.

Muku: We’d be delighted to have you! Of course, please call out to me anytime even if you decide to join a different department.

Kazunari: You’d seriously be super duper welcome! I’ll lend a hand for anything and I’ll be here for you ☆

Izumi: Wahh, thank you all very much!

Mizuno: Fufu, Tachibana-san, you’re a huge hit right away, hm?

???: Ohh, ohh, y’all at the Sales department!

Izumi: !?

---

*Yeah I took some liberties here cause not even google could comprehend this slang lmao

| next

[inglorious-purpose]

First of all, I want to emphasize that I like Sophia di Martino and I think she did a wonderful job portraying Sylvie. I realize some people have different opinions and that’s cool; I just personally feel that she did a great job of getting into Sylvie’s head and showing her emotions and personality, given the less-than-stellar script she had to work with. I also think that with some fleshing out, Sylvie could be a really interesting and complex character.

Having said all that, anyone who reads my blog knows that I’m not a fan of S*lki because aside from a tender look here or gentle touch there, Sylvie treats Loki like shit. And this whole dynamic of being mostly an asshole while meting out the occasional sign of affection is a hallmark of abusive relationships. I mean, if Sylvie has a massive change of heart and starts treating Loki with the love and compassion he deserves, then I’ll be happy to see them together. Otherwise, big nope. (FWIW I’m not a Lokius shipper either.)

In any case, I found this quote from Sophia really interesting:

I think she definitely cares about Loki; it’s the closest she has ever been to loving another being. The fact that he cares about her, too, is probably wildly uncomfortable for her. She’s never been close to another person her whole life. So it’s super complicated. ...

Ultimately, she chooses her revenge, and she chooses the path that she’s been planning to go down for her whole life—to kill He Who Remains. [To do that], she has to sort of get rid of Loki. I like to think of it as, she’s making sure he’s okay by getting him out of the way. He doesn’t stop her from doing what she needs to do, but she’s able to put him somewhere safe for a minute.

She definitely cares about him. I don’t know if she's in love with him. It’s such a complicated thing because he’s a sort of variant of her, too.

source

I think the part about Sylvie not knowing how she really feels about Loki is a totally fair read on the character. She’s confused, and who can blame her? She’s only known the guy for a day or two. Sure he seems nice but he nearly ruined her lifelong goal of revenge, and almost got them killed on Lamentis. And now he suddenly wants them to spend their entire future together -- like, dude, slow down a little! (Been there girl, been there.)

As for Sylvie pushing Loki through the Time Door to keep him safe, I don’t quite buy it. I mean, she just spent the past five minutes trying to shred his ass with her sword. She’s not holding back at all. He’s on the defensive, clearly trying to block her blows without hurting her, while she’s just hacking away. Also, what exactly is she protecting him from? Sylvie doesn’t think anything bad is going to happen if she kills HWR. She says he’s lying, she doesn’t believe in his “boogeymen,” she doesn’t even believe that Loki believes him. She’s decided that this is all a ploy for Loki to get his throne. Lastly, she sends him back to the TVA, where he’s still a wanted man. Unless Mobius finds him before anyone else does, he’s likely to be taken prisoner again, maybe killed. It’s not like she sent him to a happy meadow of daisies or some shit. She breaks his heart and nearly breaks his neck too. (Moment of appreciation for Tom’s stunt double. Good job, man.)

So is she trying to keep him safe? No. I can understand why people want to interpret it this way -- and in fact I’ve seen a number of fans claim that she was trying to protect him -- but the argument doesn’t hold up with the evidence. Yes, she looks sad after she yeets him. She probably regrets it. But her actions in that moment are simply cruel.

I kind of suspect that Sylvie is being set up as an antagonist against Loki rather than a companion, which could lead to some interesting dynamics down the line. If that happens, perhaps Loki will find better friends and maybe even a decent love interest who treats him with respect and care. After all he’s been through, Loki deserves it.

[bibbykins]

can u give us a glimpse into what arguing w/ the princes would be like? love ur work btw!!

You bet! I actually had something written about this ages ago but never finished it so I’ll paste it here and add some more!

Warnings: 18+ (just like my whole page and all my works are)This is where the toxicity and unhealthiness of these relationships show, manipulation, yelling, lying, mentions of sex, mentions of rough sex, mentions of various sexual acts (cunnilingus, fellatio, exhibition) I beg of you to not put up with any of this shit irl let fiction stay in the fictional world yknow? I always ramble in my fics about this but I figured I should add it here for good measure

Jin:

Where the other boys rarely ever just “argue” and it is either a fight or nothing, you guys just argue sometimes, never rlly fight

This ties back to the fierce honesty policy you have between each other, but you both are so stubborn so arguing does happen

You both usually start by saying snarky things until one of you breaks and says what is really bothering them, which doesn’t take long at all

If you cry, congrats, you automatically won bc Jin not only does not know how to deal with a woman’s tears, he cannot fathom his one true love crying

Although you usually try to continue explaining your reasoning bc you don’t wanna win by crying, you wanna win bc you’re right

Jin, similar to Jimin, respects you a lot, so the other girls seldom ever catch him acting like a clown’

His downfall is just being bad at expressing his feelings bc he thinks you just know, like you read minds or something

Jin usually apologizes by asking what you want after he forfeits his pride so if it’s a gift, he’s on it, sex? say less. 

He usually prefers to pamper you for a night, not even cumming during sex unless you tell him to

You’re the one who threatens the other fellas when they’re disrespecting their s/o, intentionally or not, and boy are they frightened. You rlly have a way with insults

Yoongi:

Bickers with you, but doesn't fight and everyone does not understand how bc he’s so standoffish to everyone else

Bc your relationship has the most public eyes on it, gossip columns are floored when they cannot find flaws or rumors of fights, and most are too intimidated by Yoongi to just make them up

You both read each other like a book, so the only time anything comes up is if you don’t like what you’re reading at that moment and vice versa, then a fight might start but it is shockingly rare

If he makes you cry, the fight is over, he lost. Yes, this is a running theme among the guys bc they are all whipped dummies

Very perceptive of your feelings, so never really worries about fighting with you or you hiding anything from him

You know how to get him to fess up so it's not the worst system of communication (still not healthy in the slightest but that’s the yandere life here)

He doesn't really try to lie to you or hide anything since you're also pretty bonkers so if he destroyed someone’s career bc he thought they looked at funny, you just roll your eyes and tell him he’s silly

You are the one that Jungkook and Taehyung are terrified of (It’s just about all the hyungline gf’s they are rlly scared of)

You’re usually so bubbly and energetic, but if you get pissed off, you’re as frightening if not more frightening than Yoongi

I should add Yoongi prefers to make up by marathon eating you out, at some point, it feels like he’s getting a kick out of it, but you’re in no place to complain tbh

Hoseok:

Not a lot of fighting here tbh bc you are still healing and your talent is in deescalating situations and telling people’s feeling

Your job is literally a behavior analyst so you will just deadass be like, “I can tell you’re getting frustrated to a point where effective communication won’t be possible, so how can I help calm you down?”

Makes him go silent real quick and reevaluate everything he has ever thought or done

For this reason, he just sighs and apologizes, genuinely bc you can absolutely tell when he’s just saying it to shut you up

He is the only one that will allow you to leave (the room, not the house) not that you want to leave the building considering the dangers you know are out there

Once you both cool off, you’ll have him state what he thought about and vice versa

You give advice to all the girls on how to do this, but not all of them are brave enough to try

So you go full mama bear mediator and step in when you feel the need

You genuinely frighten these guys bc you have this innate ability to make them feel dumb as fuck

Namjoon:

No fights rlly but misunderstandings happen that makes Joon go manic

You get frustrated bc he does this instead of just talking to you, but he’s learning little by little

The moment you aren’t smiling or trying to make a light joke with him, fight over, you won, he is worried

Bc he knows if you’re not smiling, you’re almost definitely going to cry and when you cry, he cries

You actually implement Angel’s tips and see some improvement with communication as time goes on

Namjoon’s love language in making up is grand gestures, so he’ll rent out a whole restaurant, or take you on a shopping spree to an art supply store, anything that will bring a smile to your face

You intimidate the other guys when they fight with their darlings bc you keep a smile the whole time you are threatening them and holy fuck is it eerie. You usually try to distract the upset girls post-argument with a craft or fun art facts

Jimin:

What makes the relationship work are your selfish tendencies working in tandem with his more sinister ones, but it can’t always work that way

You both test each other all the time despite agreeing on almost everything because the relationship is not a fight for dominance, but control-control you usually win 

The closest you get to real fighting is rough sex, most of the time you have disagreements that you resolve with conversation

It's the most “healthy” (it’s not all that healthy tbh) thing about the relationship and it blows everyone's minds, but it only happens bc Jimin has always respected you, and he genuinely knows that you don’t need him as much as he needs you

But on the extremely rare occasion there is a fight it is never in front of anyone and all hell breaks loose: screaming, yelling, slamming doors, it all seems like endless hell bc you both are too stubborn to say when you’re wrong

Until you cry

He really can't stand the sight of you crying, bc you rarely ever cry. He sees you as really tough and his whole perception of the world shatters once he realizes he’s the cause of your tears

Making up includes, you guessed it, sex. Like calling into work bc you can’t walk sex (Jimin cries during this sex bc he feels undeserving but by round 2 he stops)

The girls come to you post-argument to rant bc you live to talk shit with them to vent

Taehyung:

Rarely ever fights with you, because he absolutely despises doing so and you typically do what he says without question

But when you do fight, it always ends with both of you crying and hugging

During the argument though, he can say some seriously out of pocket shit, bc he lacks impulse control and you take that shit to hear bc who wouldn’t 

The fights are nightmarish and hard to watch bc at some point it just becomes Taehyung losing his mind while you cower until he realizes how much of an asshole he’s being or until you try to leave mid convo

Bless him if he were to ever make you cry in front of the other MC’s, my guy would be ripped to shreds bc the other girls do not fuck around

Hates to ever be the cause of your tears so you both are very quick to makeup and he can spend up to weeks making up for it

I’m talking gifts, money, food, dates, clothes, he is basically your personal assistant that pays you when he feels bad

The girl’s come to you after an argument for quiet time or some cute embroidery time

Jungkook:

You don't fight often, but when you do it's disastrous bc he is wildly paranoid and you are wildly insecure

You almost always go into a panic attack, fearing he'll leave you and he immediately loses all fight in him and feels like shit

And he is absolutely crushed seeing you hyperventilate or clutch your chest while he's yelling so he just stops like mid yell will just close his mouth and take a deep breath before going to you 

Immediately apologizes when it happens

Usually cries with you while he holds you

Another fella that will get torn to shreds by the other girls if they even catch a whiff of him being anything other than sunshine and rainbows to you rip jungkook tbh

He makes it up to you the same way Taehyung makes it up, by shutting his mouth and doing whatever you want, and giving you whatever you want

When the other girls get into an argument with their guy, they come to you for a hug and some quality time distraction

[p-artsypants]

The Ghost of Smokey Joe (1)

Minnie the Moocher

Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Stilted body language, plastic smile, and he seemed to have forgotten how close they were. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

Ao3 | FF.net

This was started before season three ended, though I was busy at the time and couldn’t finish it. Basically, season 4 never happened, and the Peacock Miraculous is still broken. 

—

At the age of 22, life had a good projection for Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She finally got her big break, somewhat thanks to Adrien. She was working at Gabriel, as one of Gabriel Agreste’s lead designers, though she was still technically an intern. Though Adrien didn’t directly have a hand in getting her the job, his continued praise of her work in front of his father probably had something to do with it. 

Though it was never confirmed, Marinette would never have to worry if she got the job on her own merit or not. She did. 

In fact, Gabriel was continually impressed with her work, even after she had landed the position. His harsh criticisms ended with her. Where he never hesitated to rip another designer to shreds for a mistake, Marinette never had to face that rage. 

He just honestly respected her too much to do so. And it helped that she was so gracious with his critiques. Never taking anything personally, and doing everything for the brand. 

Co-workers probably could have been resentful to her, but if they were, it was never outwardly shown. It helped that she readily got along with and tried to be friends with everyone. She took advice to heart, and accepted criticisms professionally. So it was hard to dislike her. Even when she was the one that was accepted into the Agreste Manor to work with Gabriel in person. A rare treat for any employee. And she got to go at least twice a week.

There was just one little tiny problem. 

8 years later, Marinette no longer had a crush on Adrien. Oh no, she was head over heels in love with him. The deepest, most pure, sweet, and sincere love there was. And he had no clue.

It was her curse. As they got older and matured, so did her feelings. He only got more handsome, more friendly and outgoing, and more perfect to her. He learned he was allowed to be affectionate with his friends, her, Alya, and Nino, and didn’t hold back. Marinette was showered in hugs, cheek kisses, and hand holds. All punctuated with the dreaded phrase, ‘you’re such a great friend, Marinette’. 

It’s like he wanted her to suffer. 

As they graduated Collegé, Adrien confessed that he was afraid they’d all grow apart as they went off to University. Marinette took that as a challenge and made sure to invite them to weekly get-togethers. And so friends did they remain. 

And only friends. 

Marinettte came home to her shared apartment with Alya. Her long time best friend was sprawled out in the middle of the living room, surrounded by swatches. 

Marinette laughed at the sight. “Wedding blues?”

“Yes!” Alya shrieked, sitting up. “We’ve been together for 8 years, engaged for six months, and I still haven’t picked our colors yet!”

“I thought you were doing burnt sienna and forest green? You know, a call back to your stint as Rena Rouge and Carapace?” A supposed secret between them up until a few years ago. 

“I can’t. I don’t like the combination anymore. And no matter how temporary, our superhero run should remain a secret. I shouldn’t have even told you.” She started cleaning up the swatches, resigned to know that she wasn’t getting anywhere tonight. “How goes the apartment search?”

Marinette winced. “Not as great as I was hoping. A lot of places that I could afford, but I could afford better with a roommate. I want to have savings, you know?” 

“Did you ask Adrien?” 

Marinette blushed. “You know that’s not a good idea.” 

“Why not? He’s still living at the mansion. And you’re such good friends.” Alya smirked at her. “Or, you could just ask him out. Then live with your parents for a few months until he realizes how perfect you are and proposes.” 

“That’s not going to happen.” 

“Says you! Look, you’re my maid of honor, he’s Nino’s best man. At least ask him out as a pretense to have an official date to the wedding.” 

“A wedding that’s six months away?” Marinette asked, as she hung up her purse and coat. “And what if something catastrophic happens between then?”

“Then you kiss and make up at my wedding.”

Marinette rolled her eyes before heading over to the kitchen. “Alya, he hasn’t dated anyone since Kagami. I think he’s holding out for someone.” 

“Yeah! You!” 

Marinette fondly shook her head. “He’s not.” 

“He is!”

“Did he tell Nino, and he told you?” 

“Well, no. Nino’s been trying for years to get his crush out of him.” 

“Then, there you go. If it was me, Nino would have found out by now. No, it’s someone else. Maybe a married woman, or a man.” 

Alya laughed at that. “Girl, you always go to the worst case scenario. Just…flirt with him a little, prod him with your womanly wiles.” Then she batted her eyes. “Please? For me?” 

“Alright. I’ll see what I can do. You know it’s going to go so well this time, right?”

“That’s the spirit!”

“I was being sarcastic!”

Folks here's a story 'bout Minnie the Moocher,

She was a red hot hoochie coocher,

She was the roughest, toughest frail,

But Minnie had a heart as big as a whale.

The next day at work, Marinette forgot all about flirting. It was a race to finish her project. She had gotten the design approved, and now it was on to start assembling the piece. 

There was a knock at her office door. 

“‘Ome ‘n,” she said with a mouth full of pins. 

Who would arrive except for handsome, angelic, and...pale? Adrien. “Are you busy?” He asked with a small voice. 

Quickly, Marinette shoved the pins into the fabric to hold it in place, and dumped the rest back into the tin. 

“I can take a break.” Anything for you. She thought, offering him a chair. 

“Thanks,” he nearly collapsed into it. Then he looked around the office, for what, she didn’t know. 

“Soooo...what’s up?” 

Adrien didn’t answer right away, still scanning the room, eyes narrowed. He rubbed his palms on his pants. 

“Are you okay?” She pushed a little more. 

“Huh? Oh, uh…” He clenched his fists and swallowed harshly. “Do you…want to have dinner with me tonight?” 

A blush stained her cheeks. “Really?”

“Yeah, um…somewhere private. I want to talk to you about something, but um…it’s a secret.” 

“Well, Alya is going on a late night date with Nino, if you want to come to our apartment. I could just order some Chinese?”

He exhaled slowly and smiled at her. “That sounds awesome, thanks Marinette.” 

“What time? I get out around 6.” 

“I’ll meet you at 7 then?” 

“Yeah, yeah that sounds perfect.” Spurred on by the fact he was finally asking her out on a date, Marinette leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

Adrien blushed furiously before standing. “Um, I’ll see you tonight then. Thanks for um…yeah, I’ll let you get back to work.” 

Marinette continued to grin at him shyly until he left. Then she collapsed in the chair he had occupied. She didn’t have to flirt or do anything! It was finally happening! A date! With Adrien! 

She ran to her purse and snatched up her phone. “Alya!” She called. “Alya, it finally happened! Clear the next 15 minutes and get the popcorn, I need to panic!” 

He gave her his townhouse and his racing horses

Each meal she ate was a dozen courses

She had a million dollars worth of nickels and dimes

She sat around and counted them all a million times

That night, Marinette sat ready and waiting. The apartment was spotless. She had ordered his favorite dish, and wore a cute little green dress (his favorite color.)

“Alright, I’m leaving,” declared Alya. “You two behave.” 

“It’s a first date, Alya. Like we’re going to do anything at all.” 

“Puh-lease, the sexual tension between you two is unbearable. He’s going to be on you like white on rice!” 

“Don’t be so vulgar!” Marinette laughed. “Adrien is a gentleman.” 

“Sure. Anyways, I hope you have fun!” 

“I’m sure we will.”

“Bye girl, bye.” 

“Bye girl, bye!” 

And the door closed. 

Any minute now, Adrien would be knocking. And then what? Would he kiss her cheek like she had? A hug maybe? Or both? What was appropriate for her? Offer to take his coat? Yes yes, that sounded right. Was her hair okay? She brushed her teeth, right? 

“Wine!” She announced. “What wine pairs with Chinese food?” 

“Might I suggest Riesling?” Said Tikki, from her hiding place. 

“Riesling! Riesling…I don’t have Riesling! I don’t know what that is!” 

Tikki laughed at her. “Marinette, just relax. Just do a Rosé. It’s fine.” 

Marinette hurried to the cabinet and fetched a bottle and two glasses. Then she poured one for herself and downed it in one go. “I don’t know if I can do this! I’m so nervous!” 

“You and Adrien are great friends, it’ll go great! Just relax and enjoy it. He’s not even here yet, there’s no reason to panic.” 

“You’re right! I’ll just…I’ll just wait!” 

So she sat and fidgeted. Nothing to do but wait.

And wait she did.

8 o’clock came before she knew it. And she checked her phone. Nothing. 

Did you forget about dinner? She texted.

There was no reply.

“It’s alright Marinette, he’ll come. Maybe he got held up in traffic, or his father needed him for something?” Tikki said encouragingly. 

“Yeah, maybe…he’d at least call, wouldn’t he?” Not waiting for an answer, she called him first. 

“Hey there, it’s Adrien, I’m not available to answer right now…” 

She hung up.

She poured herself another glass. “He wouldn’t just…ghost me?” 

“He cares a lot about you, of course he wouldn’t.” 

“Hey there, it’s Adrien, I’m not available to answer right now…” Another voicemail. 

9 o’clock. 

Poor Min, poor Min, poor Min

“Hey there, it’s Adrien, I’m not available to answer right now…”

The Chinese went cold, and the bottle of Rosé was emptied. 

He never showed up.

--

I can’t guarantee prompt updates for a little bit. I have some logistics to figure out, but I have a few chapters ready, so I figured I’d start posting! All the chapter titles are songs from my spooky halloween playlist that inspired this fic (and their lyrics will be in the chapters)! You can find that playlist here. The playlist will be updated as the fic goes on.

I hope to post the last chapter on Halloween!

[c-c-cherry]

Bruno's and Abbacchio's reaction to each JoJo? Like if they just met them. (Jotaro, Josuke, etc) I feel like Abbacchio would be annoyed XD

Mmmmmm I’m home once again and reunited with my precious computer. This ask was so fucking cute and I went a bit feral with it but I just forgot how much I love all the previous Jojos :3

(Note, this is only going to include the animated parts because I don’t think I know enough about the manga parts to do them hehe)

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Jonathan

A respectable man. Is the kind of guy that would offer to do the dishes after dinner at someone else’s house. Would probably buy your pets Christmas presents.

You already know he and Bucciarati would get along in a heartbeat. Tea parties? Making tiny sandwiches? Beating people up occasionally? Best warm, fatherly duo on this planet I don’t make the rules except I kinda do

Abbacchio would be different. He can just tell where Giorno inherited his self-righteousness and do-no-wrong personality from and its this guy and he fucking hates it. The man literally GLOWS with righteousness. This is not okay. Jonathan is a good man, but he can only take so much perfection in one household.

Joseph

Himbo king. Not very smart, but he means well. Won’t ever shut up about whatever’s on his mind, but there’s some kind of weird charm to that.

Bruno could care less about intelligence and thinks the man gives good hugs. He’s a very persuasive and warm person and sometimes Bruno just needs to like—sit on the roof and let this big beefy 20-year-old man wrap his scarf around him and tell him that things are gonna be fine. :) Oldseph is nice to him and his kids and shows them weird Hamon magic tricks. What is there to hate?

Leone is annoyed beyond fucking MEASURES because he didn’t think that someone in their 20s could still act like they’re 11. Honestly, he’s a bit jealous that he can never be that childlike again. Surprisingly though, he latches onto him pretty quick because Joseph reminds him of his kids :’) Oldseph is one of the only people who can make him laugh, though. The fact that he’s survived so much bullshit and can still act so witty gives him a shred of hope for his own life.

Jotaro

A man of few words. Is somehow both awkward and confident at the same time. Can’t sit on couches properly because of how tall he is. Isn’t the best at showing his feelings, but he always means well.

It’s almost impossible for Bucciarati to dislike someone, but he just,,,feels threatened whenever Joot is in the room. Maybe it's because he’s a 6′5″ 181 pound man that’s spoken maybe 4 words since he’s entered but he gets this air of intensity whenever he’s around him. He learns later after a few beers that the man is just the most socially awkward and emotionally constipated person on the planet. He wouldn’t say they become friends, but he finds that he doesn’t have to keep his guard up around him anymore.

Abbacchio loves silence. Abbacchio loves Jotaro. The man is like a godsend compared to everyone else in this house. Quiet, reserved, polite, doesn’t take shit from anyone,,,the list goes on. The two of them could sit outside for hours and never feel awkward about it. And the fact that marine life is his entire job keeps the kids occupied enough for him to actually do shit. Jotaro is a winner in his book.

Josuke

Like his father but actually has a filter. A true bro. Daddy issues but who doesn't? Is the definition of wholesome content. Stand looks like bubblegum ice cream. Is baby.

Bruno loves him. He and Giorno bond over healing and he’s literally the sweetest person Bruno’s ever met. Soft boy needs hugs. Soft boy needs parental figure. Soft boy will get both immediately and it WILL be from Bruno. If he knew that Joseph was his dad, you best believe there’d be some mega scolding going on. Long story short, yes yes. Yes.

Leone will hate the kid upon meeting him but then learn some more stuff about him and think “hey, this kid actually isn’t that bad.” At this point Leone’s just like fuck it there’s another kid here and doesn’t think much of it because Josuke isn’t exactly annoying per say, he’s just there. Which is fine as long as Josuke doesn’t become annoying. Which he probably will :)

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

I’m working on ch 3 of my Hypothermia fic as you read this!!! But I think once I wrap that up, I’m gonna take a bit of a part 5 break after all that I’ve written (excluding Communication Breakdown as that’s kind of a constant fic rn) I’m super hyped to be writing more of parts 2, 3, and 4 (and possibly 1??) 

So gimme some prompts for those parts if you have any!! I’ve been meaning to write some more physical whump so I’m not even kidding when I say go fucking off-

[ryik-the-writer]

THE AUDACIOUS STORYBROOKE MIRROR ADVICE COLUMNIST (WEDNESDAY PAPER EDITION) In which Lacey French is a smutty advice columnist for the Storybrooke Mirror.

Ch. 4: Lacey has a conversation with one of her biggest opposers, followed by an interlude with Gold

A03

Wednesday morning came too soon, but Lacey had met the deadline for her column, and she still had a job when she walked into her office.

“Racy Lacey,” Cruella had responded when she sent in the final edit. “When did you become so angelic?”

“Stuff it,” she said to her secondary editor.

Glass’s feedback was mutual.

“Well kid, I admit I had some doubts,” he said just as Lacey was about to scream. “But you pulled it off. We’re getting decent comments on the new column, especially from the higher up.”

“You mean from her majesty,” Lacey spat, despising the woman who got her into this who mess.

“The mayor is pleased, yes,” Glass relayed with a slight warning to his voice.

Lacey ignored it of course, but she didn’t want to talk about that horrid woman any longer.

“What did you think?” she asked, running a finger over a book on his desk.

Glass had the audacity to laugh. “You haven’t asked me that since you were an intern.”

She turned a harsh glare at him and Glass finally put her out of her misery.

“I thought you put a lot of heart into it, and I know it wasn’t easy stepping into something so different from what you’re used to.”

“You’re fucking telling me,” Lacey muttered undetected.

“It’s a heavy subject, I mean good God Lace, did you pick this one to get back at me?”

“Maybe.” Lacey teased.

He let it slide and stood, cueing that there conversation was coming to an end.

“Well you did good, and, well, I’m proud of you kid.”

That was indeed something she hadn’t heard since she was a bright-eyed intern back in high school, and something she hadn’t heard from anyone but him.

Not even from her own father.

“Don’t get mushy on me, Delicate-as-Glass,” she snarked, enjoying the way he bristled from the use of her nickname from him.

“Easy,” he warned, but he more important things to do than lecture his most wild employee on respect.

“Anyway, I think we can start adding one of those with your usual debauchings, and that should keep you in the clear.

It was just as she suspected, but she complained simply to put on a show and then let the matter rest. She’d have to work with Gold some more, which she had no problem with at all.

Though it would seem their attempt at a romantic relationship was going to need some time.

Sunday came around and Lacey hadn’t seen nor heard hide or hair of him since their drink.

As Lacey walked the streets of Storybrooke, an attempt to get her thoughts in order, she but decided she’d visit him that night for more help on her “fluff” article, and maybe some feedback on her smutty one.

Bells rung cleanly through the air as church services let out and Lacey scrunched her nose. The religious zealots in Storybrooke were her biggest haters. It wasn’t uncommon that she’d get some sort of email warning of the damnation of her soul or the obstruction of the town’s youth.

Lacey laughed aloud as she thought of the latter, certain Storybrooke’s youth found their first form of porn in a much more modern way – a fact she often wrote as reply in her emails on the subject.

“Glad to see you’re in good spirits, Miss French.”

Lacey’s grin melted into an annoyed frown at the familiar, very unwelcomed voice.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered as her most vocal opposer approached: Mother Superior.

The head nun of Storybrooke’s covenant had her finger in the grand pie that was Storybrooke and was quick to take down anything she could pinpoint as “sinful.” Such measures included removing a majority of “inappropriate” books from the town’s school libraries (the public one had been closed for years), mandating separate PE classes at said schools, and worse, writing a religious reminder about the wages sin in Storybrooke’s Sunday paper—Lacey’s fucking territory!

“Morning,” Lacey greeted vilely, glancing over her shoulder. “And…goodbye.” She began to walk away, but was halted by more of the pious nun’s words.

“I was interested to see your choice of column’s this week,” she spoke. “Much more effective than the sinful trash you usually post.”

Lacey swung around on her heal, letting out a fake gasp.

“And here I thought you hated my work,” she gave the nun a plastic smile. “Good to hear you read my columns regularly.”

Mother Superior bristled, already losing her battle with the spicy Lacey French.

“You—you obviously can stop your sinful ways if you give yourself the chance. You could really help people instead of leading them down the path of—”

“I do help people,” Lacey hissed. “Sex, intimacy, closeness, all of those things are important to people, and they come to me for help because unlike you I’m not going to shame them.”

The head nun went quiet and Lacey thought for a moment she’d won this fight and could go about her day in peace, but then a wicked grin spread over Mother Superior’s face and Lacey knew her day was about to get much worse.

“People seek your insight because you’re an easy slut who has whored herself out expertly.”

She said it. The W-word Lacey hated with a passion. The word that was always aimed at her.

She tried to hide the impact it had on her. No one, not even a pillar of the fucking community, was going to get under her skin.

“At least people read my expert advice. From what I seen they shred your little letter of conviction up and donate it to the animal shelter for bedding.”

Mother Superior’s face turned green and her mouth opened again to comment when another familiar figure added their appeal.

“Mother Superior,” Gold greeted darkly. “I do hope since you’ve found time to invade Miss French’s business then you’ve found time to gather the rent for tomorrow.”

The head nun’s expression turned pale. Her mouth failed to work and Lacey found some secret pleasure in her downfall.

“O-of course, Mr. Gold,” she finally replied, giving Lacey one last dirty look before she dashed away to the convent.

Lacey snorted, spinning around to face Gold.

“Thanks cutie pie, but I was handling myself just fine.”

Gold shrugged. “I never miss a moment to remind that gnat of a woman of her place.”

She chuckled at that, though the sting of the nun’s words were still wearing off.

Gold noticed her shift in mood and searched for an out.

“I was…going to call you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Well neither did you.”

“Ugh,” Lacey groaned. “We wrote a column, not slept together, let’s drop it.”

Gold’s face heated and he went quiet.

Lacey sighed, knowing she’d already made the situation between them more awkward than it already was.

“Look,” she said, “I have a few fluff columns I need to go through. How about I come by your place later and you see what you can do.”

Still flustered, Gold could only nod.

“Great,” Lacey said. “I’ll see you then.”

Gold watched her leave, the clanking of her high heels matching the thumping of his heart.

So far there relationship was a sort of business casual agreement, but there was the “what if” factor floating cleanly over them.

His attraction for her was clear between them, but exactly how she felt was still unknown.

For all he knew she was simply using him, but at least it was for his mind and not for his heart.

He was becoming content with their relationship, but he was a lonely soul who would one day want more. What would happen when he tried to take that step? Would it be the end of them?

Unbeknownst to him, the same thought was on Lacey’s mind.

No one had ever stood up for her like that before, and there was a certain tastefulness watching him snarl at that gnat of a nun.

She’d admit that Gold was attractive in his own way. Lean, a decent stature, nicely grayed out, and those eyes. Damn his eyes. The color of whiskey and just as addictive.

She found herself grinning like a freaking teenager as she thought of her unofficial business partner and her growing attraction for him.

It only occurred to her as she got halfway to her apartment that she had spoken to him completely in the open and felt absolutely no remorse or concern.

 0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“Okay, how about this one: Racy Lacey, I’m at my wits in with my new boyfriend—oh never mind, this one’s smut-worthy too.”

Gold scoffed. They’d been looking through emails for the past hour. They were almost though a whole bottle of wine, most of which was drunk by Lacey. Gold avoided the alcohol as much as possible less he embarrass himself.

Lacey seemed to be holding her own though, mostly. She was walking barefoot through his living room, pacing back and forth as she read emails off her phone.

It was a lovely site and very distracting.

“Your mind goes straight to the gutter, doesn’t it?” Gold said, his stomach immediately twisting with anxiety.  

It was the first time he’d attempted to joke with her and, judging by the snort that followed, she took it fairly well.

“Well, people write me for one thing,” Lacey shrugged, falling back beside him on the couch. “So the gutter is a good place to go.”

He chortled, grateful her sense of humor ran deep.

Lacey stared at him over the rim of her glass, curious.

“What about you?” she inquired. “Where does yours goes?”

Gold choked a bit on the sip of wine he’d taken. Not embarrassing himself was starting to go out the window, it would seem.

“S-somewhere more innocent than where yours is,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “Shouldn’t we get back to the column?”

Lacey crawled closer until she was mere inches from him. She crossed her legs, leaning one hand on her knee as she watched him grow increasingly nervous.

“Come on, converse with me,”

Gold resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Lacey French was guiltily tipsy in his living room, and getting increasingly bold at that.

“Miss French…”

“For Christ’s sake it’s Lacey,” she slurred. “We’re defiantly on a first-name basis, I mean come on.”

Gold chuckled nervously. Where they really at that stage already?

“I suppose we are. Now the column…”

“Ugh,” Lacey groaned, setting her glass on the floor beside the couch. “All work, no play. What’s the matter, afraid you’ll fall even more in love with me?”

Gold froze. Honestly, he could faint. Lacey was certainly having a field day with the knowledge of his affections from his drunken email earlier last week.  

She wasn’t mocking him, that much he could tell, but he did increasingly wonder the authenticity of her affections towards him, if there were any at all. She’d probably regret her words tomorrow, but he wouldn’t remind her of them if didn’t bring them up.

“It’d certainly be a challenge not to,” he admitted.

Lacey’s smile stretched further, her chest fluttering.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe Lacey simply wanted to explore this oddity she had developed with Gold. Either way, she was about to make a very drastic decision.

“Hey,” she whispered, chuckling. “How about …”

Gold tilted his head, charmed at the rosiness on her cheeks. “Yes?”

She stared into those eyes, their color so tantalizing and bright.

“…kiss me.”

Gold’s smirk slowly disappeared, his chest seizing.

“I…I beg your pardon?”

“K-I-S-S,” Lacey repeated with a smack of her lips. “me.”

Gold could only stared at the scarlet-faced goddess in front of him, the color of her face making the blue of her eyes stand out all the more.

He did want to kiss her—Gods knows he did—but was this the right time?

Lacey seemed to think so as she leaned forward, expecting his lips. In retaliation, he leaned back, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

Lacey caught on quickly, pausing when she saw the uncertainty on Gold’s face.

“Yikes, sorry,” she muttered. “You’re not going to catch anything, damn.”

Gold was taken aback by the sudden malice in her tone and, he saw, the flicker of shame in her icy blues.

“What? Lacey what are you talking about?”

Lacey stared glassily at her bare feet, shrugging nonchalantly.

“You said ‘who knows what I have’ during our fight, remember?”

With flaming discomfort, he recalled exactly what she was talking about.

It had been a flare up, a way to push her out as he recovered from his embarrassment, to keep her at arms-length, he previously convinced himself.

The reason was pointless. He’d insulted Lacey, humiliated her really.

It didn’t take a vivid imagination to know that her early conversation with Mother Superior was only a sample what she went through daily. And he’d was no different than the fools in town who jumped to conclusions about virtue.

Her head was still bent, one of her fingers circling a patch of leather on the couch. Gold felt sick that he had made her feel any level of guilt when she shouldn’t at all.

“Lacey,” he said quietly. “I am so sorry. I was foolish. I didn’t mean what I said. I shouldn’t have said it.”  

Lacey shrugged, uncrossing her legs and made her way to the window.

“It doesn’t matter.” She replied, the phrase her constant companion whenever she was compared to someone with such loose morals.

Lacey was as sex positive as they came and encouraged many of her readers to be comfortable and experimental  with their sexuality, but her own experience came from a vivid imagination. Her own standards were extremely high, and her partners very few.

Of course, that didn’t stop the many she turned down from spreading callous rumors about her when she refused their beds, and of course being a sex columnist didn’t lend an the most positive opinion.

She’d learned to deal with the snarls and the crude comments whispered behind her back. She’d eye her opposers down just as damningly as they did her and came out triumph.

Still, the isolation didn’t stop the wave of loneliness that hit her from time to time.

“It does too matter,” Gold fought. “You don’t deserve what I said to you Lacey, what anyone says to you at that!”

“I’m used to it—”

“You shouldn’t be,” Gold cut her off. “You are a beautiful, intelligent person Lacey. And you do something every day that not many people have the ability to.”

Lacey snorted but smiled none the less.

“You’re so brave to do it,” Gold said, his eyes lowering. “Braver than I am.”

Lacey eyed him, cocking her head mischievously.

“I think you’re pretty brave,” she said. “Not too many people have the gall to have Racy Lacey in their house, especially with such nosy neighbors.”

“Damn the neighbors,” he said.

She scooted closer, her breath warm and acidic on his lips.

“I think you’re pretty handsome too,” she smirked.

Gold scoffed. His looks were the last thing he’d credit himself over.

“I’m serious,” Lacey said, her painted nails trailing up his neck. “Especially your hair…”

Gold accepted her touch with earnest, his predatory eyes fluttering shut as he pressed into her hand.

She watched him, a man starved for human affection. Just like her.

She carefully leaned forward, letting her lips brush against his, testing his consent. When he didn’t pull away, she strengthened the kiss, pressing her lip solidly into his as her hands tangled in his locks.

Gold returned it, lost in her taste and desperate for her touch.

They separated for air, Lacey’s hand have gripped the collar of his shirt.

“Hey,” she husked. “What if we…”

He was no fool to not know what she wanted.

He had wanted to protect, but found out she didn’t need protection, not from the town at least.

His own heart was damaged, and Lacey had begun to fix the chips and dents.

He was still hesitant, still ashamed by his behavior toward her earlier, but Lacey was pawing at his shirt and he could think of nothing else but her.

He kissed her again, his hand feeling down her hip.

Lacey was quite receptive. She uncrossed her legs and crawled into his lap, pushing him against the arm of the couch.

He captured her face with one hand while he explored her body with the other. His hands came up to her top, stopping for her permission. Her hands met his and she all but ripped off her shirt, her nipple standing at full attention through her silk bra.

Gold’s hands ran up her back, grazing her breasts and gliding over her stomach, her side, down her thigh and under the fabric of her jeans.

She clung to his shoulders as she let her tongue dance with his. Wetness was already pooling between her legs. This was escalating quickly and yet she had no intention of holding back.

He swallowed when his erection pressed against her thigh. She desired him and she needed him. Now.

With more skill than he could have imagined she managed to get her jeans off in a messy tangle, laughing as he helped her.

His fingers graced against the fabric of her panties, applying just the right kind of pressure to her clit.

“Gold,” she keened, attacking his belt and leaning off of him just enough to help pull his boxers down.

She felt his hard erection twitch, pressing against her flesh, his warmth radiating.

She kissed him again. He groaned and bucked his hips against her. She moved her hands between their bodies to free his throbbing erection from his pants. He groaned when she wrapped her hands around his cock. She wanted to taste him. She wanted him to fuck her. She wanted to bring him pleasure and see it written all over his face.

He trembled a little, grateful she had no qualms with being in charge.

“You are so sexy,” he groaned as she grabbed his cock with one hand and fighting between moving her panties aside and steadying herself with the other. Feeling how good he felt when he finally slipped inside her made all annoyance she felt slip away.

They both sighed and she captured both his hands, pulling them up and behind his head. She entwined her fingers with his and pressed his hands against the couch as she bend forward to kiss him.

She rode him hard, licking, nibbling, sucking at this mouth while she did so. He was hers and she wouldn’t allow him to run off again. He came before she could reach her climax, but feeling his hot seed spilling inside of her brought her over the edge again.

She collapsed on top of him, releasing his hands to play with his hair. And they just breathed together.

Then she started laughing, a throaty ring that made his heart pound.

“Well, Goldie Locks,” murmured as she played with his curls. “I think I have my inspiration for my next column.”

He chuckled and held her ease down so that she was lying on top of him.

“Such a shame you still have to write the tame one, you’re deadline is tomorrow morning, yes?”

Lacey groaned and buried her head in his chest. He kissed her curls in reply.

He was indeed going to enjoy this new relationship with Lacey French.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I’ve been trying to get these two to bang for over a month now, so boom, they banged. I can’t write a smut scene to save my life.

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty || Chapter 14

                      No Weddings and Two Funerals.

                                          Two Weeks Later.

                                                   Funeral

“What’s happened?” Matthew immediately questions with furrowed brows as I shuffle out of Anna’s room. Everyone stares at me with bewildered eyes, unaware of what has transpired. I bite down on my tongue and compose myself for a minute, clearing my throat as I take a breath. It is nobody’s business what happens behind closed doors between her and me. As far as anyone’s concerned, she had issues with the security plan this morning. “She needs a minute, come back in five,” I glance towards the ladies who are holding Anastasia’s dress and dress coat. “Trust me, you’re going to want to give her a minute.” I half-smile, trying not to sound like a prick, but I don’t think they want to get yelled at in the same manner I did. Anna is not in any state to deal with anyone or anything at this exact moment. She needs a few minutes to calm down, breathe and compose herself, perhaps a few minutes to throw things and get her emotions out. I couldn’t imagine being in her position and having to deal with what today will hold. I understand today is a day that nobody wants to go through, nobody wants to say goodbye to a parent one last time. As much as I understand her need to let it all out and take it out on me, it doesn’t make it easy on myself when I have a short fuse with one-hundred different things I need to do for the day. Without sounding selfish, adding a spiralling Anna to my list of issues is not what I need right now when the palace safety is my top priority.

“Oliver, guard the door and don’t lose the Princess,” Matthew instructs while I storm off.

I march down the hallway and stop at one of the doors before I open it with ease and without much thought. I am on a mission, I know what I am in search of. A lady’s maid turns to glance at me as she is cleaning the room. I provide her with a meagre smile before I exercise to the tea cart that is set up in the room, “Nevermind me,” I comment, taking a glass and pouring myself a bottle of whatever unlabeled whiskey is in the decanter.

“Sir, that was for the guest.” Her voice is low and timid.

I nod my head, “Trust me, I need it more, excuse me,” I mutter, taking the glass with me and stepping out of the room.

Matthew stares at me and shakes his head, “It’s nine in the fucking morning, Harry, you’re still on the job.”

I heavily sigh and hand him the glass, “Take a drink, you’re going to need it.”

Matthew glares at me for a moment before taking the glass, “You’re going to be the fucking death of me, Harry,” Matthew mutters under his breath, taking a swift drink of the stiff whiskey, “What happened in there?”

“Mate, I have no clue, I was told to fuck off and got my ass chewed out, I have no clue what I did,” I respond, bustling down the stairs.

As I reach the middle of the stairs, I observe a woman with lavish, moon gleam-gold hair pulled in an old school style, loose bun, black glasses covering her eyes, and three rows of pearls hanging around her neck, complimenting the all-black dress she has on at the bottom. I raise a brow for a moment while I watch as she clasps her black glove covered hands on the handle of one of the suitcases surrounding her. “What does one have to do to get some help around here,” The unknown woman questions, striking a nerve as she glances over at me.

“And who the fuck are you?” I bitterly question the moment I reach the bottom of the stairs. I am not in the mood to deal with anyone who isn’t meant to be in the Palace nor am I in the mood to deal with anyone who believes they are entitled. I do not deal with entitlement.

“Huh, someone’s in a bad mood. Do you not know who I am?”

“No... How did you even get in? Where’s security when you need ‘em?” I groan, irritated that the security team has let some random woman into the Palace on a day such as today. Matthew really needs to work on our team, they too are starting to piss me off. Perhaps my first order as reigning King should be to reevaluate the security team and find new members. It appears Matthew, Oliver and I are the only ones who are suitable for the damn job.

The woman chuckles and places her sunglasses on her head, revealing her eyes, “Darling, don’t worry, I know who you are, Harry.”

“Well, this is not breakfast at Tiffany’s, so Ms Hepburn, the door.” I gesture towards the door she presumably entered from. I still have no clue on who she is, but she looks very similar to Audrey Hepburn but doesn’t have the soft voice and grace of Audrey, this woman is more daring, bold and outspoken.

She’s the class of woman that could plausibly rip someone to shreds with a mere feather and look absolutely innocent, charming and sweet as she does it— she’d show no remorse.

“I am the princess of Denmark, I believe it is still polite to curtsey.” The woman smiles, gesturing for me to bow and show respect.

“And I am—” I begin but I am promptly cut off.

“Delighted to have you,” Matthew speaks for me. “Aren’t you, Harry?”

I was not about to tell her I am delighted to have her; I was going to hold rank and be an asshole but I must not. “Harry, this is Madeleine Noelle Veil of Denmark.”

“The name sounds familiar…” I trail off, “Oh, god, you’re Madeleine,” I sigh, realising who the woman who stands in front of me is.

Madeleine nods her head, “Ah, we do have signs of life in that forehead,” Madeleine remarks. “Charmed, I’m sure,” Madeleine adds to her insult, somewhat mocking me further. I can tell this woman is going to keep me on my toes until her departure, and I already hope that it is promptly.

“Madeleine is one of Anastasia dearest friends,” Matthew informs me, “Madeleine, Anna is upstairs.”

“Harry, will you be a dear and carry my bags?” Madeleine asks.

“I’d be delighted, Madeleine,” I respond, faking a smile as I realise I have no choice but to be gracious to this woman.

Madeleine hums, “You may address me as Princess Madeleine Noelle Veil of Denmark.”

“Well, Princess Madeleine Noelle Veil, I am sorry to inform you, I can only carry one bag, you may carry the other,” I delicately roll one of her suitcases towards her while I pick up the other.

She stops the suitcase with her hand, “You forgot the ‘of Denmark’,”

“Sorry, Princess Madeleine Noelle Veil of Denmark,” I correct myself, “You May carry this suitcase up the stairs,” I felicitously smile.

I carry the suitcase up the stairs and Matthew brings the other, doing his best not to huff and puff about the weight of the suitcases— it’s as though the woman has packed for weeks— I sure do hope she isn’t staying here for weeks, I might lose it.

I place the suitcase at Anastasia’s bedroom door, “I am sure there will be a guest room for you soon and your bags will be placed in there.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

“You May call me Mr Styles,” I respond, “Good luck in there,” I gesture towards the door that is the only thing between a raging Anastasia and her long lost friend.

Madeleine stares at me with a smile, “I don’t need luck, Mr Styles,” she winks and takes a leap of faith by opening Anna’s bedroom door and striding in.

♛♛♛

I have spent the morning operating around the Palace, doing my best to keep everything in line and making sure that the security team knows precisely how to handle each hour of the day— there is no room for mistakes. Matthew has been taking care of the Queen’s service, doing his best to make sure order is in place with her as well. Today is not like all the other events that I have had to manage or work— this is wholly different from a royal ball or a tea held by the Queen— this is something significant where I have to also worry about the citizens. Today, we are not dealing with a few hundred, no. We are dealing with over two thousand attending the funeral, millions watching it on television and thousands in the streets. There is no room for error.

The funeral cortege is being prepared outside the Palace, they are doing it old school today— as the King would have wanted. Instead of the procession being led by the hearse, with the family and following behind in, the family is walking behind the coffin. I am not surprised by the means of transportation and the old ways, the King always appreciated doing things traditionally. The cortege will start shortly outside the Palace where tens of thousands of flowers have been laid; I have never seen so many flowers before in my life, it’s a sea of blossoms out there and I am in awe at how the public is mourning the death. I am not sure what I had expected, but it wasn’t this. I didn’t anticipate the impact to be this extreme. Anastasia does not know this, but the public has been lining up outside since four this morning.

When I woke up to start monitoring the systems, I was amazed to observe people already lighting candles and paying their respects, ever so peacefully.

I shift the heavy curtain towards the window, stepping away from the overwhelming crowd that is out the front, I turn on my heel and see Oliver standing in front of me waiting for instructions on what to do. I stare at him for a moment and cock my head to the side before taking a sip of my coffee.

Oliver raises a brow and clears his throat, “Why are you staring?”

I don’t respond, instead, I continue to glance at him, attempting to pinpoint what it is that doesn’t seem right about him, “You don’t look right.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Your attire, what’s missing?” I question, eyeing every inch of his suit, “Oliver, do you have your gun?”

Oliver nods his head, “Yes, sir.”

“Fix your tie,” I instruct, “If I see your tie loose again I will do what Matthew did to me and tie your hands behind your back for an hour and make you walk up and down the halls,” I threaten Oliver, “I don’t care if your tie is loose when we are just walking the Palace, but for events, it needs to be well done.”

Oliver nods his head, his hands swift to adjusting his tie, “I trust you know what to do today? Do you have any questions?”

“Whose service am I on? I was never told.”

“We will be watching everyone, this is a time to always keep our eyes open and to observe the crowd and surroundings.” I begin to explain to Oliver that today isn’t about being on a specific service, as a whole, we are to look after everybody. “If we are forced into a protocol, you take Anastasia, Matthew takes the Queen, and I take Madeleine.” I remind Oliver of the protocol Matthew and the Queen has put into place.

I am not too thrilled about not being on Anastasia’s service if something happens but this is the plan the Queen has asked for. I have no choice but to comply for now. As Oliver nods his head, my phone rings in my pocket.

I reach my hand into my pants pocket and slide my finger across the screen. “Harry Styles,” I answer the call from one of the Palace numbers…

“We are aware who we are calling, Harry,” Madeleine’s voice echoes through the phone and I sense my body tense up at the vibration of her voice. It isn’t that I hate her by any means, it’s more so her tone and sass that irks my nerves. It is evident she is going to be a pest, it makes me wonder how she and Anastasia are such close friends, they seem as though they are polar opposites.

“What do I owe the pleasure, Madeleine?”

“Full name, Mr. Styles.” … “I’ll let it slide, I don’t have time for this. Anastasia is requesting you, we have ten minutes until we need to be out that door and, to be honest, I don’t think I will be able to get her out the door. I have gotten this far, you need to come up here.”

I heavily sigh and roll my eyes at her comment, “I will be right up,” I hang up the phone. “You, stay down here and start rounding everyone up. By the time I get back down here, everybody needs to be in a line,” I instruct Oliver before making my way to the staircase and relaying the message through my radio that all security personal need to be lined up and by the doors, pronto.

I hurry up the stairs and make my way down the lengthy hallway, passing staff and other security members, doing my best to keep a steady pace without running.

I reach the doors of the bedroom and Madeleine is already standing outside of them with her arms crossed. I raise a brow, expecting some sort of snarky comment.

“She is requesting you, she was fine until she wasn’t,” Madeleine softly informs me.

“You had one job,” I respond, stepping past her.

I walk into Anna’s room and close the door behind me. I take a breath and there Anna stands in front of her jewellery, her hands pressed the edge of the glass vault and her hair cascading down her back in the most elegant curls that have taken hours to perfect. “Anastasia,” her name falls from my lips softly and she turns to gaze at me.

She looks beautiful, as always. And as beautiful as she looks, I can see the sadness in her eyes and the quiver of her lip that breaks my heart. “I’m sorry for—“ Anastasia begins and I swiftly cut her off, placing a delicate kiss to her lips.

I know she is sorry, I know she didn’t mean to go off on me earlier, she doesn’t need to apologize for how she felt when she was overwhelmed, today is a day that nobody wants to ever go through. Nobody wants to have to lay one of their parents to rest. “I know,” I assure her, my hand brushing her hair away from her face before I kiss her cheek lightly.

“Will you…” Anastasia trails off, trying to catch her breath and not cry, “Will you—“ she can barely find words to escape her lips. She closes her eyes for a moment and holds back tears that she has presumably been holding back since she was forced to get dressed earlier.

“Take a deep breath, we have time,” I assure Anna, unsure of how to comfort her right in this instance, I don’t want to smother her or cause her to get angry again.

Anastasia takes a few deep breaths and opens her eyes, “I need a necklace,” Anastasia’s voice is unsteady like the shaking of her hands. I nod my head and she turns to face her glass box, I step closer and press my hand the small of her back, drawing small circles in a loving way as we both look down at the necklaces to choose from.

“Which one do you like?”

Anastasia shrugs her shoulders, an indication she wants me to choose for her. I take a moment to take in each beautiful piece that lies in front of me. My eyes cast themselves on a triple strand necklace that has rows of graduated stones, suspended between two diamond triangles. I know she hates wearing pearls so three rows of diamonds should be perfect.

I delicately pick up the necklace with my hand, holding my breath as I bring it closer— holding royal heirlooms makes me nervous. I step behind Anastasia and gingerly place the necklace over her head and to rest charmingly around her neck. I carefully clasp the necklace together before tapping Anna’s back to let her know the necklace is secure.

She turns around to face me, her hand reaching to touch the diamonds before she takes a deep breath and grants me a small smile of gratitude. I step away from Anastasia and make my way to where her coat is hanging, I take the heavy coat off the coat hanger and walk back towards Anastasia. She glances at me and then at the coat before looking at me again. I assist her with sliding the coat up her arms and bringing it around her front before I pull her hair out from under the coat, “We have time, darling,” I again reassure her, well aware of her eyes that are threatening to fall with tears yet again. I’m not sure how she’s keeping herself together, I’d be a mess if I was her. I’m even more unsure of how they expect her to speak to the public that has been lining outside the Palace for hours and is currently waiting for her.

“I uh… I..” Anastasia begins but shakes her head.

“Sit down,” I instruct, guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. “Is it the people outside?” I question, wanting to attempt to ease the situation, but I can’t if I don’t know where to start.

“I don’t want to… I can’t… I can’t talk to them,” Anastasia breathes out. “But I have to… They’re waiting.”

I grow quiet for a moment, thinking of what I can do to help her out and calm her down. It’s not fair that on the day of her fathers funeral she is making speeches or addressing the public, she can barely find the words to speak to me, I don’t think she should be forced to speak as the future Queen. “I’ll sort it out, you won’t be speaking to them.”

“How?”

“Just let me handle it… Do you want a few minutes alone?”

Anastasia shakes her head, “You’re not going to be near me today, I want a few minutes with you.” Anastasia responds, finally speaking a full sentence.

I silently sit down beside Anastasia and allow our soft breaths to fill the silence. I am not sure what I can do or say to make her feel better, at this point, I don’t think anything will make her feel better besides just being here for her, nothing I say will change things. I can’t bring back her father and I can’t say for certain just how the events transpired or who killed the King, specifically, but I can support Anastasia, even if it means to sit in silence beside her.

♛♛♛

After giving Anastasia some time to sit in silence with me, I managed to get her out of her room and down the stairs to where we stand, right now, in front of the doors to the outside world.

“Harry,” Anastasia breaks the silence and I hum, waiting for her to speak, “Will you walk with me?” Anastasia asks while everybody is getting ready to step outside the doors and greet the public.

“Where to?” I ask, “We are about to exit.”

Anastasia shakes her head, “I mean… the cortege, will you walk with me?”

“We are walking behind you,” I inform Anastasia, gesturing towards the team who are currently being put in line by Matthew and prepped one last time.

“No… I want you to walk with me, not behind me, please.” Anastasia softly informs me, looking down, almost as if she is nervous to ask such a simple request.

It takes me a moment to understand what it is she is asking… She doesn’t want me to walk behind her as the security guard, she wants me to walk beside her as her husband. Before I can respond, Anastasia’s attention is taken by her mother who hands Anna gloves for her hands, just as Matthew taps my shoulder, an indication that I need to step back because the doors are about to open. I shake my head at Matthew and I step beside Anna as she requested.

The Queen looks at me and gives me a small smile of approval before shaking her head, “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

“The cortege? Me neither.” Anastasia mutters.

“You two can’t be on display, at least not yet, we haven’t announced it and it isn’t propper right now.”

“Now we want to discuss proper etiquette?” Anastasia sneers, “Nobody will know, he will walk beside me, if it makes you feel better, we won’t even hold hands.”

“Harry, the Queen is right, the media coverage will be focused on her,” Matthew softly inputs his opinion, “But, your majesty, if I may, I don’t think it would be such bad attention for Harry to walk with her. We can divert the stories later and say it was just protocol…”

Matthew takes me by surprise when he advocates that he approves of Anastasia and I to walk.

I had assumed he would be displeased and expect me to get in line like the other security personal.

The Queen helps Anastasia with her gloves and runs her hand over Anastasia’s wedding finger, “Where is your ring?”

“Harry has my rings,” Anastasia softly informs her mother. “God forbid anyone sees them,” Anastasia mutters unhappily, “The staff were noticing my necklace.”

“Walk beside her, try not to show signs of a relationship… but if you do.. oh well,” The Queen sighs before shrugging, “You’ve already played the monarchy, you may as well play the people,” she whispers before winking at the two of us.

I’m not quite sure when the Queen will give us the permission to have our relationship public, at least to the staff, but something tells me she’s getting closer and closer to her breaking point.

“Hm, maybe you’re not such a bad guy after all,” Madeleine takes my attention for a brief moment.

I glare at her, “Meaning?”

Madeleine smirks and ignores my comment before the doors open and for a brief moment, everything stops.

Anastasia POV

I take a deep breath as Harry takes my necklace off of me and moves towards placing it back in its glass case to put back in safekeeping. I lean against the wall, my eyes dropping to the hem of my black dress— a dress I’ll never want to wear or look at again— a dress I intend to donate to charity so I never have to wear it again. I don’t want to ever relive the moments of what today bought.

“Harry?” I gaze over towards him. Harry hums, closing the glass case and reaching for my coat that he was holding for me as we entered the palace. “Can you tell me there’s an explanation for everything?”

Harry places my coat on a hanger and hangs it up on the wrack the ladies in waiting will roll out when they come up here, “What do you mean?” Harry softly asks.

“Can you tell me that there’s some sort of secret plan devised? That my Dad isn’t really dead, you and Matthew were in on a plan where he had to fake his death? Perhaps even that he was wounded but he escaped the hospital and you guys had to cover it all up? Something? Anything?” I softly request, believing that he has some sort of explanation for my father’s death that he hasn’t told me yet. At this point, I’ll take anything, even if it means my father is off in another country tucked away.

Harry stares at me for a few moments, shrugging his suit jacket off and loosening his tie, “Anna, darling,” Harry begins but he pauses, sitting himself down in a chair against the window, his hands running through his hair before he peers up at me. “I’d love nothing more than to tell you this was a grand plan Matthew and I came up with to save your father from the corruption and the monarch, but that isn’t the case.” … “Darling, I will find who did this.” Harry informs me.

It was wishful thinking to hope that there was a mysterious plan I wasn’t aware of and that my father was living somewhere undercover. “We need to get ready for dinner.” I switch the subject, not desiring to dive further into the feelings and emotions that have been swirling my thoughts since the moment I received the call.

“We?” Harry questions, “I’ve been up since three-thirty, Matthew has relieved me. I’m going to sleep.”

“It’s a private dinner, I’d like for you to attend.”

“Mmm, okay,” Harry nods, leaning back in the chair, “I just need a few minutes.” Harry sighs, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. I know that sigh and by the way his arms are crossed over his chest, he has no desire to get back up. He desires to sleep and stay asleep until he can gain the energy to crawl to bed and stay there.

“The security system is flawed, no offence.” I break the quietness between us, my thoughts failing to cease my predicaments and emotions.

“Where is this going, Anna?” Harry immediately challenges, not too pleased with my commentary nor the fact he can’t get a few minutes of peace.

If I can’t have peace, neither can he.

As selfish as it sounds, I don’t want the quietness, I don’t want to rest here with my thoughts and emotions while he sleeps harmoniously. I’m not entirely sure what I want, but I know it isn’t silence.

“How can the king be brutally murdered if he’s meant to have security? You and Matthew were one of the last people to see him.”

“Are you trying to say I had something to do with it?”

“No… I’m saying, he’s meant to have the highest of security… where were they?”

Harry opens his eyes and lets out a breath, “I don’t want to have this conversation.” I don’t blame him, I’m sure this is a troublesome conversation for him as well. It sounds like security failed him.

“And I really didn’t want to attend my fathers funeral, but here I am.” I gesture to the space between us.

I know the events are far from Harry’s fault. Deep down, I know he did his job the way he was meant to, as did Matthew, but that doesn’t make things any easier. Coming to terms with what has transpired is proving to be more arduous than I ever imagined.

“Everyone was told to stand down, Anastasia.” Harry breathes out.

Stand down? I don’t understand how everyone was told to stand down. The whole purpose of a security team is to ensure the safety of the King. “What?” The word falls from my lips coldly.

“All security personnel were scattered between your mother and you. Your father decided that he’d rather be compromised than for you or your mother to be in danger, you and your mother were and still are at high risk…”

“So, why did you go to visit him? You killed off one of the men and somehow my father still dies.” My words are harsh, but I can’t make sense of the decisions that took place before my Father passed.

“We did our job. We kept the King safe and we kept you and your mother safe, the man who was making threats, he was one of the ones on the boat. We had reason to believe he was the mastermind and most threatening, we were wrong… there’s someone else out there.”

“Why did nobody stay with him?” I ask again, unable to comprehend that with such a high-security team, my father still managed to be horribly murdered.

“As I said, everyone was disbanded. I attempted to stay, he refused and I knew I needed to get back to you. We did everything we could and respected your father’s decisions with forcing us to care for you and your mother. I’m sorry, Anna, I am. But I promise I’m going to find who did this.”

“How? How are you going to do that?” I demand, unsure of how he can execute such a promise. He is part of my security team not a member of the investigating team, he is not a private investigator.

“Don’t worry about how… can we please drop this conversation?”

“Fine, are you going to abolish the monarchy?” I press.

“No, I’m going to take a nap, are you going to join me?” Harry proposes, standing to his feet and making his way to the bed, falling on it and growing comfortable, not minding that he’s still in his suit or his shoes.

I go to speak but I’m halted at the vibration of a knock at the door, “You have to be fucking kidding me,” Harry mutters, “Do I need to go to my apartment to fucking sleep?” Harry huffs.

“You have your own room at the palace, why don’t you try that?” I sneeringly respond and Harry glares at me before I open the door imperceptibly, just enough for the lady’s maid to perceive me but not Harry.

“Do you need my assistance with getting ready for dinner, Princess?”

I shake my head, “No, thank you. Once I take this dress off, I’d like you to dispose of it. Donate it, sell it, burn it, I don’t care. I don't want to ever see it again.”

The lady nods, “As you wish. Would you like Eleanor to come back up?”

“In an hour.” I nod my head, deciding my main lady in waiting can assist me. It isn’t that I necessitate the guidance, I just considerably like the company of Eleanor. “I’d like for you to tell Estelle, my assistant, that she can go ahead and send all the signed letters I have done…” I dismiss the lady and watch her exercise off before I close the door and turn around.

“What letters?” Harry instantly asks.

“The ones I responded to this morning when I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to deal with the funeral.”

“Have you received any letters?”

“Not that I have read,” I shake my head, “Nothing that I know of like the letters you were getting that you tried to keep from me.”

Harry hums and adjusts his arm under his pillow, leaving me with my thoughts while he falls asleep.

Harrys POV

I remain at the dinner table, feeling out of place and unwelcomed as the Queen has me sitting beside Anna and other staff members placing food on my plate. I do not feel as though they should be placing food on my plate or making sure my drink is filled at all times, I am still one of them. I do not desire nor need special treatment for any reasons. To cover up the fact I am attending dinner, Anna’s mother made it known to the staff that the dinner is private and open to Matthew and me as a thank you for all we have done today.

Today has been a day that nobody will forget, the amount of flowers I have perceived and carried on behalf of Anna is outrageous, not to mention the extensive walk we had to make instead of taking a carriage. The day has been a rollercoaster that nobody has wanted to be on, emotions have been all over the place, and Anna has been all over the place. I am surprised we have gotten through dinner without her sobbing. It has been an obstinate line between being a husband and security, a line that I am weary of having to draw and hide. It broke my heart to have to watch her mourn the loss of her father and not be able to comfort her. I could not wrap my arms around her and hold her, I couldn’t take away her pain or do anything beside stand behind her and keep her safe— the best I could do was caress my hand to the small of her back every now and again and manage to subtly whisper an ‘I love you.’

I was bitter that due to circumstances, I couldn’t be there for Anastasia when she needed it, I couldn’t offer any sort of comfort to her or her mother, I couldn’t contribute anything but their safety. I will never forget the glimpse in her eyes when she turned to glance at me for a brief moment, completely heartbroken and somber. It was in that moment where she looked entirely defeated and empty… There was no sort of light in her eyes, nothing but emptiness that can’t be explained.

I pull myself from my thoughts and attempt to focus on the small conversation taking place. Anna’s mother is chatting about some of the minor renovations occurring in the residence Anna and I will be moving into. As far as I know, Anna’s mother insisted on having the living quarters updated for the two of us. I’m not sure what the updates entail, but as long as it’s more than just a room and a bathroom, I’ll be fine. I’ll be even happier when I don’t have to hide things or when I can keep clothes visibly in her room.

I take a breath and grimace slightly at the stabbing pain beginning in my shoulder. It has been coming and going and progressively getting longer and a bit more painful as time goes on. I clear my throat and ignore it, giving Anna’s mother a soft and faked smile as she seems to pay me some attention. I hope she didn’t notice my issue with abrupt discomfort.

“Looks like dinner just got interesting,” Matthew mutters and I side-eye Matthew. I follow his gaze and witness Henry walking in with a security member behind him, accompanied by Oliver.

“He’s here for you, Mr Styles,” Oliver announces, catching me off guard.

I nod my head, dismissing them both before glancing towards my mother-in-law, “Excuse me,” I politely stand up and adjust my jacket before I step to Henry and Oliver.

“Harry, we need to talk.” Henry is swift to demand my attention.

“I’m busy right now, so whatever shit you have done, can wait,” I mutter under my breath, attempting to keep our conversation private. Henry is never the bearer of great news, he is continuously screwing up my plans or causing havoc that I have to fix. I don’t have the energy to fix anything right now.

“I’ve been invited to dinner but I need to talk to you, it is important.”

“Sit down and eat dinner, but I swear if you touch Anastasia or look at her the wrong way, I will escort you outside and—” I begin and Henry cuts me off.

“I am not here to start problems, I want to talk to you,” Henry assures me, for the first time since I have met him appearing sincere. I nod my head and we step back towards the table and I take my position beside Anastasia for a moment.

I benevolently caress my hand to Anastasia’s leg and discreetly move to whisper in her ear, “I will be back, give me a moment,” I discreetly kiss her cheek while no staff is around before politely excusing myself from the table again, gesturing for Henry to follow me.

Henry is expeditious to follow my lead, trailing me like a lost puppy. The moment we get away from the table, Henry begins to speak, “You need to listen to me, Parliament is in on things, including Pippa.”

“Henry, you’re being ridiculous,” I shake my head with a hefty sigh.

“You need to hear me out, the prime minister is a part of it.”

“Henry, shut the fuck up for a second,” I murmur, not wanting this discussion to go any further while in the dining hall.

These sort of conversations, no matter how ludicrous, do not need to happen when there are guests around, especially a mere few hours after we have put the King to rest. I walk out of the dining hall and I signal to Henry to hush as the minute I see his mouth open, “Not now, wait,” I instruct, closing the golden handle and walking down the hallway to the closest bathroom.

I shove the door open and gesture for him to enter before I close the door behind us. “Don’t open your mouth,” I instruct again, my hand reaching for the faucet and turning the water on.

I watch the chilled water run and splash the sink before I glance at Henry, “First of all, you have three minutes once I am done talking, second of all, you never reveal information at a table or when people are in the room, are you wanting to end up like your mother?”

“It’s not like Anastasia is going to rat me out to anyone.”

“No, but that isn’t the point, there is a time and a place, the dinner table isn’t a place.” I remind Henry of minor etiquette that he should already comprehend. I shouldn’t have to remind him of the circumstances of today either. No discussion around Anna is deemed appropriate unless it is anything that can make her smile. Government and royal issues is not a topic of conversation that needs to be discussed today around Anna.

“Look, just listen to me… I think there are more people involved in things than we think, George is one of the men in on things, he has to be.”

“In on what?” I request.

“The King’s death.” Henry bluntly responds.

“And you’re not in on it? You literally tried to marry Anastasia and got mad at the race track, then you spooked her horse and got Anna hurt…. I won’t even mention the fact your mother turned out to be pure evil and was ready to kill someone in the palace before she somehow ended up dead… You and your mother could have conspired everything and you could just be finishing off the plan.`` I remind Henry of the past events that have occurred due to his negligent family who seem to be unethical and evil.

“Fair,” Henry shrugs his shoulders, “But not true, I am not in on it. I was forced into the relationship with Anna, I was forced to throw the fit and make headlines, just like I was forced to get the horse back— that was all my mother, she insisted on making sure I got a higher title and…” Henry trails off, not finishing his sentence before looking down in defeat.

For a moment, I feel bad for him, he seems confined in this circus ring without an escape.

“And she needed money, correct?”

“How did you know?” Henry challenges, staring at me with a heavy sigh leaving his lips. He really is defeated.

“I am good at my job, Henry… Before you and your mother killed the king… actually… the night you guys tried to get us all killed in Greece, the king told me a few things, as did someone else. Your family aren’t as wealthy as they seem. They were blackmailing the King, apparently they saved the Queen’s life at some point, I didn’t get the full story but I got the gist of it.”

“I didn’t kill the king, I had nothing to do with it. I was told that even if I didn’t marry Anna that once the king died I would become King, I would claim a title and my family’s wealth would change. I swear I didn’t kill the King…. I was forced into my mother’s plans. Now listen, Pippa and a few others did, I don’t know why, but it had to be them, look into it, please.”

“I will look into it but I think that is the most absurd thing I have heard all day.”

“Well, it might sound absurd but it’s true, I have had enough time to think about things while hiding from you.” Henry crosses his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes on me as he makes it a point to make it known he has been hiding from me.

I lift my shoulders into a shrug and let out a small chuckle, “Why hide from me? Not like I will kill you,” I sarcastically and innocently respond.

“You had me followed, I am surprised you didn’t kill me. You did pull a gun on me that one day.”

“Eh,” I shrug, “Crossed my mind a few times but I figured you were not a threat until further notice. Now, what else do you know about your mother and her death, what was her deal with Louis? Why frame him?”

“I don’t know, I assume the corrupt parliament members got her too. I think Louis was just caught in the crossfire and was the easy target. Mum took his kindness for weakness and it somewhat worked.” Henry responds.

“I liked it better when you were quiet in the cottage outside of London. Why must you complicate things?” I heavily sigh, irritated that Henry couldn’t just stay quiet. “What do you know about your mother’s death?” I immediately request, unsure of how much he knows.

“Besides you moved her body... not much.”

“How do you know that?” I examine, well aware that the media didn’t publish that her body had been moved, they announced where she was found.

“Same way I know about the man Matthew killed who had threatened Anna. I followed leads and hoped you wouldn’t kill me.”

“Starting to wonder whether I should, you know too much information.” I can only assume he has followed me closely, I thought I had seen him a few times but brushed it off. I have had bigger fish to fry than to worry about this little sardine.

“I am not against you. You need to listen to me, Pippa is in on a lot of things, how do you think she knew about the death so quickly?”

“Protocol, she told me,” I answer.

“I think you should consider why she is perfectly okay with you being King and why she doesn’t want Anna as Queen, that’s all I am saying before I end up like my mother and have my body moved by you.”

“I am not going to kill you… yet,” I roll my eyes, “Stay quiet and don’t double-cross me.” I instruct, unsure of how to handle the situation. I’m not sure what I’m going to do about anything anymore. “So you think parliament got to your mother before anyone else could?”

Henry nods his head in agreement, “Yes.”

“What about your father?” I ask, still unsure with how Henry’s father plays a role in any of this, as far as I know, he’s the one that’s more on the mafia side of things. He calls the shots. He was the one who the King was on the phone to when I was in my morphine-induced sleep. I am not too sure if I believe Henry’s thoughts.

Henry again looks down at his shoes before looking back up at me, “Harry, I think he’s apart of it, too,” Henry confesses, “This started from them saving the Queen and it has spiralled into this mess for money and power, he’s very powerful with the connections he has.”

“Could he have killed your mother?”

Henry shrugs his shoulders with uncertainty, “Possibly, not sure what that motive would be… My father was a part of the Greece trip but Anastasia wasn’t meant to be harmed, I found all this out after…”

“So your father is a part of shit, another culprit I can add to my list… But you just told me parliament is a part of it, which one is it?”

“Parliament is in it and I think my Father was in charge of collecting money, assets and the threats. I don’t know, Harry. I’m on your side. I don’t want to be on their side anymore. I don’t want to be their puppets.”

“Mhm,” I hum, “I’m going to go back to dinner, you need to keep your mouth shut and stay under the radar until I figure shit out.”

Henry nods his head and I turn the water off, stepping out of the bathroom before leading back towards where dinner is still being held.

♛♛♛

The security chambers are cold and relatively quiet, the palace is the same way, there’s not much movement occurring and everyone seems to be accounted for. Anna is in her room, the Queen is in her living quarters, Madeline is with Prince Louis in the guest suite and Matthew is roaming the palace, doing another sweep of the floors.

“Oliver, you did good today,” I give him a faint smile as he relaxes down in the chair and presses his fingers to his temple. “A headache is a sign of a day done well,” I chuckle and I pet his back gently while walking past him to reach my sign out sheet.

Oliver sighs and lifts his head to look at me, “Thanks, I think it is lack of sleep.”

“Get used to it, pal,” I respond, signing my name across the line and flicking my wrist to check the time that reads one-fifteen in the morning.

“Lack of sleep or headaches?”

“Both,” I respond, “Aspirin will be your best friend, there will be nights your body will feel like it has been slammed against a brick wall, it isn’t an easy job, as you have seen already, but you’re doing really good.”

“This is the nicest you have been to me.” Oliver cracks a weary smile.

“Mhm, it’s the lack of sleep getting to me,” I grin.

“Most of the other guys are assholes, but not in a good way.” Oliver comments and I nod my head.

I have noticed the others tend to be assholes to Oliver, I’ve overheard a few comments here and there. I haven’t said anything mainly because I believe Oliver needs to stand up for himself, but I’m also waiting for the right moment to stand up and fire back on Oliver’s behalf. The others are merely jealous of the opportunity Oliver possesses.

“They’re assholes because they want your job and despise you, they don’t get to escort the members around, they’re more as back up. Get used to people not liking you, it comes with the job. Half of them can’t stand me and I did nothing, it is just that we are higher ranked, we were chosen and they weren’t.” … “Come on rookie, it’s past your bedtime, sign your signout sheet and we can head on out, Ryan has the surveillance covered,” I gesture towards Ryan who is actively watching the monitors.

Oliver and I force ourselves around the Palace, doing our best to quietly make our way towards the bedrooms. Oliver has temporarily been granted permission to stay at the Palace in a room until we can work something out for him, I was thinking of letting him stay at my apartment that I used when I first started, but I don’t see why he can’t be granted a more permanent decision on being able to stay living on the Palace grounds, there is enough room and it makes it a little bit easier to know Matthew and I are not the only ones constantly on the property, having backup and someone trained the way we need them to be is beneficial. I will have to work something out with Matthew and Anna’s mother for Oliver. Oliver is a good worker, he may be a bit younger than I am, but he has a good head on his shoulder. That isn’t to be biased either because he saved Anna in Greece, he is genuinely a hard worker.

Without a warning, a piercing scream distracts me from my thoughts and causes my eyes to widen. I look at Oliver before my instincts kick in and I begin to run down the hallway, my shoes hammering the red carpet, “I have screams coming from the east rooms, the third floor, I need the Queen and Princess’ locations, lock them down,” I instruct over my radio for all security details to hear.

“Ryan, any details?” Oliver requests on his end, keeping up with my pace while we continue to hurry towards the screams.

I reach a corner staircase the staff use and I am stopped when I recognise Madeleine, standing with her hands cupped over her mouth, her eyes wide and glossy with tears. Deep down, I don’t want to look at her discovery, for I have no clue what she could be staring at. Whatever it may be, it cannot be grand. My heart beats wildly and I take a breath before I take the plunge and glance over to observe what has prompted her to scream.

Oh, no.

I turn away for a brief moment before I shake my head, “Lock the Queen and Princess down, they’re not to leave their rooms or be left unattended, no staff are to leave the palace nor are they to move locations,” I speak into my radio before I grab my phone that is ringing with Matthew’s caller ID. “I need you up here, now… I uhh… I have a dead body.”  

[anthonyed]

The Kennedy Question (SamBucky)

There's a... hypothesis. It's circulating around their tower and Sam just got to make sure. He needs a theory and for that, he needs data.

It's pretty straight forward actually. He just has to ask the right question to the right person.

He spots his subject - already on his fifth cup of coffee, sweat dampened hair tied up in a half-bun and he's unnaturally happy. Good. Doesn't matter why he's happy but the point is he is. Which means, this is the right time to strike.

Flexing his biceps for an extra load of umph, Sam tilts his chin up and walks towards their resident centenarians.

"Hiya, Sam," Steve greets, face split into a smile, clearly happy that his moody half is looking cheery today.

"Hiya," Sam waves, pulling up a chair next to his target.

Half an egg and a sip of orange juice later, Sam looks at Steve who's whistling a tune, doing dishes and decides this is the right time to strike.

He turns to his target. And he fires the shot.

"Did you kill John F. Kennedy?"

He'd carefully lowered his voice so Steve wouldn't hear it over the running water and it works. Of course it works. Sam has hung out with Steve and Co. for a very long time, he knows how to gossip behind super-soldiers back by now.

All of his preps pointed towards positive results. A warranted reply. Except of course, Sam forgot to consider the fact that Barnes likes to be an ass around him just for the sake of it.

Hence, the reply he receives is: "You focus on stuffing your face or you're gonna be next."

-

The thing is, it's not a clear yes or no. It's not enough to confirm or reject the hypothesis. The very mystery of it drives Sam insane.

-

"Did you -," he ducks, blocking a jab. Hops to the left, avoiding a kick. Bloody Barnes is out for his blood.

But Sam knows how to handle him.

He gets the guy in a headlock the very next second after Steve yelled "Bucky, chill out!"

"Did you kill him?"

Barnes tries to elbow but Sam knows his stuff, oooh, he knows his stuff bloody well. He'd trained the lot - teenagers running wild with hormone committing truancies and petty crimes, all the prison breakers - name them, Sam has got all under his wing.

He fucking knows his stuffs. So, it's no surprise to anyone but Barnes when he gets the man on his knees. Head-lock still standing and the momentary shock gives Sam the chance to ask again, "Did you?"

Barnes coughs, splutters and taps on his hand so Sam loosens his grip. "What you gonna do? Report it?" He snarls, spitting fire like he actually believed Sam would.

The sheer absurdity of that doubt makes Sam let go of him; drop him like a hot-pocket. "The fuck would I do that for?"

Barnes, red-faced and sweat slick skin, hair falling over his face, glowers at Sam.

Sam stares at him right back. Dunno what he's asking/searching, but Sam's not afraid. He meets that glare with his own steady stare.

"You honestly think I'd sell you out." He states. Doesn't ask. Because that isn't a question.

He doesn't know what to think that Barnes thought of him that way.

"Wouldn't have helped Steve save you, if that was the case, you know."

-

"Why d'ya wanna know?" Barnes asks.

He was the only one in the communal floor when Sam had walked in; channel surfing and Sam had nabbed the remote to his disgruntled protest before settling on Animal Planet. Humans are exhausting for a Tuesday evening.

Now, after half an hour of watching Giant Squid hunting with no Giant Squid sighting, Barnes ends the silence with a frankly, vague as fuck question.

Sam squints at him for a good minute before it clicks and he straightens up in his seat. "Curiosity?" He shrugs.

Barnes looks at him flatly.

Sam glances at the screen, still no Giant Squid (just making sure), then back at Barnes. "Really, I just want to know. Barton's been spreading rumours."

Barnes doesn't say it, but it's there. The universal 'stupid Barton' look that everyone in the tower has at least once, worn.

"Tell me about it," Sam chuckles, slumping in his side of the couch. Barnes is not gonna give an answer. At least not today. That much is certain so, Sam returns to the screen.

A while after, the commentators are getting hyped up, the background music is building in anticipation and they're about to do the big reveal when the channel switches to a bunch of blonde bimbos.

"Barnes!" Sam aims a kick because there is no other way -

Barnes is predictably, two seats away, smirking into his hoodie and clicks away at the buttons.

"I'm spiking your dinner with ghost pepper. You won't know until it hits you - Oooh, you're so gonna regret this. I fucking hate you!"

-

Sam does yoga. It's for his mental health. Dealing with Veterans and delinquents need constant maintenance of his mind palace and he gives that through yoga.

Sometimes, he does it alone but usually it's with Wanda and Vision. Tends to get incredibly awkward sometimes (who knew Androids have sexual frustrations) but hey, it gets the job done.

Occasionally, Dr Banner joins them. Rarely, he drags Tony along just to make the man suffer for promised science experiments or whatever it is geniuses do. Natasha has her sessions after them, something about "Not needing all these stupidity for my clarity", whatever, prissy ass she-assassin.

Steve, Steve's pal and Barton don't do it. They just don't. (Steve once mentioned something about biceps getting in his way or another and Sam stopped paying attention. Barton is just a lazy human.)

Thus why, Sam gawks when he sees Steve's pal, the other Steve or more specifically, Bucky Barnes in a dog pose next to Wanda.

First thought; what the fuck?

Second thought; nice ass.

Third thought; the fucking fuck is that fuck - what!?

Fourth thought; "That's my spot."

Two heads turn to Sam, one head's body waves while another grins.

"Hi, Sam," Wanda beams.

"Hullo, Sam," Vision stops waving only when Sam waves back.

But Sam's eyes are still fixed on that nice pair of ass no!

"That's my spot." He points at where Barnes is ignoring him; flowing through his Surya Namaskar like he was born doing it until he stands, facing Sam and he looks straight into Sam's eyes.

There's something dangerous glinting in them and Sam wastes too many seconds distracting his thoughts from how fucking gorgeous that flow was that he only realises, once Barnes is already in Savasana, just what that glint was about.

"Fuck you, Barnes," he spits, walking towards him, not a pause as he steps onto the mat, then right on top of Barnes's stupid hard chest and over to the other side of Wanda.

Vision graciously makes room for Sam and no. Sam is not letting Bucky fucking Barnes ruin his mind-palace maintenance today.

-

Sam doesn't hate the guy. He honestly doesn't. He just, doesn't know the guy that well.

So, when he sees Barnes fidgeting under the island counter, long sleeves drawn out to bury his fingers while Steve and Tony lash out at each other in the kitchen (no privacy respect, those two. No, never. Almost everyone knows about that by now but Barnes, maybe cause he's still new here.) Sam gently elbows at his side and jerks his head towards the exit.

"They're always like that," he tells the guy solemnly. Hot aroma of coffee wafting in the air and Sam breathes it in deeply.

"Always?"

"Uh, huh."

He takes a sip of his cappuccino, watching Barnes stare at his black coffee gloomily.

Ten seconds later, Barnes asks, "If Stark hates Steve, then why is he letting him live in his place?" Letting me live in his place? Is the unasked question.

Sam takes a long sip before he replies. "Stark doesn't hate Steve," he observes the way Barnes' forehead wrinkle into a frown before it quickly flattened out. Erasing evidence. From everywhere except his eyes.

Sam doesn't know how he knows that nor is he going to analyse said matter, so he distracts himself by elaborating his answer.

"Stark never hated Steve. As a matter of fact, I think Stark likes Steve a little too much for his convenience."

This time, the frown stays and deepens. Sam grabs a napkin and shreds a strip out of its edge.

"You mean, he fancies Stevie?" Barnes mumbles his question towards his untouched coffee. Face contorting fifty ways different and Sam curses himself for even saying a thing in the first place. He can preach to many but he's not having the gay rights talk with a homophobic. That's where he officially draws his line.

To his surprise however, Barnes starts laughing.

It starts as a snort then grows into a chuckle and later a full-blown beautiful laughter. Fuck, dammit, Sam has got to stop thinking like that of this man.

But the steam from his still hot cappuccino swirling under the dim light of the cafe with its dark red background and velvety purple overthrows and cushions and Barnes in the mainframe with all those in the backdrop -

He's beautiful. There is no denying it. Happiness looks gorgeous on everyone and it especially looks stunning on Bucky Barnes.

"Never thought I'd see a day someone go ape-shit over Stevie, but here I am," Barnes chuckles, crinkled eyes, glazed with mirth swirling and molten grey. He's fucking gorgeous and Sam's heart restarts with a new rhythm.

Indeed, "Here you are."

-

Sam sits, and he thinks. 

All he ever wanted was an answer to a simple question. That’s it. He didn’t ask for the moon or dream of fucking Captain America like Tony Stark and yet here he is. Four months after his first time asking the question; from not knowing the guy at all to somehow tolerating him and surprise, surprise, now he’s in a sticky crush situation with the guy. 

Hell, no wonder Tony is the way he is with Steve. This whole crushing on super-soldiers is frustrating as fuck and Sam hates it.

In fact, he doesn’t even deserve it.

All he wanted was an answer. To a single simple question. Sam refuses to pine after Bucky Barnes for the price of solving Kennedy’s murder. He’s better than that. He can solve the mystery without selling his heart. 

Sam decides this is the final straw and he isn’t having it anymore. He’s going to end it all.

-

“Did you or did you not kill John F. Kennedy?”

“Good afternoon to you too, Sammie,” Bucky Barnes grins, black hoodie and black pants, sitting cross-legged on the couch as he tosses an unopened bag of chips for Sam to catch. “Mario kart or are you finally brave enough to play The Last of Us Part 2?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam grumbles, marching his way to the empty spot next to Barnes and plopping down. “It’s not about bravery. The reviews aren’t so good -,”

“I read them all. General opinion is still positive. You better hurry up, I’m running out of ways to stop Barton from spoiling it.”

The thought that Barnes is waiting for Sam to start on something is disconcerting. In a warm, fuzzy, heart palpitating way. So, Sam pops the chips’ bag open and stuffs a handful into his mouth in an attempt to drown out the feels with an obnoxiously loud CRUNCH.

“Is that why you throttled him last night?”

“No,” Barnes drawls lazily, leaning into Sam’s space to fish out a chip and pops it into his mouth. “That’s because he ate the last brownie.”

“Bruce’s?”

Barnes nods, wiping his finger over his pants and continuing to fiddle with the remote. 

“Fair enough,” Sam declares. Then an idea pops up. “I’ll play that game if you answer my question.”

Barnes seems to know which one. His shoulders tense, squaring up and he seems to curl inwards, shrinking into his hoodie and Sam hates himself for causing this. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he blurts out. Anything to draw Barnes out of that state.

Shamefully, he wonders if this is what they meant by ‘simping’. God, he’s weak for this man and that’s ridiculously unfair.

Regardless, his words seem to work their miracle because Barnes relaxes, shoulders sagging and Sam feels his own tension bleed. The silence stretches uncomfortably for a while until all Sam could think is to not flex his fingers because that would crinkle the plastic bag and it would be loud and that would win the Guinness World Awkward Award. 

Then, Barnes speaks. He’s still facing away, at the TV, and he scratches the back of his head through the hoodie as he asks quietly, “Can I ask you a question in return?”

Sam blinks. He minces his reflexive ‘You just asked’ and shrugs, “Sure.”

Exactly thirteen heartbeats after, Barnes asks, “Do you fancy men, Sammie?”

Sam’s throat goes dry. Something clenches in his chest, warning him about his own thoughts in the Cafe about not willing to explaining gay-rights to a homophobic. But he also remembers Barnes’ reaction to finding out Tony liking Steve like that. Especially Barnes’ laughter.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I like both women and men.”

“A bisexual,” Barnes nods into his hoodie. As if he’s recalling something he read only yesterday. He probably is. 

Sam pulls in a breath and sinks into his seat. He pulls out a chip and pops it into his mouth. “Anything else?”

He’s not ready when Barnes turns towards him. He’s mid-munch, chips still sharp shards that poke at his tongue when he meets grey eyes full of intent. But he swallows them anyway. Barnes’ unabashed and fearless, staring straight into Sam’s eyes as he pops the question that makes Sam’s palms and soles tickle. 

“Do you wanna step out with me?”

Sam is 100% sure he croaks when he opens his mouth to say, “I’ll only say yes if you tell me whether you killed Kennedy or not.”

Barnes’ lips wobble and he ducks his head. Shoulders shaking when he looks up again with a beatific grin split across his face; gorgeous fucker. And he answers, “I don’t know, I don’t remember.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam mutters, already grabbing him by his nape and he pulls him in to kiss that gorgeous happiness on his face. “Don’t care.” Another kiss, “Who cares?” Another “Dude’s dead anyway.” 

Barnes laughs, head tipping back, body leaning to fall and Sam goes down with him gladly.

[meowmeowmessi]

TotA AU where the Score prophesied that Sam will be a Fon Master who will have to sacrifice to save the world, and when Dean is old enough to understand his brother's fate, he promptly says "Fuck you" to the Score and does his best to overthrow the Score even if it means forsaking the world (Sam being Sam only wants the best for the world even if it means sacrificing himself just like what the Score says)

(Later it turns out that the sacrifice the Score meant was Dean's death as Dean means so much to Sam that his death is considered Sam's sacrifice)

OMFG ANON. THIS IS GREAT. I FUCKING LOVE THIS???

I can totally imagine little Dean, who's interested in all things fon-tech, wanting to be a fon-tech expert, just like his dad. When he learns that the Score dictates he must be a Fon Master Guardian, he's so upset that none of the words from his mother and father can placate him.

"It's supposed to be an honor, kiddo-"

"I don't wanna be a stupid Guardian for a stupid Fon Master! I wanna work on Albiores like you, Dad!"

Mary's soft laugh can be heard from the kitchen. "You can't change the Score, Dean,"

Dean stamps his foot, chubby hands clenched into fists. "Well the Score's stupid!"

Once his little brother is born, Dean's petulance at his Score is temporarily put on hold. From that day onwards Mary and John find Dean's bed more often than not empty, Dean having climbed into Sam's crib, arms wrapped tight around the little bundle of wispy brown hair and sunflower eyes that they call Sammy. Dean's fiercely protective of him, cleaning the blood from his scraped knee and wiping away his tears and maybe even beating up his bullies if the situation calls for it. And little Sammy looks at Dean like he hung the Fon Belt around Auldrant. He's Dean's biggest admirer, hanging onto his every word, following him all day around like a lost puppy.

John and Mary think it's adorable.

Few years later, part of Sam's Score is read on his birthday in front of his entire family, and it says he's meant to be a Fon Master. Suddenly, everything clicks into place for Dean.

Sam, the Fon Master, and Dean: his Guardian.

His adamant refusal to be a Guardian seems so ridiculous now. He's been protecting Sam all his life, and the Score says he's meant to be his Guardian. Even before he was born Sam was his.

Why fight fate when fate has been right all along?

Later that night, Sam's standing outside Dean's door, shuffling his feet. He swallows, nervous. No sooner does he raise his hand to knock than Dean opens the door.

"Dean!" Sam says, with a start.

Dean keeps the door open and sits down on his bed, so Sam follows him inside and takes a seat next to him.

"You've been standing outside for 10 minutes now, You have a nightmare?" Dean's voice is soft, and Sam catches the sleepy rasp in it. The covers on his bed are rumpled, his short hair tousled, and Sam feels guilty for waking him up.

"Sammy?"

Same shakes his head. "No, I-" He takes a deep breath. "Dean, I'm sorry."

Beat. Then:

"See? I knew you ate the last slice of pie I'd kept in the fridge,"

Bitch Face Number 34. Dean laughs. Sam lets out a sigh and grows quiet again. Dean feels his heart constrict in his chest at that. He turns toward Sam, knocking their knees together. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

"About my Score," Sam blurts out, "actually, it's more about your Score- Dean, I know that you always wanted to be a fon-tech expert. Like Dad. Not-Not a Fon Master Guardian," Sam looks away. "Not my Guardian."

Dean's heart thumps against his ribcage. Sam's Guardian. The words sound good. Right. Perfect.

Meant to be.

What's Sam talking about?

"And I know you hate that you have to be my Guardian because the Score says so" Wrong. So, so wrong. "And for that I'm sorry-"

Sam suddenly finds his face pressed into Dean's shirt collar, Dean's arms wrapped around him, his scent engulfing him. When he says, "You couldn't be more wrong, kiddo," his voice is warm and smooth in his ears, and it makes Sam shiver.

"Listen up, Sammy," Dean says. "My Score ain't wrong, 'kay? I'm happy to be your Guardian. I wouldnt have it any other way."

Sam frowns. Pushing away from Dean's hold, he looks at him. Dean's hands slide down to Sam's hips and stay there, his expression fierce, determination etched in the furrows of his brow.

"But you always say that your Score's wrong," Sam says, and Dean resists the urge to smooth out the wrinkles that appear between his eyebrows with his thumb. Instead, he huffs.

"Okay, so I think the Score sucks -- some times." His parents are always telling him to respect the Score -- it's practically religion -- but Dean can't find it in himself to care. Not until now, that is. "But I can't deny that it's right about some things, like the fact that it says I'm awesome," -- Sam snorts -- "you definitely stole my leftover slice of pie," -- Sam giggles. Dean smiles at that, then pulls him into his arms again and buries his nose in his hair -- "and you're my Fon Master and I'm your Guardian."

That night, they both fall asleep in Sam's bed, Dean's chest pressed to Sam's back and his arms looped around his waist like back when they were kids sharing Sam's crib.

So Sam becomes a Fon Master and Dean his Guardian. They move to Daath, and they're joined at the hip, like always. But the days of peace are over when The Order announces, after making Sam read it aloud from his own Score, that Sam is to sacrifice his life for the sake of the planet. Something about a war breaking out otherwise, something about miasma, somethingsomethingsomething -- but it's all white noise to Dean.

Sam's life. For the planet. For Auldrant.

Even worse: Sam accepts. He bows his head, long brown hair hanging forward, and says, voice soft, "Thank you for the opportunity."

Dean's faith in the Score crumbles to nothingness.

There had always been cracks there, fissures spiderwebbing across the surface that his job as Sam's Guardian -- as said so by the Score itself -- kept from spreading, but this revelation is the pebble that shatters the glass completely.

Fuck the Score, Dean thinks with venom. He's in his room. If he looks hard enough, he thinks he can see the emerald green Fon Belt in the night sky from his window. Sam had once told him that that the green reminded him of his eyes (Dean had scoffed and called him a girl, but secretly, his heart warmed all over). Far past the clouds, orbiting Auldrant, the Belt winks at him, as if in mocking. In victory. Of what it's going to take away from him.

He wants to scream.

"You can't change the Score, Dean," Mary's words from so long ago come whispering in his ears, and Dean swipes the lamp from his desk. There's a paper weight on the desk, made of glass and in the shape of a Cheagle, and he throws it on the ground, too. The papers are next, meeting their demise in Dean's hands, shredded like they're made of tissue.

Blood pounds in his ears; his palms itch. If anyone stands in his way right now he swears by Yulia-

"Dean?!"

Dean stills. Turns. Sam's stood frozen in his doorway, eyes wide, looking aghast. Distantly, he notes that Sam's out of his green Fon Master uniform. He's wearing a snow white tunic and loose black sleep pants, drawstrings tied securely on his narrow hips. Light from Luna casts his face in a silver glow, blurs his edges, makes him look so soft. Out of nowhere, Dean has an insane, manic urge to pull Sam into his arms and hide him away from the world -- the world that wants to snatch his baby brother away from him.

He tamps it down though, on account of the fact that he surely looks like a manic already, a wild animal standing amidst debris and destruction.

"Dean, what's going on?! You're bleeding!"

Dean doesn't notice when Sam takes his hand in his. His fist is still clenched, and Sam gently, gently unfurls it, hissing at the blood seeping his knuckles, as if the pain that he isn't even feeling -- too numb -- were his own.

"What were you thinking- sit down- getting a first aid kit-"

Sam guides him to the bed and gently pushes him down by his shoulder, making him sit, making sure his feet are on a patch of the floor that's not covered in shattered bits of paper weight.

The glass Cheagle paper weight.

That Sam had gifted him years ago.

Dean snaps out of his despair induced fog, looking up just as Sam enters his room with a first aid kit in hand. He bypasses the glass shards and sits next to Dean on his bed, placing the box by his hip. After he's done cleaning the cuts and bandaging his hands, he quietly gazes at Dean. His eyes are soft, but Dean feels like he's pinned down like a butterfly by those puppy eyes, ready to spill his heart out the second Sam asks.

Sam asks.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, Dean?"

Dean spills.

"I'm not letting them do it." His voice is marble hard.

"Do what?" Sam asks, then startles when Dean cups his face in his hands -- bandaged knuckles protesting against the move -- and snarls, "I'm not letting them take you away from me!"

Sam's surprised gaze softens in understanding. "Dean, it's okay," A pause. "I can do it, you know. It's for the world- I can do it-"

"That's not the friggin' point, Sam!" Dean seethes, hands shaking against Sam's cheeks. "Fuck the world" the words are on the tip of his tongue, but then Sam brings his hands up and touches Dean's own, gently prying them from his face. Dean would feel bereft, except Sam's holding his hands now, warmth spreading from Sam's hands to his.

"Did you have dinner?"

"Sammy-"

"C'mon, there's beef stew. You love beef stew!"

Dean groans, leaning forward, resting his forehead on Sam's shoulder. He can already feel the ice around his heart thawing. Damn Sam and his puppy eyes.

"And I've been waiting for you. I'm starving,"

And I've been waiting for you: and that's it. Dean buckles.

Sam can tell he's won, so he chuckles, slapping Dean on the back. "Let's go then!"

Dean catches Sam's wrist in his hand just as Sam gets off the bed. Green eyes bore into hazel. "I'm telling you Sammy, you're not doing it. I won't let you."

Sam purses his lips, then smiles. No dimples. But that's okay, because after they finish dinner, and Sam climbs into Dean's bed and lets himself be wrapped up in Dean's arms, Dean buries his nose in Sam's hair and finally understands.

The Score has only ever been right about One Thing: that he is Sam's Guardian. His protector. And if going against what the Score says means he's doing his job, then who's to stop him?

After all, why fight fate when fate has been right all along?

....

Also here's Fon Master Sam and Guardian Dean bc why the hell not (can I get an F in the chat for my art skills) (and also for Sam's fucked up left leg):

Bonus: Dean as Guy (bc carfuckerdean 🤝 albiorefuckerguy):

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 37

Read on AO3. Part 36 here. Part 38 here.

Summary: There are only so many ways you can deliver news.

Words: 2700

Warnings: dystopia

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: I really didn't think I'd get a chapter out today, but I did, so yay!? Sorry it's a bit short (I remember when 2000 words was normal for me!), but I must be on my bullshit, as always.

Thank you very much to everyone who reached out. I had a shitty week this week, and I anticipate things in the next few weeks will not be super great. If there is a week where an update is missed, I hope you can understand.

I love y'all very much, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! <3

Beyond the sheet, the doctor’s shadow worked in silence, collecting instruments to soon be used to pry and expose your pomegranate flesh. Your monthly exam would never feel routine--prior to the collapse of society, they’d already been unpleasant. But now, separated from the provider by gossamer cloth, scrutinized in anonymity while metal objects cracked you wide, they crushed you in revulsion. The doctor whirled on his stool between your legs, air whispering over your bare skin. You swallowed.

A squeaking, clacking, and the cold metal of the speculum parted your labia and pierced your entrance. You held your breath, willing away the tears that pricked your sight--you’d always cried at this part, even before it became obligatory--drifting to your mind until he was finished. 

Kylo Ren had been gone for 18 days, and in his absence, Gilead had drawn from your veins, a vampire of systemic proportions bleeding you not of life, but of the will to live itself. Without his presence, his power, his capability to extract you from bondage, you’d sunk into it like a tarpit, thick sticky ooze edging ever-closer to your throat. Sutures now removed, antibiotics completed, your days consisted of waking, walking, waiting, and, more than once, weeping, before wishing yourself into a witless slumber. Not that you were surprised. After all, before you’d fucked him in secrecy the first time, you’d asked yourself, what was life without living? 

As it turned out: pretty fucking awful. 

Pain lit up your spine when the doctor dug at your cervix for a swab--you winced, and the exam room door opened.

“Hey, we’re running behind, you do you want me to grab the next one, or--”

“No, no,” your doctor replied. “I’m almost done with this one. Did you get the urinalysis back?”

“Uh, no, sorry, I haven’t checked. I can go do it now.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Oh, hey.” Then he swiveled away--leaving you gaping, a red tunnel open for observation. “Did you hear what the director said this morning?”

The other man hummed in thought. “Something about Commander Pryde. I didn’t really care.”

You stared into the ceiling, hands folded over your stomach, tears stinging again while your thighs began to tremble. Privacy and respect hadn’t been afforded to you in three years; you had long been designated a womb buried in a hunk of meat. But something about having your cervix on display like the Hope Diamond was particularly nauseating. Your stomach groaned in humiliation.

“Yeah. Anyone who’s even spoken with Pryde in the last month is getting rounded up.”

Breath stalled. There was no way the doctor knew who you were--the sheet separating you ensured that. Dread iced over your chest.

“Shit,” the other man replied. “Really? Damn.” A pause, clanging of instruments. “Just questioning, right?”

“For now.” The doctor grumbled. “I just had the tenaculum. What the hell?”

“Isn’t it right over there?”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Wheels squeaked across the floor. “Anyway, it’s just a new round of Ren’s bullshit.” He sighed, scooching between your legs again. Something sharp and cold pinched you--you bit your lip. “Dissenters this, threats to Gilead that. I wouldn’t worry about it. Unless--”

A snort. “I hate the both of ‘em.” The man sighed. “You’d think that fixing the birthrate should be their top priority, the way things are going.” 

The doctor grumbled, and something pinched you like talons, shooting pain up your spine. “Yeah. Well. If Ren has his way, half the people in this country are gonna end up dead.”

Your heart was tumbling into a canyon. In the time without him, your belief in your Commander’s defection had dimmed. You’d believed initially that his motivation for Pryde’s capture was revenge--something undesirable, but still understandable--but the longer his campaign went on, the more you realized that there would be nothing that would convince him to release his stranglehold on his position. A gnawing despair within you whispered that whatever Kylo Ren felt for you, he felt it one hundredfold for power and control; convincing him to leave it behind would not only be improbable, but impossible. Yet, as you considered betraying what little affection he might have, sorrow shredded you. The thought of his capture, trial, possible execution--

More tears. You couldn’t stomach the thought of him not here, of being torn from him, of his existence in the past tense. And you also couldn’t sacrifice your freedom for his sins. 

The release of the speculum tugged you back to the exam, and you sniffled, clearing your throat. You’d missed the rest of the conversation.

“Whatever happens, at least we won’t be out of a job. They’ll always need someone to make sure the breeding stock is healthy.” A pause, as if to acknowledge that, yes, you were still in the room. “No offense, of course.”

Bile burned your tongue. You said nothing. 

“Shit, that reminds me,” said the other man. “I’ll go check the urinalysis.”

“Thanks.” 

The door shut. Without warning, latex fingers pushed inside of you, another hand pressing down on your belly. The inspection went on for seconds longer than you thought it should, his fingers curling, as if he was languishing there, reveling in the sensation of feeling your uterus. For a blink, every thought surrounding your Commander’s desertion of Gilead fled your mind, consumed by a venomous desire that he might catch this doctor in the act and crack his skull on the pearly tile, spray his blood, stain the grout. And then the intrusion was over, and your fury dissipated, the ache for retribution hollowing in your heart. 

It wouldn’t have mattered, really, if he had been standing in the room when it had happened--the doctor was no anomaly, but a functioning cog in Kylo Ren’s machine. As long as you both remained in clutches of his own creation, he would spend eternity defending you from its design. Even if you could be an exception, other women would suffer in forced silence. And even if he could mould it to your liking, it would still mean he preferred you to exist in subjugation instead of liberation.

Hope had been a security blanket almost three weeks ago, thick and warm around your shoulders while he’d bathed you with gentle hands. Now it clung in tatters to your ribs, the tiny scraps fluttering like tissue with every gust of reality.

The door opened again. 

“Hey,” the man said. “Got the results.”

A snap of rubber as the doctor removed his gloves. “And?”

“Look for yourself.”

Shuffling paper stifled the sad knock of your pulse in your ears. Perhaps you knew, and had always known, that Kylo might never come to agree with your perspective. You just frequently forgot to acknowledge that it would mean letting him go. Forever. 

“Hey! Okay!” A warm palm slapped your thigh, and you squeaked. “We got another one!”

When no one responded, you realized he had been speaking to you. About a result. A urinalysis. Another one...

You couldn’t speak. Or breathe. Oh--

“You’re pregnant!” 

Like a geyser, it burst from you--your sorrow, your fear, your disgust, your absolute joy--and poured in rivers down your cheeks, your hands clapping over your face. There was no one coherent thought that could be plucked from your mind, just a constant tornado of horrific exhilaration, a celebratory mourning that within you, a tangible testament to you and your Commander’s connection beat and pulsed and flourished with life, growing veins like vines and limbs like wings. 

His child--your child--a physical entity you could nourish in the wake of his reluctance, an unalterable legacy inside of your womb, one that you, if you were to be denied all else, could adore. Your child, but also his child, descendant to a despondent devil, progeny to a preserver of your own imprisonment. A child that, if born into the realm of its father’s regency, would never know normality, or maybe even you--at all. A heaving sob cracked through, and you shivered, trembling with terrified bliss.

The doctor slapped your thigh again. “Don’t stress!” he said. “According to the chart here, you’re about six weeks along. There’s still a chance for disruption. So I’d stay relaxed, all right?” 

Swallowing, you creaked out a noise of assent. There wasn’t a word you could bear to say. 

After the doctor left, you slipped back into your red dress and wings--despite Kylo’s words weeks earlier, you had been provided no other options after he’d left, and you suspected he’d meant for you to only be out of uniform in his presence, regardless. You were escorted by an armed nurse out of the clinic, where a Knight--still masked, no cloak, just in tactical gear--was waiting by the black SUV you’d seen a few of them in before. Averting your gaze, you climbed into the back and buckled in. The vehicle started, you coasted through the parking lot, and onto the road.

For the first time in several days, the sun was out--though it would need more than an afternoon to evaporate the muggy air that had accumulated in its absence. You gazed into the stark, cloudless sky, placing your hands on your belly, as if you could commune with the little being inside of you, know it before it knew you. A question, awful and exciting, lingered in your mind  as you imagined telling Kylo the news, but no answer revealed itself. You replayed the scenario over and over again, practicing it on your tongue--I’m pregnant--digging deep for his reaction. But it was useless, as initially unknowable as anything else about him. Anxiety constricted your heart, a dam about to crumble behind your eyes.

The Knight turned a corner, and you jostled in the backseat. There couldn’t have been much intimacy between them all. But still.

“How do you think the Commander would respond…” You swallowed again--hesitation kept wadding in your throat. “How do you think he’d respond to a pregnancy?”

Long, sweltering seconds ticked by without a word. Balling your hands in your lap, your palms slipped, heartbeat thumped in your clasped thumbs. You’d never heard a Knight say a word, before--you weren’t sure why you were expecting one to answer you. Lava licked at your neck, dripping down your spine, your teeth tearing at your cheeks. 

“Whatever it is,” the Knight said, shattering expectation, “anything in comparison will look like apathy.”

A rush of interminable origin raced your flesh, flushing hot in your blood. That was about as accurate as you could expect. And unsatisfying as you could predict.

When you arrived at home and stepped out of the vehicle, another realization crested over you. Johana. Though your relationship had settled into an uneasy truce since the day the Commander had left, the words she spared you had been few and far between. You knew that your pregnancy was possibly her only dream, but combined with the uncharted territory of her husband’s intentions, you worried it would become her nightmare. 

At the same time, perhaps these worries were unfounded--the threats Kylo would face by disrupting his Wife’s right to your child might be too great for him to risk his power. His concessions had been minor and in relative secrecy, affecting only his relationship with you--everything else had the secondary benefit of securing his reign. He’d said plenty, but how much had he meant? After overhearing the discussion in the exam room, you were fairly certain that if made to choose between Gilead and you, you’d lose.

You followed the Knight into the house, relieved to cross into central air. Taking a few slow steps, you drew a deep breath.

“Ms. Johana!” You paused, listening for a response. You heard none. “Ms. Johana?”

She wasn’t in the house--that meant she was likely out in the yard. In the heat. Sighing, you trudged through the halls through the back door, squinting as light smacked your face. In the weeks since Kylo’s departure, the garden had been cleared and mostly restored at Johana’s behest--the grass gleamed gold, summer flowers replanted in over-saturated swirls of color. You hopped over the stones, turning the words on your tongue, hoping to make them real in your mouth.

I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m--

“Ofkylo.”

You stalled, recognizing the moniker as yours, resentful of its familiarity to your ears. Beyond one of the hedges was Johana, prying open a birdfeeder. Heat--though whether it was from the sun or your fear, you didn’t know--sizzled the nape of your neck. You steeled your jaw, grabbing your skirts and tromping through the trimmed lawn in her direction.

“What are you doing out here?” There was a bag of mixed seed at her feet, her sleeves pushed up to her elbows as she wiped the feeder clean with a rag. “I thought you just left for your exam.”

“I did. I’m back,” you said. “I was, um. Looking for you.”

“Oh.” She flipped the top in her little hands, scrubbing it clean, too. “Well, that’s fine. What’s going on? They didn’t find out about the gunshot, right?”

You shook your head. “Oh, no no. That’s fine.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m tired of lying for your benefit. The antibiotics weren’t--”

“I know, Ms. Johana,” you sighed. “So…” The words were so simple, but so difficult to say. “The exam went well.”

She nodded, digging into the seed, scooping a helping. “Uh-huh.”

There was nothing that would make this any less nerve-wracking. You inflated your chest, and let it go. “I’m pregnant.”

Johana stopped, like she’d been shot herself, staring into the ground. The seed fell from her palms and spilled over her shoes. She rose, gaze drifting from your feet, to your hands, to your face, her chin shaking. A smile was threatening to explode across her lips.

“Wait.” She exhaled. “Really?”

Wagging your arms in admission, you nodded. “Yup.”

A human springtrap, she squealed, launching into you and wrapping you in a tight, bony hug. You wheezed from her strength--she squeezed you, pinning your limbs to your sides as she wriggled you like a toy. 

“Yes!” She jumped up and down, still holding you. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Yes,” you repeated. “It’s, um, it’s true!”

Johana released you, erupting with elation. “This is amazing!” she said. “Lord, I’m going to have to go see everyone. Yes, we’ll have to have a party.” She clapped her hands and hugged you again. “Can you let the Marthas know to clean this up? I have to get going.” A playful, devious smirk twisted her mouth as she skipped into the house, congratulating herself. “Oh, they’re going to be so jealous! I’m pregnant!”

You stood, staring down at your belly. It wasn’t obvious, yet--but it wouldn’t be long. The thought of Johana preening, presiding over your stomach like it was her work paralyzed your heart. Had it been any other Commander, any other household, you might have even been relieved to incubate your ticket out of the Colonies, but now, you felt only panic. You didn’t want to give this baby up to her--a desire you never would have anticipated.

But then, none of this had been anything you had the ability to anticipate. A Handmaid was not supposed fuck her Commander outside of the Ceremony, or kiss him, or wake up in his embrace. A Handmaid was not supposed to yearn for her Commander, feel comfort from his  voice, find companionship in his presence, or feel grateful for his brutality and strength. A Handmaid was not supposed to plan her Commander’s downfall, or plan his escape, and especially not plan his future with her in it.

A Handmaid was not supposed to fall in love with her Commander. But you were a Handmaid. And it was too late.

You left the empty birdfeeder and the bag of seed, slinking up the stairs, creeping back to your room. Throat, chest, face tight, you laid in bed, palms planted on your stomach, and breathed. Shutting your eyes, you hoped for the hundred-thousandth time in three years you would wake up in a different world--a world where the father of your child was not your legal owner, a world where another woman was not claiming it as hers, a world where you opened your eyes and you were not alone, and you were free, and you were truly, deservedly loved.

If you fell asleep, you didn’t know--the next thing you recalled was the familiar rumble of the Audi’s engine, dying as it rolled into the driveway.

[the-darklings]

—𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅;

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 7.9k+ (missed 8k by like 20 words welp)

summary: Is it possible to hate and miss someone in the same breath? 

warnings: swearing, violence/blood, angst.

notes: Well, we have arrived at canon events soldiers. This is going to be one bumpy ride so fasten your seatbelts ladies, gents and others. And enjoy!

children of ares series: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | . . | 07 |

OPEN CONTRACT: 

JOHN WICK

2 MILLION USD

BY: VIGGO TARASOV

The light emitting from your phone screen is the only one in your room, and you breathe in and out slowly, thinking.

Of course, the team was going to fail. Five years or not, John is still…

He’s still John Wick.

It almost makes you wonder what exactly Tarasov was thinking sending such an insulting number to his front door. But you wouldn’t have known about the dinner reservation John rang in if it hadn’t been for Winston who shared the information with that accepting, knowing air about him.

There’s a storm coming.

Seems like the Bowery King was right to say such a thing. Because Iosef—that cruel, stupid, petulant moron—has now unleashed hell upon his own family and himself. If there is anything of the old John still left inside, you know that he will tear New York to shreds to uproot the young idiot from his hiding spot. There is no hole left in this city where John will not eventually find him.

You swallow, locking your phone, and run your hand harshly over your face.

This—you don’t need this right now. Not when you have yourself to think about, and especially not when there are clearly individuals out there gunning for you and Santino, too.

John belongs in the past, and it makes you wonder if it’s some cruel joke that life keeps pushing him back into your path.

2 million contract though.

It won’t surprise you if it’s money Tarasov took from Santino for your own job. The sum feels too deliberate and Tarasov knows that the news will reach you soon.

Rising from your seat with a jerk, you grab your jacket and walk towards the door. You can’t focus on work right now less you mess up, and this waiting for the axe to drop is starting to drive you insane.

Winston is out, you know that much, but the bar is always open.

Slumping in the elevator, you close your eyes, trying to imagine what all this could mean.

A war, for one. A bloody one.

John has never given up on anything and you recall the empty look in his eyes the last time you saw him. For Iosef to come into his home and to take that very last shred of peace and hope from him—

The elevator rattles to a stop and you pull the door to one side, stepping out.

“I apologise, Mr. Wick,” Charon’s smooth voice reaches your ears and your head jerks towards the reception desk. “But I cannot give out information about other guests.”

John stands facing the concierge, his back to you, and seeing him in his old suit takes you back five years. It’s both devastating and chilling to see him back here. The lobby may look different but this moment is like watching a memory loop.

“I just need to talk to her.”

He sounds—

Charon’s expression doesn’t ease. “I apologise, sir Wick, but we respect the individual privacy of those that stay with us. Even if you were once…associates.” 

The slight edge in Charon’s voice surprises you. It’s not the kind of thing you would expect from him, especially considering that Charon and John have always had an amicable relationship. But that’s in the past, you remind yourself. It’s been five years since they’ve last seen each other.

“It’s okay, Charon,” you interrupt, walking up to the reception table and ignoring the many curious stares that you can feel drilling into you. “I’ve been expecting him.”

John turns upon hearing your voice and you meet his stare evenly.

Scraps and bruises mar his face, and you bite back a sarcastic comment about how he must be losing touch. But the time of teasing and ease between you has long since passed.

John doesn’t say anything to you but you see everything you need to know in his eyes. That, at least, hasn’t changed. He’s only guarded when he wants to be.

“Only Winston can reach me,” you remind the concierge without breaking eye contact with John, and incline your head towards the elevator.

You turn without waiting for a reply and start heading back, your eyes sliding over the curious onlookers with a clear warning. Most drop their eyes but a few brave enough still hold your stare, gaping openly. John follows behind you silently and comes to stand at your side, both of you waiting for the elevator to arrive down without a word.

The journey to your room is deafeningly quiet and little by little you keep adding to your armour. This will be a storm to weather, and you need to be ready.

“Same room,” John notes calmly. “Some things don’t change.”

“And some do,” you remark pointedly and invite him inside. “Water?”

He shakes his head, and you gesture for him to sit down, which he does.

John is rigid. As always his features are calm, but an old, familiar tension lines his frame and you drop down on the seat in front of him. The very same chair that Santino sat in only a few days ago. If you inhale deep enough you can still pick up faint traces of his cologne.

John gazes at you for a long moment but you don’t rush ahead. You simply sit there, already knowing what he wants, but hearing it from his mouth is a whole other matter. So you wait, expectant.

“He killed my dog.”

You stare at him flatly, still silent. John, seeing no reaction, leans closer and it’s hard to look into his dark eyes. You’ve spent so much time looking up to him—at him—that it makes you feel caught between two different times in your life. The past with him in it, and the present where there’s just you and a sparse few individuals you consider your own.

“Where is he?”

Your smile is slow coming before you chuckle, shaking your head as you lean back in your chair, staring at him through narrowed eyes.

You understand his grief and anger and need for revenge. That’s all perfectly fine with you. Those things are familiar, safe. Those emotions embody you both in different ways—always have.  

But—

“Do you have any idea what you are asking of me?” you wonder idly, softly, gazing at him pensively.

John’s lips press together and his head lowers for a moment though you don’t miss the flash of guilt there.

So he is aware, at least there’s that.

For a minute, you’re both silent; he with his head bowed as if repentant, and you with an icy, hard stare that won’t let him escape now. If he wants this, if he really believes he has any right to ask it of you, you will hear it directly from his mouth.

“I know it’s a lot—”

“No,” you cut him off immediately, rising to your feet and your hands clench into fists as you round the seat, not looking at him. That bitter, cold hurt floods your veins once again and your teeth grit harshly. “You have no idea what you’re asking of me. Even if I knew where the hell Iosef Tarasov spends his time—which I sure as hell don’t—do you have any idea what happens to me if I tell you?”

John looks up at you, but his voice is calm as always when he speaks. “No one will ever know that it was you—”

“You are asking me to throw away seven years of hard work,” you whisper but the quietness of your words slices through the room like a scream. Your eyes meet John’s and you wonder if your wariness and disappointment are as clear to him as they are inside your chest. “Seven years of murdering in that man’s name, and now that I am a breath away from freedom, you ask this of me? Tarasov will know that it was me because he knows you would go to me first. Even if he doesn’t get to me himself, you already know what the High Table will do to me for such a betrayal.”

“After Helen—” he begins and his voice catches, his low baritone trembling. He blinks, his head lowering and you swallow weakly, turning your head away from him. His pain is too raw and you don’t want it to soften your heart, to drive you to him again. It’s no longer your job to comfort him. “After she died. That dog is all I had, (Name). My only hope. I was no longer alone. I know you understand that better than anyone.”

You do. You did.

Once you would have waded through a river of blood for him with a smile on your face. Once you thought you understood him better than anyone, and him you.

“We were close once, John,” you admit even though it sounds like a hilarious understatement of what you had. “But that door closed a long time ago. I can’t help you.”

John’s lips part to reply but the shrill ring of your phone fills the air and your eyes flutter closed before you pull it from your pocket.

Your heartbeat jumps at the name reflecting back at you.

Santi.

Not looking at John, you answer, lifting the device to your ear. It’s an effort to force your voice into neutrality. “Hey, grumpy,” you greet with a slight smile. “How is Vancouver treating you?”

A chuckle sounds on the other side and your smile widens. “Ah, cara mia. Rather cold,” he notes pleasantly though still manages to sound petulant about it. “And very boring without you here to keep me company. Business is good though.”

“Good,” you say, and stare at your dark carpet with dread coiling your stomach. “Listen, can I call you back later? I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

“I’ve heard about John. I assume you have as well.”

You go still. For a second, you think even your heart skips a beat. Except it’s the exact opposite of a happy sensation.  

“Yes.”

There is a pause. In the distance, you think you can hear the sound of rushing water. Santino likes being near water. It reminds him of home—of his childhood and his mother. For a moment, you almost wish you were there with him instead of here. Here in this room with the personification of your heartache and lost love sharing your breathing space.  

“Have you talked to him?”

Even though it pains you to do so, you can’t force yourself to lie to him. “Yes.”

You know he gleans as much from your tone and answer as you do from his silence. The suffocating, dreadful silence that is so unlike him—especially with you.

“Is he with you right now?”

His voice is quiet, his accent heavier as if the words take substantial effort to get out, and you work your jaw restlessly.

“Yes.”

The silence on the other side is an endless, ugly thing and you feel oddly helpless. You don’t like how this is making you feel. You don’t like the fact that you are forced into this situation in the first place.

“I see,” he says, at last, his voice stilted. You don’t miss the switch to Italian either. “Do look after yourself, cara.”  

“Santino—”

From the corner of your eye, you spot John’s head snap in your direction, his eyes full of surprise.

But the line goes dead. Your hand lowers and you stare at the phone for a second, your fingers tightening around it. It doesn’t ring again.

“Santino?” John wonders and his quiet voice is loaded with things unsaid.

You don’t look at him when you answer. “He’s my friend.”

It feels hollow saying it. Because he is that but—

I am a patient man. I can wait.

“Santino doesn’t have friends,” John points out neutrally, and you feel your head slowly turn in his direction. Whatever he sees on your face seems to give him a pause.

“He does now.”

This time the silence between you is different. For the first time since your reunion at the cemetery, John seems to be looking at you with different eyes. Fresh eyes that finally understand the passage of time. Eyes that note the difference in the way you hold yourself. In the way you no longer lean into his shadow hoping to make it your home.

You are your own shadow now.

“What I said earlier still stands,” you tell him flatly, finally putting your phone away even though it sits like a heavy weight in your pocket. “I can’t help you. I understand, I do. But I’m not going to forfeit my life for this.”

John stands, coming closer. “(Name)—”

You turn away from him, heading towards the door. “But I’m not the only individual residing in this building with the power to help you.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you see him straighten, understanding shining in his eyes.  

The bar is a buzz.

It’s Friday night so you suppose that should not surprise you that much.

The stares that follow you and John even more so.

For most, seeing you together is either a novelty or a call from the past. You’re unsure how it makes you feel. It’s as simple, as comfortable, by John’s side as it's always been. But you lack the ease you once carried around him. Back then your trust in him was so absolute but now only pieces of it remain.

Perkins spots you, her pretty lips twisting into a sneer when you wink at her, her expression relaxing only when she sees John next to you. She salutes him with her drink and it makes you smirk.

Aiming high as always.

Envy and jealousy have always been easy for her. She’s never been able to let go of the knowledge that she’s in your shadow; her accomplishments always being compared to what you have achieved in the past. You’ve never intended for there to be bad blood between you but it seems that you both carry a natural dislike for one another.

After Santino, however, she no longer approaches you as brazenly as she once did.

Remembering that confrontation still makes you grin.

Winston sits in his booth as per usual when you approach him, working; a drink and a cigarette in front of him. You smile despite yourself.

“Martini kind of night, is it?” you call as you come to a stop before him, and his head lifts at the sound of your voice. He registers the sight in front of him and leans back slowly, taking you both in while you stand side-by-side. “Brought you a guest.”

“Winston,” John greets, and the warmth in his voice is genuine. It doesn’t surprise you though. These two men were friends once. Perhaps not the same level of friendship as you and John but there’s still enough history between them. “Good to see you.”

“Well, well,” Winston begins, pleased, a smile lingering on his face. “This is a sight I never thought I’ll get to see again. The Boogeyman and the Viper, together again. Reunion of the century, if I do say so myself. Sit down, Johnathan. You as well, dear,” he adds when he notices you eyeing the bar.

You hesitate but sit down after both men fix you with an expectant stare.

Your eyes track the people inside the room, most either openly staring or whispering under their breaths when they look towards your booth.

“Have you really thought this through?” Winston’s question brings you back to the present, and his voice carries a note of something almost patronising. Like John is already in too deep and has no idea how much worse it can get. “I mean really chewed it down to the bone. You put so much as a pinky back into this pond, and you may find that something latches on and drags you back to its depths.”

“I just want his son.”

You click your tongue before Winston can answer and give John a sideways look. “Let me tell you something interesting about Viggo and Iosef, John,” you say, your voice forcefully calm as your fingers drum against the pocket where your phone sits. “Iosef is a spoiled, rotten little bastard who’s going to run his father’s empire to the ground because he lacks the drive and the spine to carry his work through. Viggo knows this too. That being said, make no mistakes. If you go after his son, Viggo will unleash hell upon you. Do you really think he will let his only son’s killer live on in peace? You know what kind of man he is.”

A man like us.

Tarasov is a different side to the violence and the hardship that has forged you and John. He’s the power, the influence, the order. You and John are the cruxes, the foundation, the bricks he used to achieve those things with.

Winston takes a small sip of his Martini, his gaze both amused and pointed. “She speaks the truth. And I would encourage you to listen.”

You blink, shooting a brief look of surprise Winston’s way but the man only smiles faintly.

John looks unhappy but knows better than to argue. Despite his silence, you know that he will not drop this. He can’t. He doesn’t have it in him; the capacity to let this go.

John Wick is only a hurricane you can weather and hope for the best.

“You are amongst friends here, Johnathan,” the manager states and you know from his tone that he means you specifically. Old, sly bastard. “Now might be the perfect time to sit down, have a drink, and relax. Work through old problems to gain fresh…perspectives.”

It’s an endeavour to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“I need a drink,” you mutter instead, rising from your seat and wandering towards the bar.  

Then, somewhere between the booth and the bar, it hits you. Like a brick to the face and you practically collapse onto the small chair.

John is back.

Back here in your atmosphere again. Till now it’s been like some surreal illusion with the added benefit of his presence never fully sinking in.

But he’s back.

Your muscles tense when he comes to a stop behind you, hesitating, before slowly lowering himself down beside you.

He’s come back to this world, just like the Bowery King said that he might, but not for the reason you might have hoped.

When the King said he might come back, there had been a tiny hope in your chest that if—if—he really did come back that it would be for you. Because, perhaps, if nothing else, he wants to be with you as a partner if not a lover. That perhaps he wants to try and mend the deep-running hurt between you.

But no.

John is not sitting beside you because he wants to be with you. Not even because he wants to be back in this world.

He’s back because he wants revenge. Because his wife’s dog was killed—his last connection to her—and now he has nothing.

Perhaps, it could have been different if you’ve stayed that night of the funeral when he asked you to.

But, perhaps, you would have also lost whatever little of your old self still remained if you did.

I will never abandon you.

Your heart clenches at the sudden, unbidden memory. Santino.

“You really have changed,” John speaks up suddenly, glancing your way. His eyes focus on your hands and he visibly hesitates. “You don’t wear it anymore.”

Your fingers curl loosely at his observation and you stare at the bar blankly. It’s true that his viper ring no longer lives on your hand but you wish it were that simple.

“I survived,” is all you offer in reply; an echo of his words from seemingly a lifetime ago now. “I survived.”

Without you, goes on unsaid but you know he gets your deeper meaning by the way he looks away from you. As if ashamed.

Addy brings your usual and you observe her open delight at seeing John again.

“Hell, it’s so good to see you both together again,” she exclaims with a bright grin. “Just like old times, huh?”

John dips his head in a nod with a discreet look in your direction. You don’t say anything.  

“Compliments of the house,” she announces as she places a drink in front of him as well.

Something scribbled on the napkin catches your eye and you suck in a sharp breath.

Red Circle.

You both turn around almost immediately, looking towards Winston’s booth. The man smiles slightly, enigmatic as always, and raises his glass to you in a silent cheer.

John’s heavy stare moves to rest on you, but you keep eye contact with Winston for a moment longer. You’re not sure what exactly the look in his eyes means, but when you finally do look towards John what you see there surprises you.

He looks hopeful.

So hopeful that for a moment it clenches your stomach and heart like an unyielding fist.

In that look, you see years of partnership, of protecting each other, of being a team. A lethal, harmonious duet of death.

But you’re not that anymore.

You are you, and John is John. A grieving husband.

Not yours—never yours—and you’ve accepted that a long time ago.

And yet.

He still calls to you.

Even through the pain and the rage, there’s still an ember of something.

But even so.

Your head turns back towards the bar, your drink, and you force out a choked, “Happy hunting.”

He lingers for a breath, his disappointment palpable before he walks away without another word.

You don’t look back at him as he leaves. 

Your steps cut a tight line. Back and forth, back and forth. Agitated.

“I’m surprised.”

“Don’t be. Playing coy doesn’t suit you.”

A laugh. Amused. “Then I shall exercise patience.”

“You do that.”

You don’t wait for an answer.

The line crackles on the sixth ring. Not that you expect anything else. He likes to keep you waiting.

Silence greets you.

“I need your help.”

“You,” is the soft disbelieving murmur. “Need my help?”

“I’m not going to ask you again.”

You hear a sigh on the other side, reluctant but open, and don’t bother holding back your victorious smile. 

By the time you stagger out of the bar, you have come to two conclusions.

One, you did the right thing by not getting involved.

Despite the feeling of guilt that has tried to drag you from your seat and after John, you’re glad that you stayed in your spot and chatted with Addy for hours instead. You might have felt Winston’s stare burn into the back of your head a few times but he didn’t call for you and you certainly didn’t go to him either.

The second conclusion is that you need to talk to Santino. As soon as possible.

Address everything from start to finish. Plan your next step. Find whoever knows about Chicago. That’s where your priorities now lay. Tarasov can ring the dinner bell for the last job whenever he feels ready to do so, but as of right now, there are more pressing issues on your plate.

John’s appearance may have caught you off guard but your life doesn’t just stop.

If Iosef is not dead yet, he soon will be and you can’t imagine John coming back. Properly this time.

You certainly can’t imagine him coming back and actually staying. Not for you, at least.

“(Name).”

“Jesus!”

“Not quite,” is the wry, laboured reply.  

John staggers on his feet and you move on instinct, wrapping your arms around him. He looks like he’s just been through a war zone, covered in blood and clothes ripped. His raven hair sticks to his sweaty forehead and he gasps when you press too hard on his no doubt many bruises.

“What the hell John?”

“He’s gone,” he breathes harshly, not answering you. The look in his eyes is difficult to pinpoint but it’s not happy that’s for sure. He leans into you willingly when you help him walk towards the reception desk though. “I didn’t get to him in time.”

Iosef.

Unease coils your insides.

You had hoped that John would succeed on his first attempt. Now, there’s no telling what’s coming. Or where the brat is, for that matter.

“Miss Vipress,” Charon greets, his expression vacant before his eyes move towards John and his eyebrow cocks slightly. “Mr. Wick.”

“Call Doc, please,” you request, awkwardly fishing out a golden coin and dropping it on the counter. “Tell him I have first aid covered.”

“Certainly,” the concierge answers, nodding his head. “Anything else? Some bourbon, perhaps?”

He directs the last part towards John who grunts and nods, making you roll your eyes. Shooting a grateful look at the man, you half walk, half-stumble John towards the elevator. The ride up consists of you mostly poking holes in his clothes and checking his vitals.

John, as always, stays upright by sheer will alone. Some things, perhaps, really don’t change after all.

His room lacks the lived-in touch your own has when you enter. It’s cold and clinical. You spot his bag neatly placed in the corner but otherwise, not a single particle of dust seems to be out of place. When compared to your own room full of vials, notes, and odd-smelling plants and herbs, this place is like a hospital.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” you grunt without thinking as you help him sit down, huffing from the strain of his weight. “Sincerely hope you know that.”

John glances up at you, his eyes brighter than they were moments before, and a slight smile twitches his lips. The first you’ve seen since your reunion.

“I know,” he replies and there’s that wry humour to be found in his tone that makes you glare at him in annoyance. “You’ve told me plenty of times in the past.”

Your lips part to reply—a jab ready to go—but there’s a knock on the door and you move towards it, your hand hovering over one of your blades.

“It’s me,” a familiar voice calls out and your hand drops down as you pull the door open.

“Doc,” you greet the elderly man with a nod. “Good to see you. You were quick.”

The older man shuffles into the room right away, his bag in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in another. He places the drink on the coffee table, his disapproval clear, but starts setting out his tools without commenting.

“I was in the area,” he shoots back, casting a look at John and then back at you. “You did not work together?”

The silence his question births is an awkward one, and you pointedly look away when Doc asks John to start removing his clothes.

“No, we didn’t,” you confirm calmly, carefully so, and grab an empty glass to use. “Got my new shipment yet?”

The older man looks up at you with a shake of his head and you dip your head in understanding. John observes the exchange, seemingly confused, and it’s yet another reminder that he has no idea how your relationships have changed in the past five years. Because he hasn’t been a part of your world for five years.

“You could have done this yourself,” the man comments lightly, shooting you a quick look. “I passed my knowledge on for more than poison making.”

You walk up to them, offering the glass to John who takes it with a grateful nod but don’t miss the way he focuses on your exchange with Doc. Curious and more than a little confused.

“Yes, but poison making is so much simpler,” you shoot back with a slight smile. “And you’re better at stitching than I am. Your hands are steadier.”

The old man shakes his head, clicking his tongue, and gives you a reproachful look over his shoulder. “Your hands are plenty steady, girl,” he notes, and you don’t miss the slightly chiding note in his words. Your eyes lock with John’s and you bob your head from side to side mimicking Doc’s words, a joking smile on your face. “What you lack is the belief that those hands are good for something other than bloodshed.”

Perhaps.

No, definitely, but neither of them needs to know that.

“Whatever you say, Doc,” you mutter, passing him some bandages without looking.

A tiny, barely-there smile lingers across John’s face, and despite being half undressed and bruised from head to toe, he looks more at ease now than he has in a while.

You know why.

Because despite everything unsaid and things long since passed, this is familiar. This is safety. This has been your bread and butter for years, and you feel the warmth of this simplicity sink back into your bones with every inhale.

It makes you as happy as it makes you sad.

John peers at you over Doc’s shoulder, and you at him, neither of you speaking while the man between you works. He’s methodical and always takes his time but his hands are the best you can hope for in New York.

“Just like the old times,” Doc hums under his breath after a lull of silence between you. “Hopefully better fortune will follow you from now on, Mr. Wick.”

It does feel like before. When it was just the two of you against the world.

You rise to your feet abruptly, making both men look over in your direction.

“I’m going to get you something for the pain,” you inform them hurriedly, and you can see the worry in John’s dark eyes, and attempt to smile convincingly. “The Doc is almost done anyway. Try resting.”

“But you are coming back?” he checks and you offer him a tight smile.

“Of course.”  

Your words sound faint, almost distant in your ears, and you close your eyes for a moment, trying to keep your composure.  

It’s an effort to keep your steps steady and slow before you close the door behind you.

It takes you longer than necessary to get the vial of pain remedy you’ve made for yourself a while back.

That’s because the journey back to your room is a blur, and when you do get inside the familiar walls, it takes you several moments to pull yourself together.

Is it possible to hate and miss someone in the same breath?

Is it possible to turn a blind eye to years of struggling and pain just for the sake of having something good back?

Rubbing your forehead harshly, you stare at the vial in your hand, a heavy throb quaking your heart.

Everything has a price as Santino is so fond of reminding you, and it makes you wonder what price this will demand of you.

Locking the door to your room, you approach the elevator, ignoring the buzzing of the phone in your pocket. Frankly, you’re not in the mood to talk to the Pope himself right now—much less anyone else.

The elevator grinds to a halt and you push the partition to the side but the moment you do, a crash greets your ears. A cool blade slips into your palm and you tense. Across the corridor, John’s room door is wide open and you spot Perkins of all people crawling closer towards you.

She looks bruised and bloodied as she tries to get away and you move towards her.

The blade almost takes off her ring finger as it sinks into the carpet in front of her face and she freezes.

“Now whatever are you doing here?” you question coldly, grabbing your gun from underneath your jacket. “Late night tryst?”

Perkins glares up at you, her expression livid before she tries to grab the blade in front of her but you react faster by stomping on her hand and levelling the gun in front of her face. “Please try,” you state lightly, almost pleasant.

John staggers out of the door, looking in an even rougher shape than before. His side is dark with fresh blood, the stitches Doc has so meticulously sown clearly torn, and he leans heavily against the door for a second. Your eyes meet and you finally understand exactly what has happened.

Perkins has tried to complete a hit on John inside the Continental. Tarasov is scared enough to allow such a thing to be associated with his name, regardless of the consequences. Scared enough to allow for one of the unbreakable rules of your world to be broken in his name.

John stalks closer towards you and you move back, still keeping the gun on Perkins. She’s a slippery one and you would rather not take any chances.

“You okay?” you ask, not dropping your eyes from the furious woman on the ground.

The assassin grunts with a nod and grabs Perkins, pulling her up till the muzzle of his gun presses into her cheek. The woman squirms but John’s grip only tightens. He’s done playing games and you can tell this will not end well for Perkins unless she gives him what he wants.

“Where is Iosef?”

Perkins snarls, twisting inside his hold, but still winces when John pushes the gun deeper into her skin; a silent warning. To her credit, she doesn’t falter, which is not something you can say about many. “I’m not telling you shit.”

“Please don’t,” you input with a mocking little smile that you’ve seen Santino use so many times in the past, effectively catching her attention. A perfect trick to heat someone’s blood and get them to slip up. “I have means by which to make you talk.”

The woman grunts under her breath, more blood smudging across her lips, and shoots you a venomous look. “Fuck you. You know what will happen to you—”

John jerks her to the side roughly, silencing her, and your arm lowers at his chilly whisper, “Give me something, Perkins. This is not worth dying for.”

She swallows, a flicker of healthy fear twitching her pinched expression at last. You step closer, the silent threat obvious, and her glare sharpens.

“He’s going to hunt you both down like dogs,” she spits instead, meeting your stare with a wide grin. Her bloodstained teeth make for a gory sight and you feel your expression harden at her words. “He will get this entire city searching for you. He—”

“The church,” you interrupt her little rant, and her mouth snaps shut at your blunt statement. “Tarasov keeps his personal stash of blackmail there. As well as a lot of money. You want him? Take him through that.”

Both Perkins and John stare at you. One in disbelief and one in silent understanding. John knows what this means but, predictably, it’s Perkins that reacts outwardly.

“You traitorous bitch!” she snarls, her eyes wide as she trashes again. “When Viggo learns about this he will destroy you—”

John drives the butt of the gun against her temple and she slumps to the floor, unconscious. For a moment it’s so still that your breathing seems like the loudest sound in New York City.

“Do I know you?”

You jerk to the side, your gun flying up as you point it at the man standing in the doorway of one of the rooms. But your arms lower a moment later when the familiar features register.

“I think so,” John speaks slowly, carefully twisting around to look at the newcomer too.

“Harry,” you greet the older man and he nods at you with a smile. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Better,” he answers and his attention goes back to your old partner. “John. Good to see you again. For a moment I thought you were getting into trouble with D’Antonio again, V.”

Purposely turning your head away from them, you slot your gun back in its original place, giving them a clipped, “Not this time.”

You feel John’s focus on you for a moment before his scrutiny lets up and he stands.

“You still up for earning a coin, Harry?”

The church looks peaceful in the early morning light.

John stands beside you, his warmth a faint brush in the chilly New York air, and you find yourself shivering despite your best effort not to.

The silence between you is—despite what you first assumed would be the case—heavy. John wants to ask you, and you don’t want him to. When faced with the question of why you are doing this, placing yourself in danger for him yet again, it always comes back to a simple fact.

For yourself.

Not for him. At least, that’s what you have to convince yourself of.

You and Tarasov have your own unfinished business.

Things always come full circle. Finally, after all these years, you are starting to understand Santino’s philosophy. Things always have a way of following you, never allowing you a moment of peace. You can run from them, but ghosts have a way of clawing their way back into your life.

You will always make the same mistakes, viper.

You shiver at the memory, shoving it away harshly. 

“He has a vault under the church,” you break the silence between you, and feel his head turn in your direction. “The security is minimal because not many go to a church with intention of breaking into it, and he doesn’t want to draw attention. That’s its genius. But if you want Tarasov’s attention this is the way to get it.”

“You don’t have to come,” he states mildly, though sounds almost reluctant to do so. You don’t look at him, still focused on the building before you. It seems to loom now; a tall, frightening skeleton of your past. “I know the risk you’re taking right now. I—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, and finally look towards him. “This is not the time for this conversation. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me.”

John hesitates and turns to face you fully. His eyes catch the light and you’re unsurprised to find that they still reflect amber in direct sunlight. The brightness strips away at his dark demeanour and leaves only a man behind. A good man, despite his flaws—despite his grief and thirst for vengeance.

“If this goes badly,” he begins softly and pauses for a second as if searching for the right words. “I want you to run. Promise me you will.”

Even though your hands are buried in your jacket pockets, your fingers still clench tightly at his words. It’s impossible not to miss his concern for your wellbeing.

“Run,” you repeat slowly, rolling the word on your tongue, tasting it. “You know I did a lot of that in the beginning. Running. It’s all I did. Just to stay alive. But then I realised that I shouldn’t be the one doing the running. So I don’t anymore.”

He knows what you’re referring to. Those five years are splitting you apart like a bottomless chasm even though there’s less than a footstep between you. The five years in which you had to defend yourself while he lived his happy life with his beautiful wife.  

“Let’s do this, shall we?”

You take a step forward but John’s hand halts you, resting against the crook of your elbow. On instinct, your own arm snaps out, striking his wrist to get rid of his touch. You suck in a sharp breath when you realise what you’ve just done, heartbeat galloping, and John’s expression creases with worry, sadness, understanding.

“Don’t touch me,” you force out because it hurts. His touch burns and it’s not the kind of pleasant warmth that once soothed you. “Just—don’t.”

Pivoting, you march towards the church, your jaw set and lips pressed in a tight line. Your heartbeat still betrays you though; a fluttering, tiny bird trying to escape its own cage of bones.

Despite your exchange only moments prior, you still wait by the door for John who catches up with you quickly. He falls to your side—an old, familiar routine you’ve done dozens of times even if it’s been years—and sharing a glance, move inside on his signal.

The door creaks open and you note the usual suspects sitting in their pews as you stroll inside.

Much like you predicted, and told John earlier, the priest falters upon seeing your face. There’s a moment of fleeting panic there, and you know that he’s wondering if Tarasov himself is a step behind you. You only ever come to the church if the man demands it of you, and it effectively sows doubt and confusion when you notice more eyes look towards you. But the priest doesn’t know who John is so, as per instruction, he plays the role assigned to him.

“My children, can I help you?”

“Yes,” you state amiably and pull out your gun, pointing it at him. “You can.”

You then shoot him in the leg.

It’s a flurry of who can pull the trigger faster. The guards, caught unaware and panicked, are nowhere near quick enough. You count four that drop to the ground dead, and John shoulders his machine gun calmly, looking unruffled. The old lady continues sitting inside the pew, staring at you wide-eyed, and you give her a small wave when you pass her by.

“I always wanted to do that,” you comment offhandedly, tilting your head to observe the squirming man. “He’s a shit priest.”

John nods his head a little, considering, and the priest shoots you an enraged glare.

“Do you have any idea who you’re fucking with?” he splutters, clutching onto his bleeding leg. “You traitorous trash! Viggo will—”

You kick him in the leg. The man lets out a strangled little yell, curling in on himself. John gives you a look as if to say he understands what you meant earlier, and grabs the priest by the scruff of his neck.

“Yeah, we do actually,” he replies dryly in Russian and shoves the priest ahead of you. “Take us to the vault.”

“N-No.”

You pull out a blade, twisting it between your fingers. “Do disagree with him again. Then I get my hands on you.”

The priest stumbles back, his frantic stare switching from you to John, clearly trying to find a way out of his predicament. The assassin gestures with the barrel of his gun and the priest swallows, stumbling in the direction of the staircase.

Just as you recall, there are two more guards downstairs, and disposing of them is easy; a bullet each. Tarasov’s vault stands like an indestructible gate between you and the women inside who scream upon seeing you. The destructive sound of gunshots split the air and then it’s quiet again.

“Open it,” you demand, gesturing at the keypad. “I know Tarasov gave you the code.”

The priest lays on the floor, shivering, as beads of sweat cling to his brow. Though his lips are trembling from both pain and terror, he still musters up a half-hearted glare.

“But not you,” he hisses in Russian, knowing and accusatory. “Viggo must have always known that you will try to betray him.”

You chuckle, and lean closer, patting him on the shoulder with a patronising smile. This, too, is a familiar motion. The priest cringes back and you see the naked fear in his eyes. “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you admit coolly with a faint hum as you glance towards the trembling women inside the vault. “Guess I’m just done playing nice. Open it, or I’m going spill your guts all over this shiny, reflective floor that Tarasov gets you to scrub every night.”

The priest shudders, staring at you in dismay, but still moves to do as you told him. Ignoring John’s burning, silent stare you wait for the code to be input.

John enters the moment the beep sounds and you stay silent as he dismisses the women inside—ever the gentleman—and starts tearing the vault apart. You watch him do so, and it gives you a wicked surge of satisfaction, knowing just how much this all means to Tarasov. A lot of it is your own work; different blackmail that you have painstakingly collected for him over the years. Despite that knowledge, it doesn’t upset you to see it go up in smoke.

The flame rages, angry and hot, and you linger for a moment, observing years of servitude disappearing in front of your eyes. It makes you feel strangely empty, almost numb.

You’re dead to the world, Kishi’s voice reminds you and you feel your eyes lower to the floor.

John doesn’t try to ask you questions while you wait for Tarasov’s arrival and you’re grateful for it. Right now, you don’t think you’re capable of any kindness. Right now, you think you would tell him everything, and if there’s anything of his heart still left, it would simply break all over again.

With the priest alive, the news reaches Tarasov quickly, and his familiar black SUV pulls into the churchyard only ten minutes later. The priest, predictably, doesn’t survive past telling his side of the story in choked, weak stutters.

“Let’s finish this,” John tells you calmly, deadly so, but your gaze lingers on Tarasov who is like a caged animal moving with clear fury in his every step. “After today we’re both free.”

Your head snaps in his direction but he’s already walking away and you peer at his back for a moment.

Free.

Shooting one last glance towards that churchyard, you follow after him.

Coming to a stop beside him, you both wait, silent and focused as you hear Tarasov and his party approaching. John looks up at you, serious as always, and you simply peer at him for a moment. All this time, hoping that he will be back and he finally is. He’s a step away, a hand reach away but—

John opens fire first. He always believed in best defence being a strong offence and the guards scatter, replying in kind with their own weapons drawn. Exhaling slowly, you steel yourself for what’s about to happen, and round the corner, opening fire yourself.

As always, you work as a seamless machine. With John at your back, there are no blind spots, no ways to get caught off guard. You cover each other perfectly, a well-oiled death machine that churns out bodies left and right.

John reloads, and you cover him. You duck to do the same a moment later, and John takes your place, covering you with his back to you. Your eyes flicker over him and towards the car behind which Tarasov is hiding. From this far, you can just barely make out his hat as he rises to peek at the situation.

You rise to your feet smoothly and slam the back of your gun against John’s head.

The bullets cut out immediately and John staggers, turning around hurriedly, but you spray fine mist—one of your fastest, most viciously effective formulas—in his face, kicking at his shins for good measure.

He stumbles to the ground, looking up at you wildly, gasping, “(Name)—”

His stare is lost, frantic. Almost like what he’s seeing and what has just happened are two things not connecting just yet, leaving blind confusion in their wake.

“I told you,” you remind him gently, coldly, as you approach him. “I’m doing this for me.”

You don’t wait for the paralyser to kick in.

Your gun slams against his temple one last time and he drops to the side, unconscious.

The churchyard is once again peacefully tranquil.

. . .

an: *shocked Pikachu. jpg*

I feel like the first half of the chapter was Team John going “Yay!” and Team Santino going “Boo!” and then by the end that switched lol. 

Loved it? Hated it? Any predictions? Let me know and, as always, I love you all. I’ve had a rough week but all your COA messages just brighten my day guys ;-; thank you so much!!!!

[scenariosofkonoha]

"I want you to like me"--shisui, madara, itachi Tysm :))

this is probably not what you expected. 

Sitting cross legged, you could feel the tension in your back increase with every excruciating second that passed. Looking across the room, you offered a small smile as you tried to remain calm, knowing that you were silently being picked apart by those who sat across for the table. 

“It’s a lovely house…” you said sweetly, trying to fill the void. You had been torn apart plenty of times before, defending a Ph.D. made you into one tough cookie, but at that moment, you would have given anything to be back in your lab being told that you were a worthless individual who now had to redo nearly a year's worth of work. At least your advisor told you to your face you were shit; the Uchihas, on the other hand, gave no such luxury. 

“Where are you from, Y/N?” Fugaku asked, bypassing your comment. 

Locking eyes with your fiance's uncle, you answered. “I grew up north. A small farm town.”

And before the words even left your mouth, you could feel the judgments already being placed upon you. You were facing probably three of the most prominent figures in the family, a family that was very successful and wanted nothing to do with anything that was not dripping with success. You knew that Fugaku, Madara, and Itachi could rip a person to shreds in a matter of moments, and it looks like you were going to be that person today. 

“Shisui didn’t mention he came from the rural area,” Fugaku added. 

“Oh, um, well I do…” you trailed. This was just painful, and it didn’t help that Shisui had a business call that took him away from this meeting, so you were going solo through this slaughtering of your existence. “I moved out to the city for my bachelors, and I’ve pretty much stayed there ever since,” you added, trying to save yourself from your impending doom. Why the fuck did he have to leave you alone with some of the most successful and intimidating individuals that ever graced this earth, you didn’t know, but he was certainly going to get an earful after this.

“And you have your bachelors…?” Fugaku inquired.

You frowned, “Yes, as well as a Masters and Doctorate...” Would they appreciate intelligence? Or would they see it as a threat? 

Looking over to his father, Itachi said the kindest thing that had been said, “I told you earlier, she was smart.” 

“Hm,” Fugaku nearly signed. 

“What’s your Doctorate in?” Madara chimed in for the first time. Ever since you had gotten here, he had been quiet- probably debating if you were even good enough to marry into his family. 

Feeling a little less stressful, you smiled. “Immunology and Virology. I was a part of the team that made the vaccine for the Epstein-Barr virus a couple years ago.” you told them. That sounded impressive, right?  Impressive and not useless? Successful even?

 “You do vaccine work?” Itachi added, throwing you a bone. Itachi already knew this, but it felt like he was trying to help you weave your way through his father's and grandfather’s question. Shisui must have talked to him before this. 

“Yes, I’m a lead researcher working in an HIV lab currently. We’re in clinical trials with a series of vaccinations to try  to combat it right now.”  You weren’t going to bore them with the details, but you were hoping that it was enough to establish your legitimacy. 

“So you want to get into the pharmaceutical corporations?” Madara asked, now seemingly more interested. 

“Um- well, no. I don’t really believe in making a profit on something that should be considered a human right?” you frowned.

Madara narrowed his eyes at you and murmured, “Interesting...”

Silently you gritted your teeth. Wrong answer. Wrong Answer. That was the wrong fucking answer. It was the truth, but it was not the answer. “Uh… So…” you breathed out as you glanced up to Itachi, who didn’t even know how to save you from that last comment. 

“So?” Fugaku copied.

You paused for a moment. “You know… I don’t think this is going well…” you admitted.

“You’re not wrong.” Madara followed up. 

So they were going to make you fight for your spot in this family? 

Fine. You’d fight. You had fought this battle before, and you’d fight it again. Standing up, you spoke to them just as you would to anyone who tried to knock down you and your work without any backing. “Look, I want you all to like me. I do. And while I do want your acceptance into this family, it’s not something that I need. Your disapproval is not something that is going to stop this wedding and I’m not going to vie for your approval. I’m not going to sit there and be silently judged for my upbringing and my work. I do have value, a value that is different for the Uchiha Corporation, and while you may think that lesser; it’s not. Without me, two of the biggest breakthroughs in medical care wouldn’t have happened, and there is more worth in that then being a name thrown around in the stock market, and I deserve as much respect as I’m giving you-” you were firm, but were interrupted by the door opening. 

“Sorry about that I-” Shisui cut his apology short as he took in the scene of a room he had left for only 5 minutes. He saw you standing as he had many times before- times where he was told he was wrong, you were right, and you had the evidence to back it up, so he already had a decent idea of what happened.  “Oh no…” he murmured. 

Standing up to meet him, Madara nodded. “It’ll be nice to have someone in the family who can actually defend their actions for once in their life. Good job.” he murmured before patting one of his nephew’s on the shoulder and leaving the room. 

“It went well…?” Shisui questioned, looking between you and Itachi. 

Standing up, interrogation done now that the patriarch was finished with his questions, Fugaku answered the question. “I don’t know how, but she got Madara on her side,” he stated before leaving the room.

“You got Madara on your side?” Shisui asked, a half smile on his face before coming to hug you. “Ha! That’s great! He’s not even on my side!”