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clone-whore-99 · 11 months

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Perfect Stranger

Hunter x f! Reader

18+ minors gtfo

Warnings: SMUTTY MCSMUTTERSON! unsafe consumption of alcohol, one night stand, morning sex, 69ing, oral (both receiving), overstimulation, fingering, doing the deed with strangers, not beta or proof read. LMK if I missed any (✿◡‿◡)

Summary: Waking up next to stranger leads to a series of pleasurable events.

Authors note: Turns out Hunter is my comfort character and nothing gets me back into writing like the death of a loved one. Those were things I wish I didn't have to learn like this, but at least my pain can be your gain ❤

Also please like, reblog and maybe even comment if you enjoy this, it really means a lot to me 🥺👉👈

If you want to, you can also help me by buying me a coffee ❤

The galaxy. Vast. Big. Dangerous.

But not at this moment. At this moment, you were safe and secure.

Which was odd, considering you were a single woman living alone, and yet there was an arm draped around your waist and a heart beating beneath your head.

The last rotation was a complete blur to you, only a few flashes of memories appearing before you, then disappearing just as quickly.

Slowly you opened your eyes and once the focus had set in, you were met with a sight to behold. Rock hard abs, as if they had been sculpted in marble just for you to see. And from them was this trail of short trimmed hair, urging your gaze to follow it lower. Only to be cut off by a pair of tights, holding on for dear life, low on the strangers’ hips.

That’s when you realized the shirt you were wearing must've been the strangers as well. It was matching in color and seemingly in texture too. It didn’t feel like anything had happened the night before, but maybe you had just been too drunk to realize. Though if that had been the case, you probably wouldn’t feel so safe in his arms. But you did.

Curiosity finally getting the best of you, you slowly - careful as to not wake the stranger - managed to turn your whole body around, so you were now facing him.

You were still for a moment, waiting to see if you had disturbed his slumber. But his low snoring and calm heartbeat continued, proving success in your quest.

His other hand was prepped behind his head, the shy morning sun barely peeking through the window, highlighting his features in an almost perfectly picturesque way.

His arms were muscular and led towards these broad, strong shoulders that looked like they were made to hold the weight of worlds on them. Just like his abs, his jaw looked like it had been hand sculpted and around it hung this beautiful, dark curly hair, held back by a bandana.

Weird, you thought, sleeping with a bandana on. Though it seemed like sleep had probably taken him by surprise.

The bandana had a skull painted on it and right underneath that skull, was half of the man's face tattooed.

Delicately, you let a finger trace the tattoo, starting from the bandana down. The tattoo avoided his eyebrow, but covered his eyelid which could not have been a pleasant feeling. It avoided his nose and a big part of his cheek, much like a skull in itself.

Your finger followed it all the way to where it met, at the edge of his lip in the shape of teeth. His lips curled into a smirk underneath your soft pad. He was awake.

This didn’t stop you though, as you continued your tracing towards the middle of his lips, which then perked up into a kiss.

You let your hand fall back down to rest on his chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The man let out a huff, though his smirk persisted. “It was bound to happen,” he replied nonchalantly, his voice deep and raspy, sending a thrill straight towards your core.

The strangers’ eyelids were twitching, as if debating whether or not they should face the day or stay in the comfortable darkness.

“Did we…”

“No.” His answer was blunt, not even allowing you to finish the thought. “I’m not really into drunk people.” He then added with a devilish smirk.

“Then how come you’re here?” The words escaped your mouth before you had even thought them through.

His eyes opened just enough for him to see you, dark and caring. “Guess you really achieved your objective, huh. You went to the bar last night, put down a bunch of credits, claiming you wanted to forget. Never specified what though.” His hand began stroking your back, sensual in nature but with a hint of trying to map out your body with just his touch. “By the time it closed, you were a wreck. I helped you home, get clean and put you to bed. I was about to leave when you began whimpering and turning onto your back, so I decided to stay the night to make sure you’d make it through. Guess I fell asleep along the way, though.”

Heat rose in your body, fuzziness tickling your insides and forcing your lips into a smile. It was easy for him to lie to you, but his words rung truth within you. You meekly - yet sincerely - thanked him and silence fell over the two of you again.

His hand continued its disguised mapping of your body, while your finger began tracing the tattooed ribs on his chest.

Somehow the tracing turned into kissing, at first just one, but when there was no protest, several more. And when the tattoo ended, the kissing continued onto his abs, then hips and down the trail of hair, all the way to the band of the tights, which was now restraining a bulge.

The stranger wasn’t exactly innocent either, as you reached further down, so did his hand. From your back to your hips, down your thigh and up again, until it could grab a handful of ass.

You glanced back at him, wordlessly asking for permission to continue.

He responded by grabbing your hips and pulling you over him, so you had a knee on each side of his head.

As you freed his cock from its restraints, he pulled your panties to the side to get a better view. He mumbled something under his breath, you couldn’t hear what but it sounded like admiration.

You were also guilty in taking a moment to admire the sight before you. His cock stood tall, average in height though far from the same could be said about the girth. Your mouth began salivating, your walls clenching around nothing, which the stranger evidently noticed with a chuckle. The thought of having him inside you was almost enough to drive you crazy.

Like a starved person, you licked all the way from the base to the head, before engulfing your mouth around his cock.

The stranger hissed at the sensation, straining his hips not to thrust up into you. His approach was far less aggressive and more like he was studying your sex and seemingly relishing the scent of your arousal, though you could be mistaken.

After what felt like an eternity of him just staring at your most private parts, fingers every now and then ghosting over where you wanted the most contact, his tongue finally pressed onto your sensitive bud.

At first it was just small, careful licks. Then his lips closed around your clit and began to switch between licking and sucking. You moaned into his cock and he returned the favor, the sound vibrating through your body.

You couldn’t even close your hand fully around the base of his cock, though you did your best while pumping up into your mouth. You kept switching between licking, sucking and slurping on the now messy mixture of precum and spit.

Once confident enough, you let go of his base to fondle the balls instead. Relaxing your throat, you took in all of him, hollowed your cheeks and swallowed.

The strangers head back with a groan, abandoning your sex in the process. “Kriff, I - ah - won’t lassssth,” he muttered barely apprehensible. His hands grabbed onto your thighs for dear life.

You didn’t care that he had stopped on his end. The pleads, moanings and groans were more than enough to satisfy you. You continued, feeling his balls tightening in your hands with each little movement you made.

It didn’t take long before hot, creamy ribbons shot down your throat, as you swallowed around his cock. The stranger had probably thought that was the end of it, but you were feeling mischievous and continued sucking, overstimulating the poor guy.

His hands were now holding you in a bruising grip, his moans sporadic and desperate. But when he let out a weak “w-wait!” you stopped and glanced back at him.

In less than a second, your world was turned upside down - literally. You knew the man was strong - I mean, just look at him - but you had never imagined that he could so easily just grab you, pick you up and spin you around, so that now you were lying in his place and he was on top of you.

It had all happened so quickly, you barely realized it before he was taking off your panties completely.

“Oh, and by the way Y/N” He said with a smug look while patting the inside of your thigh. “The name you’re gonna be moaning is Hunter.”

That was a challenge and a promise.

His attack was relentless. If you had thought his careful exploring earlier was due to inexperience, you’d be sorely mistaken. He started with a couple of broad strokes of his tongue, from your entrance to your clit, before diving into you. His tongue was exploring your insides, slurping in all you gave him. Meanwhile he was expertly using his nose to tease your clit, building your orgasm in no time.

You were helpless in his hands. Your body squirmed under the sudden attack, but his grip was holding the most important part still. Your moans grew louder and more desperate, though you kept stopping yourself right before saying his name - you weren’t going to lose the challenge that easily.

Your fingers slid through his luxurious locks, gripping anything they could get a hold of in an attempt to ground yourself. It didn’t work.

Your back arched into the bed, as the coil in your stomach snapped and waves of pleasure washed over you. A string of incoherent words escaped your lips and if the stranger - Hunter - hadn’t held you in place, you would probably have ascended to the stars.

He ate up everything you gave and then some. Your whole body was shaking as it came down from the orgasm, but he wasn’t relenting. No, he wanted revenge from you overstimulating him, he wanted you to moan his name and he was going to get it.

Hunter moved the attention back to your clit, sucking and licking the now oversensitive bud. He prodded one finger inside you, quickly adding another when he realized there was space. They seemed to be searching your insides, until he found that hard to reach spot inside you.

“Hunter!” You gasped, back instantly arching into the bed once more. You felt the smirk on his lips, as his gaze raised to meet yours. It was hungry, mischievous and victorious.

While remaining eye contact, he added a third finger, filling and stretching you more than you thought possible. All the while, his tongue continued its expert work.

You held eye contact for as long as possible, but had to give up, as each thrust and stroke of his fingers coerced a second orgasm to come forth.

“Hu-Hunter,” You moaned, by now having completely given up all control of the situation. “I can’t.”

This seemed to finally stop the oral attack on your sex, though the fingers continued their hard work. “You can, Y/N. I know you can. Do it, for me, cum for me.” His voice was deep and raspy, encouraging yet commanding. How could you ever deny him his wish?

Hunter returned to his work on your clit, the small break from the stimulation and then having it instantly revived was what finally sent you over the edge.

His name was on your lips like a chant, your vision blurring as tears pricked your eyes, your walls squeezing around his fingers while the rest of you was spasming from the orgasm. His free hand was making sure you weren’t hurting yourself or him in the process, but had given up on keeping you in place. He had won and was now letting you ride out the high.

When you finally returned to this plane of existence, Hunter was sitting up, caressing your thigh and looking at you with such admiration. His hair was hanging loose around his face, making you realize you pulled off the bandana during the act. Half of his face and upper chest was glistening in your juices.

He was beautiful.

“Think you can handle one more round?” He asked, once you had managed to catch your breath again. His eyes quickly darted downwards before returning to you, urging you to follow their destination.

And right there was his weeping cock, standing at attention and ready for action.

You looked back up at him, quirking up an eyebrow as you challenged: “Do you?”

Dividers by: @djarrex and unknown

Taglist: @zoeykallus @rain-on-kamino @ashotofspotchka @chxpsi @maulsrightleg @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @wildmoonflower @nunanuggets @lokigirlszendaya @wholesuhmsstuff @pb-jellybeans @dangracoon

(LMK if you want to be added to the tag list (✿◡‿◡))

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

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FLIGHT OF THE WARBLER (XIII)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XIV ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.0K

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, angst, mentions of guns & weapons, gore mentions, talks about shootings, tension, suggestive actions, sickness, vomit, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

In the last week that you had him, Kyle Garrick had proved to be something that couldn’t be attributed to the memories you held of that day. This realization had been brewing for a long time—ever since he’d followed you in that car as you defiantly shoved your way over the landscape of this very base. It wasn’t something you’d call conventional; it wasn’t, and in the end, you couldn’t be.

That isn’t to say you’d forget.

Your father was a large part of your life, and even now, you have trouble separating your perception of him from what you’ve learned and accepted. You know they’re the same person—you know—but the mind plays tricks on the body, and sometimes when you wake up in the middle of the night, you like to go along with the trick that he’d be down in his office, working on all those inventory logs. You know he’s not.

The only thing that really helped the ache was the very man who’d been in the room that day.

“You’re going to run me into a wall,” you comment dryly as the wheelchair rolls along the tiled floors.

“I am not,” Kyle says, a smirk evident in his tone. “You just like complaining, Love.”

Your eyes turn in your head and you look over your shoulder as military personnel walk past, sending glances at the SAS Sergeant and the woman he pushes safely under him. You wear more comfortable clothes today—a borrowed T-shirt and cargo pants.

“Where are you taking me, anyways?” The pain in your wound had only increased on the second day of consciousness came along; all of that skin piecing itself together one cell at a time. The meds had helped somewhat, but the injury itself produced a pulse of heat and tightness.

Brown eyes glance down, brow quirking. “Not fond of surprises, then?”

“Not when they’re from you,” you grumble under your breath sarcastically, turning back around.

Kyle’s smooth laugh makes your face gain a sheen of warmth, and you try to push back against the onslaught of hands that suddenly ghost your skin. You shift in the wheelchair and silently frown.

“I should be offended,” the man begins, taking a slow turn left, “but I’ve found I’m getting used to your jabs.” His comment goes in one ear and slides out the other, passing through the eye of your confused thoughts. “In fact, I find them enjoyable.”

You huff, bringing yourself back to reality as your lips quirk.

“Yeah, okay—” Your body bends forward with a ragged cough, hand snapping up to cover your mouth as your spine curves.

Kyle stops the wheelchair, looking in surprise before his arm comes to sit on the back of your shoulder blade, one foot moving him closer. Concern immediately grows in his chest.

“Spitfire?” You wave your free hand, continuing on for a few more seconds before your aching lungs take a deep inhale. Clearing your throat, you blink a few times to push away the blurriness of your vision and move back.

“I’m good,” your lips mutter. You clear your throat again. “Sorry.”

Kyle blinks.

“No need to apologize.” He glances you over softly as his hand leaves you. “Feeling alright, then?”

You nod after a moment, the man only hesitates a second before he grips the handles behind you and begins pushing again. A small silence falls between you two, and you brush a hand over your eyes as you feel those brown eyes staring into the back of your head.

“...I ever tell you about my time with RTI testing?” The comment makes you pause, brows pulling in as you look over your shoulder again.

“What’s that?” He smiles, nodding at you as he carts you around.

“Resistance To Interrogation.” Your interest gets jump-started, and you continue to watch him as Kyle’s eyes filter back and forth from the hallway to you. The surroundings swirl together as your focus is grabbed.

“No, you haven’t.” Gaz hums, shrugging.

“Want to?”

“Well, you already started talking about it,” you slide him a sly look.

He chuckles, tilting his head. “Got me there.” The Brit gathers his thoughts in front of you, eyebrows quirking for a moment. He moves his eyes back down to your own, and they lock for a minute—something flashes over his expression, but it’s lost before you can understand it.

“We were a group of ten,” he begins, “my class and I, yeah? All proper blokes.” The wheelchair squeaks slightly as it moves, but it barely annoys you. Kyle’s stories take precedence. “They had us separated—different rooms all over a test sight.”

“Let me guess,” you say, “it was horrible?”

“Bloody horrendous.” You both share amused looks. “You’d think they left that place abandoned for a decade, Spitfire,” Kyle speaks lower as if in secret. “Swear it was haunted.”

“As if,” you laugh, shaking your head and ignoring the muttered words from passing soldiers.

“I’m not joking,” Gaz says, smiling easily. “No, they made it that way—simulate an actual scenario.” He smirks, teasing. “As I was saying,” you pass door after door, and you’re none the wiser as to where he’s taking you as the minutes grow longer. “Interrogation. So, they had me in a room; tiny one. All of a sudden as I’m working on the bindings, big fellow comes through the door…”

You know what he’s trying to do.

Trying to make you laugh—smile. He wants you to forget about everything, even if for a little bit. There was no real destination he was taking you to; you’d passed this same door number two times now. He was just…talking to you. Because he wanted to.

You’d never felt as thankful to have someone to do that with than now.

The story ends as you expected it would, a full success on the Sergeant's part and a final comment of, “You wanna know what I learned? No one can break me, but me.” More and more tales go past as you joke and tease, growing more comfortable as every one waxes and wanes. You even shared some of your own.

“You wrecked it?” Kyle blinks in shock, laughing in disbelief.

“I wrecked it,” you reiterate. “But it wasn’t my fault! The dude pulled out in front of me.” Talking about how you had been driving your friend's car near the middle of high school—having gotten into a minor car crash while you never even had your permit.

“Bloody hell, what did you do?”

“Switched seats with my friend.” You’re excited. You find you don’t mind the feeling. Everything about videos and stolen goods is lost to the two of you—here, now, the only thing that was appeasing was the sound of one another’s voices. A sway and dip of syllables and accents. A push and pull that now felt more like a tug at a sleeve; gentle hands slipping over flesh.

More than once your body had wished for the man to touch you. More than once you had to stop yourself from getting sidetracked by the smooth roll of his chuckle.

More than once, Kyle had to do the same.

“That worked?” The Sergeant breathes, eyes darting away from yours softly before slinking back like a horse to water. His face was hot, and he’d lost track of the time—even his feet were moving on autopilot.

“You’d be surprised,” you stifle a fond chuff on your lips. “You want to hear the one where I snuck onto a train heading into Michigan?”

He looks at you and you can’t help but feel your face heat as you gaze over your shoulder.

“You’re trouble, you are.” The comment leaves you smiling widely.

“Did you expect anything different? My father got a rise out of me,” you laugh. “All he’d do was laugh and ask how my day went while my mother fumed from the foyer.”

“My mum would have a field day,” Kyle adds. “You make it that far?”

“No,” you shake your head a few times, speaking through crinkled lids. “No, I felt bad halfway through the ride and got off at the next station—found the train back and that was that.”

The Sergeant’s amusement is obvious. You don’t even realize it’s the first time you’ve mentioned your family without feeling that wash of sadness afterward.

A calm pause moves along the space, and soon after the man gives you a soft question.

“Leg still good?” Brown eyes look you up and down. “I can stop if you want.”

Blinking, you’d almost forgotten the bullet wound in your thigh, glancing down at it. Small aches travel up your spine when the limb shakes with the pace of the chair.

You think about lying.

Talk to me.

But what could one truth hurt?

“Maybe for just a few minutes.” You don’t turn to see the slow smile that peels Kyle’s lips, but as if a sixth sense, you can feel it.

“Want to go back to your room?”

“No,” you shake your head in thought. A line forms on your head as you shift to ask him. “Any nice places around here?”

You were starting to notice things you hadn’t before—or maybe you had seen them, and just hadn’t been paying attention. Kyle’s smile moved the scars on his cheek, pushing them tight, and when he looked at you, he gave you all of his attention. When he stopped and started walking, it was always with his right foot. At every noise, even if he wasn’t paying it any attention, his head would slightly tilt in that direction.

Everything has become a metaphor, and all you can do is experience it.

“Not many,” the man admits, brows furrowing as he stares off. A moment later he looks back down with a dog-like angle to his head. “Library?”

Your soft smile gives him all the answers he needs.

—

This strange comfort went on for the days remaining, yourself being none the wiser while the guilt on the soldier’s side persisted. How could he tell you? There wasn’t a thought in his mind that he wouldn’t tell you what was going on—that wasn’t who he was. He would never up and disappear without a goodbye, but even thinking about it rubbed him the wrong way.

Who was to say you would take to the next person who gets put in charge of you? It had taken months for Kyle—whoever else would be flayed on a stake at the first appearance of your wrath. For everyone's sake, the Sergeant hopes it will at least be Alex.

There might be some hope for him, at least.

But the overarching truth was that he didn’t want to leave you here. He didn’t want to go thousands of miles away and join the others…even if he knew he had to.

His duty, or his soul. He can’t do one without hurting the other. And he knows he has no choice but to join back with One-Four-One.

On the third day, you got sick.

Your body lay heaped over the toilet, a trail of vomit and blood leading into the bathroom that a nurse is hurriedly cleaning with a mop and spraying down with disinfectant. The smell of it only makes you retch more.

“Breathe,” Gaz utters beside you, hand rubbing circles on your back.

Your head spins; throat on fire. Everything you’d eaten today comes up until there’s only acid and regrets.

“Ow,” you say through saliva, eyes stinging. Your spine shakes and you dry heave, choking on air.

Kyle’s lips thin tightly to his face, glancing out of the bathroom door as a patient guard would. His fingers at your back give a little more pressure—the tips digging to give you something to focus on.

The nurse leaves on fast feet.

“How are we feeling, then?” You’re asked as your eyes clench tight, your abdomen tense and the muscles shaky like a series of rivers under the skin. “Take your time, Love.”

“Like shit, Garrick,” Your head turns with a weak glare, bags formed under your eyes from a restless sleep last night. No matter how hard you tried to get comfortable, pain had been stirring in your chest—different from the one in your thigh and the ache of the now-healed mark on your palm. It was like a dull droning; a precursor.

Coughing, you groan and dip your head away, a hand coming up and slapping the handle to make the bile swirl and disappear down the pipes. Kyle sighs under his breath, watching.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” You resist the inner voice wanting to tell him to keep rubbing your back, only commenting on brushing your teeth beforehand, which you do with the ever-present shadow behind you in case you might fall over.

Back in the sheets, Gaz grabs another blanket from the other side of the room and brings it over—spreading it over your body until a toasty feeling overtakes the headache that emanates from behind your eyes.

“M’gonna lose my mind,” your words slur. “This is worse than getting shot.”

“It is not,” Kyle mutters, a small smile on his face. “You just got a stomach bug. Could be from the meds—wouldn’t be the first I've heard of it.”

He packs the blanket firmer around you and huffs as he moves into his chair, leaning back. Not once do his eyes leave you as your body shifts and curls—moving to face him.

“This where you read me a bedtime story?”

Kyle smirks, looking away.

“A long time ago, in a—”

“Shut up.” He laughs and moves a hand out as you restrain a wide smile, one you had to fight hard to keep hidden as your mouth dips under the blanket.

Kyle chuckles before shaking his head. “But, seriously, do you remember what you ate today?”

“Nothing besides what was handed to me,” you sigh, moving a hand to your head to feel your skin. “A few more shitty coffees.”

“Let me.” Gaz moves and gently pushes your own aside before his limb flattens over your forehead. Your eyelids momentarily move down at the action, but you allow it to continue. At the gentle way he slips his skin over yours, you nearly purr.

“Hm,” the man leaves and your eyes follow. “Bit hot.” Kyle’s eyes study you. “Your wound isn’t infected, I know that. Just proper bad timing on your part, Spitfire.”

You rub at your eyes. The comment slips out before you can care to stop it.

“Do you think you can stay here tonight?” Brown orbs widen, and the whites, for a sliver of a second, become more visible.

Your face blazes, embarrassment shifting the lines of your face—expression twisting back up at the lapse in speech that suffocates like a rope.

“I don’t mean it like…” Your tongue bites at itself, throat clearing as your eyes dart away from blank brown bulbs. “Just, I know my mother comes to visit before I fall asleep, but I don’t want to risk…”

Nerves make your jaw slam shut like a lock to a hatch. “Forget it—”

“I’ll stay.”

Eyes lock. Kyle blinked as if he wasn’t conscious enough to know he answered until it was already said. The Sergeant’s hands go up to fix his cap, licking his lips and taping his foot to the floor. He reiterates after a shocked moment.

“I’ll stay, Love.” After all, this was the only form he’d be able to. “It’s not a problem.”

Your heart constricts, fingers twitching for your coin that’s still back at the mansion. The words leave your tone breathless. “Okay.”

So that’s how the Sergeant, who prided himself on his high tolerance and tactical awareness, found himself utterly void of all sense. He sat there, idly on his phone and sending glances as the minutes passed—growing longer. The single lamp is the only light to stay on, sitting on the far table with its warm glow.

When you do fall asleep, mind and body tired, Kyle’s hand reaches over and pulls the blanket farther over you, sighing softly. It’s only after he leans back that he speaks, almost to himself.

“I’ll be here,” he whispers, guilt filling up his eyes like a glass of water. “But I can’t be forever.”

A creak at the door makes his spine straighten, head whipping over and hand unconsciously jerking to where a sidearm would be strapped to his thigh.

But it’s only your mother.

“It’s Kyle,” she whispers, glancing at your sleeping body with a glass of water in her hands, “right?”

“Ah,” the man speaks low, sending a look your way before standing. “Yes, Ma’am. Kyle Garrick.”

“Sorry.” Coming into the room, the glass is set on the bedside table, liquid sloshing over the brim. “I’m horrible with names, that was always my husband’s specialty.” Kyle shares a polite smile as she puts a hand on his arm. “I always had to write them down to keep it all straight—I’m more organized than a filing cabinet.”

“Aren’t you a nurse, Ma’am?” He chuckles, one eye watching you breathe softly; that gentle rise and fall of your chest.

You looked calm like this.

Beautiful, even.

Kyle’s thoughts make him blink quickly, fighting to put his full attention on your mother as she speaks to him.

“What do you think the patient sheets are for?” They share a good few chuffs at that, the Sergeant’s hands going to cross his chest.

“You know, young man,” your mother utters, looking at you as something swirls behind her eyes. “You’ve really done a fantastic job with her. Truly. Her father…well…” she trails and Gaz’s chest has a concrete block on it.

He knew that the older woman didn’t know the full story, or else she wouldn’t be telling him this.

“...he would be thankful, I know he would. He loved that girl more than anyone in the world.” A tiny sigh. “She just…fell apart when he passed, you understand.” A wave of a hand moves in the tight vision of those brown eyes. “We don’t speak about it.”

Maybe you should have. A cut of resentment makes itself known. How much you’d suffered. How much the solitude had left you a shell of someone who was just coming out again—a clock needing a new battery.

“Spitfire’s strong,” Kyle says, shifting his feet. His face is firm. “Far stronger than most.”

“I don’t doubt it,” is the response. “Everything that’s been attempted, and here she is.” A little look is sent his way, paired with an inquisitive nod. “Do you care about her, or only the job?”

“Her,” the answer is immediate. “Bloody job isn’t even half of it, Ma’am, you have my word on that.”

Those eyes watch him for a moment, digging in a way far sharper than Kyle could have anticipated. But woe to the man who gets in between a mother and her daughter.

“Good.” Your mother moves, going to kiss you on the head and slip past Kyle. “Make sure she drinks her water when she wakes up,” the man watches as she exits the doorway. Her hand sits on the frame as the last bit of advice fades into the hallway before the door closes with a soft click. “She needs to keep hydrated.”

The guard resumes his midnight shift, but he was correct with his previous assessment.

You did look beautiful, and perhaps he’d just now begun to see it.

—

Alex wasn’t bad, truthfully. He had that same charm to him that Gaz possessed like a proud poster boy—the main model with the blond Agent soon after on the first page, blue eyes over the top of the text. He didn’t seem to take your prior muteness to him to heart, in fact, when you apologized for it out of your own free will, he’d only smiled and tilted his head in your direction softly.

“No need to apologize, Ma’am. I’ve had worse welcomes, trust me. A cold shoulder is the least of my worries.”

You found yourself actually liking the man, as strange as that sounded in the recesses of your skull. But there are worse things than talking to someone who actually answers back.

“China?” He stares at you from the side of his eye, Kyle sighing from across the space of the rec room. You sit back on the couch, a forgotten book in hand. “You sure?”

“Chiyou is a Chinese deity—a company coming out of there with the same name would make the most logical sense, don’t you think?” You shrug. “It’s also a country that’s in the middle of Laos and Russia besides Mongolia; hate to break it to you, but I don’t think Mongolia has a port to send goods from. Executions,” you tilt your head, “sure. Ships? No.”

“Can we be sure that those are the same thing?” Kyle speaks up from this dark conversation. “Drugs and weapons are two linked businesses, but getting directly involved in hits isn’t usually how those types of things go.”

“I’d have to agree,” Alex sighs. Your mother was out helping in the medical ward due to her knowledge of medicine—there was no need for Keller to follow her around with so many reliable eyes on her. For the moment, he’d been relieved to do as he wished. “Not exactly how cells operate unless something happened to make ‘em change their main sources of income. But it isn’t unheard of. So the laptop was entirely those videos?” Blue eyes move back and forth, the Agent’s arms crossed as he reclines into his seat next to the card table. “Nothing else?”

“Didn’t have time to look.” Gaz grunts. “Someone took it out from right under our noses.”

An eerie silence settles, and you try not to think too hard about it.

“The best bet for answers is the guy I shot,” you speak after a moment. Two pairs of eyes with different hues share a fast look as you itch at the back of your neck. “He knew Samson, that has to count.” Your voice slips to a mutter. “He knows something we don’t.”

“You feeling any better today, Love?” Gaz changes the subject. You look up, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Not really, why?” You can’t stand up fast unless you want to black out, and this morning it hadn’t taken long for you to grow sick after trying to take down food your mother brought you. The nurses were at a loss with what to do, seeing as besides a fever, there wasn’t anything wrong with you.

It was only after your own heated insistence that Kyle had helped you into the wheelchair that sits next to the couch currently, concerned that if you walked, you would fall unconscious.

Brown eyes watch you now, face stiff. “Just wondering.”

You blink at him, trying to speak through your eyes. The man shrugs, tilting his head away.

Alex looks between the two of you, mustache twitching as he eases out casually in reference to your mother, “She’ll be getting off soon. I’ll leave you both here to think over the details.”

“Right,” Kyle utters, prying his eyes away from you. “Be seeing you, Alex.”

“Call me if you need me,” the Agent comments, patting your shoulder as he slips past, giving over a kind smile. “Get better soon, Doll.”

You hum as he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Lips start moving at the same time.

“I need to go back home—”

“I’m getting sent back to One-Four-One—”

Wide eyes meet and lock with quick breaths.

“What?” Your face twists in, again your voice building over Kyle’s instant refusal of your proposal.

“Not a chance.”

“Whoah, whoah, back the hell up.” You raise your hands, splaying them out—the man shakes his head, a hand coming to itch at his facial scar. “You’re leaving?”

“I’m not letting you go back to the mansion.”

“Kyle!” You bark so loudly that your eyes gain dancing black dots. “What the fuck?”

“It wasn’t my plan,” he breathes, avoiding your gaze. “I wasn’t thinking clearly when I sent in the reassignment form—Laswell had me placed back with them faster than I could remember to take it back.”

Your face is devoid of blood, your jaw loose, and your gut sinking inside your abdomen like a fishing line had it connected to your ankle. More than once your mouth opened and closed in shock—in betrayal.

Leaving? He was leaving you here?

“I don’t…” Your words trail off, throat closing. A pain sparks in your heart.

Kyle’s face screws up, jaw clenching as he stands up, walking over. “Believe me, Spitfire, when I say I had every intention of taking it back before this blew up.”

Hands capture the sides of your arms, grabbing at them as he kneels down to the floor in front of where you sit.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle says slowly and sincerely—staring deeply into your eyes as you struggle to keep the contact. “I’ve been beating myself up over it for days now. I…” he pauses. “I was waiting for a good time to tell you, but it just came out. Please, understand.”

Your eyes slip away, lips thin and skin pulled.

Kyle’s muscles are wound, nervous about what this could do and how you would take it. In reality, this last week might be the last chance he’ll get to try and fix what he’s done.

“Spitfire,” he implores gently, hands squeezing you. “Say something. Anything.”

Your eyes flicker back, face lost. How fast you could go from hating this man to relying on him. “Are…you coming back?”

Kyle’s breath is a shaky exhale. “I…”

He doesn’t know. He can’t answer that.

“When do you leave?” You grow more upset at his silence. Panicked even. How dare he come here and do this to you after all of it? Your heart is pounding, veins bulging with blood that rampages with fast aggression.

“Soon.” The Sergeant clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I know whatever I say won’t make it any better.” He repeats his apology. “It’s my own fault, and I can’t take it back.”

You don’t know what overtakes you, but before you can stop your limbs, you’ve already snapped your arms around his neck, dragging him into your body. The man, while shocked, goes willingly—returning the embrace tightly.

His hands curl, cruel warmth overtaking you as Gaz sets his head on your shoulder and lets your head burrow into his neck. A weak exhale leaves your sputtering lungs, and the marks on your palm burn like the space behind your eyes.

Leaving? No, he can’t leave you here.

Hurt melts with sickness, encased in a film of fear. Fear. He can’t do this. No, not now. Not now.

Not now that you care about him.

“I hate you,” you force out, voice warbling. Maybe you were always just a fool. “I hate you, Kyle Garrick.”

“I know,” he breathes, not letting you go—pulling you tighter to his chest as your air caresses his neck like a sea storm; clouds of ice and a sky of fire, the boat battered by ardent winds. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Words only mean so much, but they help when they’re uttered into the skin of your temple—the British accent rolling off his tongue.

“I’m sorry.”

He holds you for a long while, and by the end of it, you say in a hard tone, “I’m going home and grabbing what I need.”

The man lets his eyelids flutter closed.

“Okay.”

So that was how on the last day he was here, Kyle brought you breakfast, and soon after you’d finished the plate, not expelling it all to your own surprise, you were both off with an escort squad headed by the Sergeant. You were able to rely on a cane for the time being, feeling better even if the news had your mind in a worse way than it had been previously.

Your mother had been against it—vehemently.

“There’s no reason for you to go back,” she had said. “You’re going to get yourself hurt!”

But it was apparent as the car moved through the blackened gates, which had been busted off their hinges, that the house had been utterly abandoned. Kyle had explained that the group from the town—Firebird, as you recall—had been watching over it and seen no one enter or exit.

“Are you sure?” The Sergeant was in full gear, sitting in the back with you as the car ambled along up the driveway.

You don’t look at him. “I’ll be quick.”

Kyle shifts, the assault rifle over his chest and hat on his head. His eyes were hidden by sunglasses even if you can still feel them on you as the time lengthens. The wheels pull to a stop, and the driver comments that they’re parked and all ready to exit.

“Sweep the perimeter,” Garrick explains, clicking into his comm line. A volley of copies wafts out like a flock of birds on the wind, and out of the window, you watch the overgrown hedges sway with their dying leaves. Autumn was here, now, and you could feel it in your bones.

“I can go in and grab what you need—”

“Kyle,” you sigh, shifting to gaze into the reflection of your own visage in his glasses. He frowns delicately. “Please.”

“Just concerned, Love.” He explains.

“I know you are,” you can’t help a flicker of a smile, skin crinkling. “Worse than my mother.”

“Well,” he smirks, “now that’s an achievement. I get a medal for that?”

“And what medal would you want?” You play along, quirking a brow. It was easy to forget he was leaving when he talked so casually to you. “Unfortunately, I don’t have one that says ‘idiot’ on the plaque.” You liked how his lips moved when he spoke—his fingers twitching over the body of his gun like he was always so deep in thought to control them. His shifting feet. Kyle’s easy air.

That stupid, bloody, hat.

“Oh yeah? What else are you going to give me, then?” The Sergeant mirrors you with a raised brow, neck bending, and a wide upward motion to his lips. The tone is a flowing tease that leaves your body tingling, and your legs moving closer to one another.

At a shocked pause, a certain electricity enters the air. Kyle rubs at the back of his neck softly, and the sound of his skin is almost enough for you to shift closer. Blinking, you realize you’d been staring at his lips far too intensely—blind to the fact he’d been doing the same.

“The ability to keep your sanity,” you deadpan, rolling your shoulders as the ache in your wound is dull. “Don’t thank me.”

“Can’t complain about that one.” Kyle shifts his thighs on the seats as he mutters. Soon after the radio opens with a soldier giving the all-clear and you grab the cane from the floor with a huff as Gaz’s door opens and closes.

Hand moving to the handle after you’re situated, the barrier opens to the Sergeant on the other side, his vest strapped to his chest. Kyle smiles teasingly as he reaches out, fingers loose.

“Ma’am,” you roll your eyes but slip your limb into his, the gloves he wears rough against your flesh.

Muttering as your feet carefully settle to the ground, you look up into his face sarcastically, “Such a gentleman.”

“Well, thank you,” he winks, stubble moving. But he slips back into a sheen of seriousness easily. “Slowly, now.”

You huff, already off to the door—also busted open with yellow tape around the front. The stitches in your thigh pull, but it isn’t something that will make you slow down. You’re here to grab what you need—your jacket, your coin. Answers.

Shifting the tape away, you move into the foyer, soldiers milling around and talking to one another over the radio. Like ants, they shuffle, moving from one point to another in case of any attack from the phantoms in the air.

It becomes harder to imagine a family living here.

Eyes slip over the bloodstains, over the ruined hardwood, and the remains of family history. No amount of money could get the shattered remnants of a childhood back.

“You don’t have to do this,” Gaz whispers to you, standing as a sentinel beside you as he takes his sunglasses off and hangs them off his collar. He can see how this might go. “There’s no shame in leaving, you know that?”

“It’s okay,” you blink away from the pool of crimson in the shape of a man. Brown eyes meet yours, concerned. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Kyle watches you walk away, his face loose and open before diligently following with a lick of his lips and a downward nod, ordering the two men in the foyer to watch the entrances. His face is hot.

When you’re upstairs, after many exasperated looks from the Sergeant, you wipe the sweat from your brow and move onward to your room. You wondered when you’d grown so used to gore and violence that now the sight of it meant nothing to you, sliding past the large splatters; the holes where Gaz had fired through the door.

“Here,” you sigh, grabbing your canvas jacket from the bed where it had sat for days on end, balancing on one leg while you put the cane down and push your arms into the article. It doesn’t offer the same comfort it usually does, but it certainly helped. One hand takes back up your aid—the other slips into the pocket, finding that silver disc easily.

The movement of a shadow makes you pause, looking over.

Gaz is at your nightstand, and in his hand, he holds a picture.

You’d forgotten about it, really. Stashed under the gun and hidden away—crumbled up so you wouldn’t have to see the faces printed out on it. You move to stand beside him and explain softly.

“The day I was born. He had to rush to get to the hospital—he was so frazzled he nearly ran right past the delivery room.” Your dad was holding a small version of you, tears on his cheeks and his face in a wide smile. The hospital background is blurred around the two of you. “He always told that story on my birthday,” you finish, voice nothing but a mutter.

The house suffocates everything.

Gaz had been watching you the entire time you’d been speaking, your arms brushing periodically.

The Sergeant offers the picture without a word, and you take it, fingers touching as you pause. There isn’t much that can be said about that. Skin to gloved skin, you hold the picture in between you, studying it as if you did, all of your questions would be answered. But the only answer that you know is that the pain of it will never fade—even if you can reduce it to an ache instead. Like the wound in your thigh, it’ll just scar over.

“When I leave,” Gaz utters, hand moving to capture yours. “I’ll call. Everyday.”

“I doubt that,” your eyes tilt, faces close. “Everyone always says that.”

Firmly, Kyle squeezes your flesh, noses nearly touching.

“Not me,” the words are said so earnestly, there’s no room to deny them.

You stare into his browns—the only eyes you’ll ever be able to look into fully and for so long, breath caught in your throat. It’s the way they shift; how they darken and lighten with every dip of his eyelids and shift of his dark lashes. He swallows, and you find yourself stuck on that image of his throat bobbing as if in slow motion. Your mouth goes dry as he speaks in a whisper that moves the air in front of your face. He’s closer now, hand holding yours on fire.

“Do you trust me, Spitfire?”

It’s embarrassing how long it takes you to fully understand what he says, and only after your heavy lips move in the slightest show of speech that you’re stopped.

“We’ve got movement out front. Looks like reporters.”

The both of you jerk back, Kyle taking long steps away and panting as your eyes are wide with shock. Under the skin, twin suns with enough firepower to light galaxies ignite from his and yours’ features, sputtering meaningless words.

Mouth opening and closing, the Sergeant nearly fractures his wrist bone as he wrenches his hand to his radio, pushing out a quick response of, “Be there soon.”

He backs up another step as your mind whirls like a storm—good, bad, every thought in between.

What had just happened?

“S-,” he rubs a hard hand over his chin. “Stay here.”

And then he’s gone with a flash of gear.

You don’t know how long you stared at that doorway, hand shaky and still outstretched. The picture in your hand had fallen to the ground moments before, twirling like a leaf. With a violent inhale, your other limb was clenched around the cane so tightly that the knuckles were clearly visible, blood pulsing with intent.

Where you just about to…No, no that wasn’t what was happening. You shake your head, looking around to distract yourself. No.

You pick up the picture with some difficulty and put it inside your pocket next to the coin. But it doesn’t stop the flight of your heart.

Left on the coffee table was your phone, which you take and look at the countless missed calls and texts from Hector—you block his number and limp out of the room across the hall. It’s still damaged, the nightstand on its side and your personal laptop’s shattered screen on the floor.

That makes you pause.

Why would only one of the devices turn up missing if the other was still here? Even the man who had tried to steal it didn’t know the correct version. Your lips go thin, head moving around to study the space with a more brightly lit intensity.

You zero in on the large wardrobe.

Your blanket was still there, and if you can recall only snippets of what happened, there’s one that sticks out more than the other. You remember kicking the journal with your heel as you had pushed off the ground. Moving as fast as you’re able, you huff weakly as you near the large wooden structure, shifting the blanket aside.

Nothing.

“No,” you mutter to yourself, looking at where the wardrobe is held up by its four elegant legs. “Not nothing.”

Moving one leg so that your knee hits the ground, you grunt and clench your jaw as your stitches pull tightly; letting the other limb follow. Your cane hits the ground with a clatter, but you care little. Going down on your hands and knees, stuck in cobwebs and sitting with some of its pages leaking out, your lock on the form of your father’s journal.

—

The drive back was silent.

Kyle wouldn’t look at you, sunglasses back on and his fingers still over his service weapon. You didn’t comment, too occupied with the item you keep secret inside of your jacket, stuffed into the lining.

You hadn’t told him that you’d found it, and to this moment, you still don’t know why you don’t. The thought was perhaps that, since he was leaving, it would be pointless, and on that front maybe you’d be right. This wasn’t his concern, but yours.

But it was also because of that fact that you’d nearly kissed.

Kissed.

Your body is stiff in its seat.

When you’d met back up with him only seconds after snatching the journal and cleaning off your knees, you’d been told about the reporters outside—journalists and news crews. It cut the visit short to the mansion, and with only a single glimpse of a black cat’s tail among the hedges of the front walkway, strangled amid the flash of cameras, you were back in the car.

There had been some talk about how they had known you were there, but none of it was anything sure.

And now you were trapped back here with him. Kyle.

Kissed.

The entire vehicle is suffocating in tension.

You don’t remember how long the ride is, how long it takes for the pounding in your skull to start when you can feel him shifting only a foot away. In your mind, you’re upset, but it’s not for the reason you should be. You can’t stop thinking about his hand on your thigh, pushing and pulling the skin—how he holds you so tightly and breathes into your ear. What was wrong with you? Out of everything he’s done? Him?

You’re not upset that he had tried to kiss you. You’re upset that he stopped.

Sitting in your seat, your gut swirls, an airiness to your brain.

Without any concept of time beyond the treacherous thought of how his body would feel with its weight on top of yours, the base is already in sight and the car is parked with a silent squeal of the brakes. You snap out of it and ignore how the hair on your arms stands on end, and a low pulse emanates from deep inside of you.

A tinge of sin to take down like bitter coffee.

Someone opens your door, but it’s not Kyle.

You lock eyes with Kate Laswell for three seconds before blinking away, but those three seconds are enough. Your oxygen gets choked up in your throat.

“Kate?” Gaz speaks over you, leaning forward in his seat to look around the barrier that is you. He tries not to linger on the fact that your scent is stuck inside of his nostrils, unable to get out the smell of your flesh. “Problem?”

“Not one that you can solve, Sergeant. You,” she nods her head your way as you go back to staring at her nose, frowning at her sudden arrival. “You’re going to come with me. I have a job for you.”

“Excuse me?” You sound irritated, even to yourself.

The woman’s response is quick and firm. “Do you want answers, or not?” That in and of itself renders you as silent as a bug. You didn’t want to admit how much Laswell intimidated you, even all that time back when you’d first officially met. You read her record—it wasn’t thin. Pages upon pages of achievements. “Good, follow me. Quickly.”

“Bit hard on the ‘quickly’ part of it,” you mutter, cane hitting the ground and feet following after. Kyle is swift with his exit on his own side, coming over and reaching out a hand to help. Inches above your skin, he halts with a twitch to his outstretched fingers.

He takes a slow breath and lets his hand drop, eyes darting away. You don’t comment on it, and even the third member of this emotionally constipated club seems to pick up on something else going on—Laswell’s brow moving a millimeter upwards.

“What’s this about, Ma’am?” Gaz’s voice is low, his hands up at the collar of his combat vest, trying to act casual. Being near you makes his head light all of a sudden, and it’s only his fault.

Maybe he really did need to leave. For both of you. Whatever had just happened was a massive step over boundaries.

Kate waves a hand and you follow, eager to put distance between you and Kyle even if it pained you. He stays a good ways away, and the gap isn’t subtle. A pain in your heart joins the one in your thigh—the pressure behind your eyes.

“Joey Lowe,” the name makes you blink.

“Who,” you ask dryly.

Kate pushes open the door to the main building. “The man you shot two times. Not bad aim, by the way—internal bleeding and four broken ribs. The surgery took three hours to stop them from puncturing his organs.”

You make a face and Kyle’s confused expression turns to the woman in charge. “What’s he got to do with her? Thought you had him in interrogation.”

“We do,” Laswell is all business, sighing under her breath and guiding the both of you to who knows where. You try to share a glance with Kyle, but he only looks away. “He’s not speaking to us. I took the decision upon myself to find a pressure point.” A pause.

Kate stops walking and you jerk back, cane slamming to the floor as she pivots and stares deeply into your eyes. You tense and glare into her nose.

“You.”

“Me?” You blink wildly. “I’m sorry, are we just forgetting that this dude shot me? You want me in a room with him?”

“Kate,” even Kyle has reservations about this, moving closer in and lowering his voice. “Are you sure this is the best way to go about this?”

“This has already been going on for too long,” the woman says, unbreaking in her conviction. “He won’t speak unless there’s something to push him and we can’t risk him in his current state.”

You don’t want to think about what that last comment implies, but you aren’t entirely opposed to this. Answers were answers, and if it meant this nightmare was over with sooner, you’d do it. Maybe you really were losing your rocker.

Kyle’s jaw clenches, moving back and straightening his spine. This wasn’t your job, you shouldn’t have to even think about this.

“Spitfire,” he tries to gain your attention as he sees you in thought, legs shifting him to you. “You don’t have to agree—”

“I’m in.” His heart skips a beat.

“This is bullshit,” Gaz grunts and your eyes widen as they slash over to look into his sunglasses. “You do not have to go through with this, you understand that, yeah? We can get answers another way that doesn't involve civilians.” The last is directed at Kate, who frowns and crosses her arms over her blouse.

“Any other ways that you suggest we do that, Kyle?” A silence. “If I recall, you’re supposed to be getting ready for take-off. The C-17 is waiting to take you to Russia with supplies for your Task Force.”

You try to stop the tight inhale, but it slips out like a fish to sea. A head fights itself to not gaze at you. Such dead air settles that you half expect the world to be frozen if not for the occasional soldier that moves past, giving glances over to the tension-ridden group.

“Kyle?” You ask, voice small.

He stays well away. “You don’t have to.”

A flare of that stubborn spite gradually fills you back up. The man makes you care about him—nearly kisses you, gives you all of these mixed signals…and then goes cold again? It was rude; cruel. It was…confusing.

And the best thing you can do when life gets confusing is to cage yourself in.

“I’m doing it,” you say, voice tiny but sure of itself. Neither of you breathes, and the man pleads with himself to try and fix this before it's too late. Tell you it was a mistake…but was it? Can he lie?

“...You better get going.” Your mind is made. “You don’t want to miss your flight, Sergeant.” There were a million things that needed to be said—to be spoken about in the long nights and the gentle mornings. But in the minute where both of your eyes could be felt gracing one another’s, brown trapped behind the glare of his glasses and yours, hidden by your own pained will, there wasn’t a word that could be uttered. Not without making things far more harder than they already were.

“Good luck,” you say, but the ink of the words bleeds.

It’s as if every grand step that this week has taken has been based and reduced down to zero. Kyle opens his mouth to respond, but you’ve already walked past with Laswell, leaving him behind as he stands in the hallway staring at nothing.

He doesn't remember a time when he’d clenched his hands so hard. He doesn't remember a time when he had to restrain his legs from chasing after someone.

And he certainly doesn't remember a time when he could physically feel his heart break his mind.

TAGS:

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nickeverdeen · 2 years

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Hii! It's been a while since i last requested here! I hope school isn't torturing you that much.. Wanted to ask if you could right an Eric Coulter headcanons or imagine having feelings and/or dating a fellow dauntless leader? She's a dautless, so were her parents, so she doesn't feel like she has to prove herself to anyone and is easy going but baddass when fighting?? (Not important, but if you could add her being an expert in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu i would love you forever)

Eric falling for you:

Eric always knew he had a weak spot for you, but he tried not to show it

At first for him it was just a little crush he thought he’d move on from quickly

He was wrong

His crush on you grew and it didn’t take long before Four knew about it

Four was definetly teasing Eric from time to time, but not in the childish way

Eric ended up asking you if you wanna help him with training the new members

He wanted to show off so he asked you to fight with him in front of the new members

Boy didn’t know you were skilled in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu

Normally Eric would feel angry that he lost to anyone, but he didn’t get angry at you at all

After all, he had a big feelings for you

Although after losing a fight against you he feels a little bit embarrassed, but it quickly washes away

Four started teasing him about his protectivness towards you as he always did his best to keep you safe while training

He’s not gonna let you win “War Game” to be honest

You falling for Eric:

You had feelings for Eric for a long time

As a leader of Dauntless you couldn’t really pay much attention to it

You had a lot of things to do as a leader after all

When Eric asked you to join and help him with training you agreed not thinking much of it

Your feelings for him started to grow more and more as you sometimes caught yourself staring at him

When Eric asked you to fight him you flexed a little and pulled out your best Brazilian Jui-Jitsu skills

You could tell that Eric wasn’t angry about losing to you which made you suspect that he may have a soft spot for you

You and Four were close friends and when you caught Eric glaring at Four you’d be confused

But Eric is Eric after all

You noticed that sometimes when someone tried to flirt with you and you were uncomfortable Eric would often do something about it

You noticed that Eric got kinda jealous at Four for being your right hand as you are the leader

The fact that you knew you didn’t have to prove yourself to anyone was something that many people liked about you

You’re not much of a show off or anything like that in general

But when you have to fight… you’re the most badass bitch of all of them

Dating:

Eric can get easily jelaous of others, despise knowing you would never leave him

You two are a very powerful couple

As a leader your day is full of responsibilities so after your day Eric would help you relax

You sleep in his room with him for sure

He doesn’t have a problem with sleeping on the floor if you want him to, but he’d prefer sleeping in a bed with you

Eric would probably just lay you down on his chest while sleeping

You are the only one who can calm Eric down and prevent him from doing something very stupid

If someone would flirt with you he wouldn’t even give the person a second warning before fighting him

His first warning would be very intimidating

Eric isn’t much of a PDA person, but he surely is down for flirting with you in public a little bit

Eric has a very teasing and flirty comments sometimes during the day

You’re a very respected woman not only because you’re the leader, but mainly because of your personality

Eric is very protective of you in your relationship

He knows you can handle yourself, but still

You’re his girlfriend after all

He doesn’t want anything to happen to you

Eric doesn’t like to let other people know that you’re his soft spot

He is absolutely shocked and also smirking when he sees how good you are at Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu

And how badass you look while fighting

You’re really not that agressive or badass looking normally so he wouldn’t think that you can be such a badass

The only time when you go against each other is when you and the new members are playing “War Game”

————————————————————

Hey, thank you so much for requesting. I haven’t done any requests in a while so yeah it means a lot to me.

I’m truly sorry if this ain’t what you expected and feel free to tell me what I should change

And unfortunately the school is torturing me, but it’ll get better. Thank you for asking in the first place 🫶

I might try to also do an imagine, but I’m not sure what it’d be about tho

#request #headcanons #eric coulter #divergent #eric coulter x reader #insurgent #eric coulter x oc

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nataliawrites · 2 years

Text

Plus-One // Lewis Hamilton

You stared at the envelope laying mockingly on the counter in front of you. You couldn’t believe it! Your cheating ex-boyfriend actually had the gall to invite you to his wedding … to the woman he cheated on you with.

Having moved on with your life, you could safely say that you did not miss him at all. That didn’t stop you from still being pissed at the way he disrespected you and the way that the so-called friends you shared blindly sided with him in the aftermath.

He made you feel worthless, placing the blame on you for being too plain and too frigid. And you actually believed him for a while. Until you met the man who spent every day since he first laid eyes on you proving just how priceless you really are.

Technically, it’s more accurate to say that your Cocker Spaniel met Roscoe while both dogs were being taken for a walk and it was love at first sight for them. Laughing at how your dogs hit it off, Roscoe’s owner introduced himself and invited you to join them for lunch at a local dog-friendly vegan cafe.

That’s how, two years later, you found yourself traveling the world with two dogs and one Sir Lewis Hamilton. The F1 season meant that you spent a good portion of the year away from home and so it was only during summer shutdown that you finally had time to go back to the Monaco condo that you shared with your boyfriend and look through the giant pile of accumulated mail. Hidden in the middle of the mess of letters was an unassuming envelope postmarked from your parents a few months ago. Opening it revealed the envelope you were currently staring at.

The wedding invitation was originally sent to your parents’ house three months ago (which made sense as your ex-boyfriend had no way of knowing where you currently lived). You were willing to bet that he had no idea just how far you’d come since you found him in bed with another woman and unless he was a frequent subscriber to F1 WAG update pages, he likely had no idea who you were dating. Evidently, he invited you to his wedding just to rub it in your face.

Lewis walked into the kitchen to find you sitting at the island trying to burn the invitation with your mind, “What’s wrong, love?”

“Remember when I told you about my douche of an ex?”

“The idiot who cheated on you?”

“Yes,” you raged at his audacity. “Apparently he invited me to his wedding to the same woman he was cheating with.”

“Okay,” Lewis took the invitation from you and read it over, ever the rational one when off the grid. “Here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to RSVP and check off that you’re bringing a plus-one with you.”

“But-“

“No buts. It will be after the end of the season. We’re going to pull up and show him just how much better off you are without him. We’re going to make him regret ever hurting you like that.”

You stood up and kissed him in thanks, “I couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend.”

His eyes raked over your form, even exhausted after a long plane ride back to Monaco, he still made you feel like the most beautiful woman on earth, “You’ve already upstaged the bride and you’re not even trying.”

Fast-forward to a week before Christmas, one month after Lewis won his eighth world championship title, and you were making the finishing touches to your makeup in a hotel suite near the wedding venue.

“Lew,” you called over your shoulder, “can you please come help me zip up my dress?”

He came up behind you and ran his hands over your back, pulling up your zipper and sending chills throughout your body.

“Gorgeous,” he kissed behind your ear. “Exquisite,” he turned you around and kiss along your jawline.

You met his lips, “I love you. Thank you for everything.”

“And I love you. Every man at the wedding is going to be jealous that I get to have you on my arm tonight.”

The wedding was an experience from the moment you pulled up to the valet and the teenager who ran up to collect your car caught sight of Lewis. He drove to park your Mercedes with shaking hands and a fresh Lewis Hamilton autograph across his company branded cap.

It was a little bizarre when most of the guests were more focused on your boyfriend than the groom at the altar or the bride making her way down the aisle, but the two of you resolved to gracefully sit together, the picture of quiet elegance. Luckily, you sat far enough back at the ceremony to escape your ex-boyfriend’s notice which will make the moment he finally sees you all that much sweeter.

You zoned out while the officiant droned on and on, focusing on Lewis tracing little shapes along your thigh, only snapping back to attention at “you may now kiss the bride.”

The two of you joined the rest of the guests as they filed out of the ceremony space and into the ballroom for the reception, once again the subject of stares as they tried to figure out whether your boyfriend was who they thought he was, and made your way to your assigned table.

You sighed as you realized that you were going to be surrounded by the “friends” who blamed you for the break up and made excuses for why your ex cheated. You whispered as much in Lewis’ ear.

He pulled you closer, “it’ll be fine, love. I’m here with you.”

As the table filled up, it seemed like the rest of the occupants were too preoccupied with your boyfriend to actually realize that he was seated next to you. But you were feeling particularly petty.

“Hello,” you inclined your head with a slight smirk. “It’s nice to you see again.”

They did a double take.

Amy, who you once thought was your best friend, stuttered out a broken, “Y/N?”

“Hi, Amy! How’s it going since you told me that it was understandable that he cheated because I ‘never put out!’”

She didn’t reply, eyes jumping between you and Lewis.

“Oh, this is my boyfriend, Lewis.”

He gave a curt “hello” and raised your entwined hands to his lips.

James, another one of the friends who once betrayed you called out from the other end of the table, “You and LEWIS HAMILTON?”

“Yes, that is my boyfriend’s name last time I checked.”

James continued to run his mouth, “never took you for a gold-digger but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Lewis interjected before you could even say anything, “Y/N is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. If anyone’s punching above their weight, it’s me. She’s the one who’s out of my league. It’s not her fault the lot of you were too stupid to appreciate her.”

Amy’s boyfriend, who must be new because they weren’t together when you last saw her, tried to ask for an autograph as the table fell into tense silence but Lewis wasn’t having it.

You really loved your boyfriend.

Later that night after the first dance, Lewis went up to the bar to get you some drinks, first making sure that you would be fine alone for a few minutes.

Someone must have it out for you because that’s also when the newlyweds decided to start making their rounds and when your ex finally noticed you.

“Y/N! You actually showed up. Didn’t think you had it in you to watch us get married,” he sneered. “But it looks like your plus-one bailed on you.”

A glass of champagne was placed by your plate before familiar arms wrapped around you from your back, the smell of Lewis’ cologne instantly comforting you. “Her plus one’s right here.”

You could’ve sworn your ex looked less shocked when you walked in on him that faithful day. “But-but you’re Lewis Hamilton?”

You decided to join in on the fun, “really? I had noooo idea.” You turned to face your boyfriend, “why didn’t you tell me that you’re Lewis Hamilton?”

You turned back towards your ex, “and by the way, the next time you have to send me something, you can mail it to our penthouse in New York or our villa in London or our condo in Monaco or our apartment in Nyon.”

You reached for Lewis’ hand as an upbeat song came on, not letting your ex get in a word edgewise, “come on Lew, let’s dance.”

As Lewis led you to the dance floor, you couldn’t help but be thankful for your ex because if he wasn’t such a moron you probably would have never met the love of your life.

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 1 year

Note

Hi I'm really glad that you're back and I was wondering if we can get a part 2 of katakuri and tanjiro reader? Maybe we see some of the beast pirates reactions to the "perfect brother" having such a ray of sunshine for a wife (maybe a bit of a scene with king and katakuri discussing his wife?)

I really want to see reader calling katakuri her handsome husband and see him react like pudding in a way if you can that is!

Take your time and please get some rest!

-To his family and those in Big Mom Pirates, Katakuri was regarded as perfection, strong, loyal, super serious.

-So many respected him, even those not in his crew and family, like those in the Beast Pirates, King and Katakuri were known to have a friendly rivalry with each other.

-When King heard that Katakuri was married, he was stunned, as he never thought that his friend was going to get married.

-The two met up after Kaido and his crew came to visit Whole Cake Island, mainly for Kaido and Big Mom to discuss something.

-The two powerful men met in their usual garden, tea waiting for them as they got caught up on things. King looked around, only seeing the tea, “No food today?”

-Katakuri gave him a small chuckle, “No, Y/N is bringing some lunch for us instead.” King scowled lightly; a bit curious on who this mysterious woman was that managed to capture the heart of the strongest of the Sweet Commanders.

-They heard a gentle voice, “It’s nice to meet you Ulti, I can show you around after I deliver this to my darling husband.” Ulti was shocked, “Ehh?! You’re married?!”

-They saw you holding a large multi-tiered bento lunch as you blushed cutely and Nezuko put her hands on her hips, huffing proudly as if she was saying ‘of course my big sister is married!’

-You approached and King was stunned, you looked like the definition of a cinnamon roll!! Both you and your sister were so stinking cute!!

-Katakuri pecked your cheek in thanks, and you held your cheeks, looking away a bit bashfully after you handed your husband the lunch box.

-You and Nezuko both bowed in greeting to King, introducing you and your sister and almost instantly, King was able to see why Katakuri was so enraptured with you.

-You headed back off to Ulti and Page One as Katakuri set the lunchbox on the table, “Excuse me for a moment.” King was a bit confused as Katakuri enrobed himself in a mochi dome and King could faintly hear Katakuri’s muffled screaming as he melted from your actions and words.

-Katakuri refused to acknowledge King, who could see the blush on his friend’s face and the two enjoyed a home cooked meal, which King had to admit, was wonderfully delicious.

-You got to meet several more members of the Beast Pirates, who were all stunned to learn that you were Katakuri’s wife… HOW DID HE GET SOMEONE AS PRECIOUS AS YOU?!?!

-You’re not sure how you did it, but you were adopted almost instantly when you met Kaido after he asked you to marry his son Yamato.

-Your bright red face was so cute before you told him you were already happily married to Katakuri, but comforted Kaido when he started to cry, as he was already wasted.

-Your kind heart was so pure, to take care of him with no fear, but to you, he was like Mama, just because he was big, scary, and powerful, doesn’t mean he wasn’t a complete bad guy and undeserving of love.

-Both crews had to spend almost an hour trying to calm you and Nezuko down after Kaido mentioning trying to kill himself again, as you cried that you didn’t want anyone to die for no reason.

-You were quickly proving to be the most powerful person in the world, having two different Emperor’s and their crews, vying to keep you and your sister safe.

-Heaven help anyone who would dare try to hurt you or Nezuko.

#katakuri #tanjiro reader

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theealluringstoryteller · 10 months

Text

Against the world around us

The rewrite

Chapter 1

They say being happy over someone’s death says a lot about how you were treated by that person or it gives away what type of person you are. As Omorose sat at the head of her family’s table watching as the servant of her family’s estate sat around in the grand custom made chairs that lined the polished white marble table positioned in the middle of the spacious dining room. All talking with light expressions, no care in the world, no stress, no judgmental overbearing eyes peering harshly down at them with harsh comments and demands following close behind. Omorose thought herself to be cruel sitting there at the head of the table-her father’s seat without any one of sadness, remorse, or any feeling of lost. It’s been a week since the imperial navy knocked on the Fentress estate to give their condolences over lost parents that never loved her. The news of her parents being lost at sea never to be found shook her to her core but that feeling soon left like a sudden chill going down your spine and was replaced with the overwhelming weight of her parents standards and expectations lifting off her shoulders. The now official Baroness felt lighter. So much so that everyone has been commenting on how brighter she looked.

So as she Sat at the head of the table eating her second plate of what the chef prepared- a simple act that would’ve had her mother scowl and unapologetically torment for- the Baroness found herself in pure joy and contentment because instead of sharing the massive table with two cold hearted people she shared it with people who made her feel warm and safe to be who she really is.

“I don’t know how you’re going to survive the memorial tomorrow, Rosie.” Omorose’s old nanny commented after the head butler joked about how many suitors visited in such a short time span to give the same regurgitated ‘sorry for your lost’ speech hoping to be invited in to stay and comfort the ‘grieving’ gorgeous noble woman. No doubt those suitors would show their faces hoping to win over the Baroness.

“Suffer and wish for the day to end,” Omorose joked digging her fork and knife into the spot buttery scallop potatoes that side dishes alongside garlic roasted Brussel sprouts to the main dish: blacked salmon.

“There was a time when flirting with someone while they were in mourning was heavily frowned upon.”

“Back when morals were in standard practice” comes the house keeper to the stable hand.

“The younger generation!” Scoffed the head butler Malcolm who rolled his eyes as he brought his glass of wine to his lips.

“Don’t know what from what but always thinking they’re running the show”

“Don’t know what from what not always thinking they’re running the show”

The table chuckled at the duo as the Baroness smirked amused after she mocked the man who was somewhat a father figure when she needed it most.

“I don’t think we’re all that helpless,” added Omorose pushing her not finished plate away so she could rest her chin on her palm.

“Thanks to Nina,” Malcom pointed to the elderly lady who took care of Omorose soon after Amara gave birth “You were raised with morals and sense! Can’t say the same for the rest of your generation,”

“Hey! Exclaimed the Rhodes triplets. Mouths full of food causing the table to groan in disgust.

“Proving my point exactly - and under 5 seconds too."

“The older generation I tell ya!”

“Always so damn judgmental…” The second born continued.

“And their heads are always up their—”

“No respect, no dessert!” Nina scowled pointing her fork at the three boys who are thick as thieves among themselves. Her simple threat settled the trio quickly.

“Let me guess Ceci made their famously delectable cheesecake?

“The only way I knew how to calm everyone before tomorrow’s…festivities,”

Nina quickly follows the Baroness into her room asking “How are you really feeling, little rose?”

Omorose rolled her honey brown eyes at her fussing nanny

“My parents are gone and I’m officially the youngest Baroness in the imperial court. Expected to continue the support given by my parents to a war I never supported. On top of that I’m prey—more so now than ever to a bunch of ‘hungry’ men and women who only want to climb the empire’s social ladder while gaining a pretty little trophy wife they can have on their arm,” she listed of everything that plagued her while she kicked off her shoes and threw herself on the soft cushions of the sofa in her junior master bedroom.

“And because I’m an imperial woman I have to marry one of those oafs who doesn’t care about my brilliant mind and everything I stand for,” the gleaming light in her honey eyes faded as she meant on.

“No! They concern themselves with how to persuade me into their beds because they only care about how attractive I am in their eyes—it’s humiliating! Like I’m nothing more than my body,”

Sensing the sudden mood change Nina made her way over to the sofa moving Omorose so her head could lay in her lap. “You’re more than just beauty …You know that right?” Nina questioned tangling her thick callous fingers into Omorose’s thick soft curls.

“Well of course! But I don’t want to be with someone who is only satisfied because of my beauty but I must. It’s what we nobles do! Get married to people who doesn’t give a damn about us, become an alcoholic, have a child and then years down the line get lost at sea…”

“You’re not going to end up like your parents,” Nina assured

“Being in a loveless substance abusing marriage is the imperial way.”

Dinner plates classed as they were removed from the table. In the low light Rhett grabbed a hold of Aurelia’s hand stroking the back of it gently with his thumb. Seeing the soft gesture the ‘play boy’ of Intacia ‘awed’ before downing the rest of his drink. Rhett looked away from his wife towards his best friend,a soft smile on his face “what?”

Castin shrugged his shoulders pouring himself another drink “Nothin’… just wish I had what you two have …seems warm and I don’t know …fulfilling,”

“You?” Rhett began with a chuckle “You want to settle down? With a wife? Committing to only one person for the rest of your life? You?”

“Don’t think I can?”

“Honestly brother, you’ve built quite the reputation. I don’t think any Intacian woman would entertain you with the thought of marriage,”

Castin rolled his eyes at the mention of his infamous reputation “so I’ve had a load of experience and practice! At least she won’t ever be left unsatisfied ,”

“I think the fact that you’re the commander of the first army at your age trumps your…reputation. If anything you can marry one of those…what are they called?” Aurelia tapped her chin pretending to think. “Trash chasers!” She calls out with an amused smirk.

“Tag chasers? Nah they aren’t the marrying type,”

“And you are?” Aurelia retorted scoffing.

“Yes and I probably would’ve been if I wasn’t dealing with your fellow imperials—”

“We aren’t all bad—”

Yeah right! They only got lucky with you,”

“Castin!” Rhett cuts in with a warning tone.

“No Rhett,” Aurelia said quickly

“He has every right to feel that way. This war has made a huge impact on your’s and his life.”

“Glad one imperial can admit that—”

“I have a friend!" Aurelia cuts Castin off “she’s now officially an imperial Baroness who has spent countless hours and money in dedication of being a humanitarian for both her people and yours despite her parents—her late parents supporting the empire’s war with Intacia and despite all the negativity she faces from other imperials—”

“So she’s a decent human,” Castin shrugged not impressed.

“She’s given money and aid to Intacian villages—”

“The least she could do!”

Rhett grumbled under his breath knowing he couldn’t argue with Castin because he knew it was true. After the horrific things the Empire has done to Intacia money and aid was just touching the surface of what anyone of the empire could do.

-later that night-

“I’m sorry for Castin’s behavior tonight, my love,” Rhett apologized taking off his shirt.

“With this was I believe joking is a way he copes with the stress,”

Aurelia nodded silently accepting her husband’s apology.

“I want to invite Omorose here,” Aurelia stated talking a seat at her vanity.

“Imperials tend to be inactive during events like deaths. I just know she needs a breather,”

Rhett thought it over for a minute whether it was a god idea or not for a noble of her status to visit.

“Is it wise to have her here?”

“It can be for diplomatic purposes …please? We haven’t seen another in such a long time,”

The king couldn’t simply say no to such a simple request his wife made to see an old friend

“Wait until after this upcoming battle is over. I have a feeling this war is going to end soon.”

-The memorial-

The beach was decorated lavishly for the service of Baron and lady Fentress. The late couple’s daughter dressed pristinely as she was expected to do. A blank expression on her face as she sat front row zoning out at the speeches ‘closes’ friends of her family gave. Nina sat left off her as Lord Reyes sat right, the rest of her friends along with the families that knew her since forever sat in the other rows behind her. Omorose could only hope that once the funeral was over she could escape from the fake condolences and prying questions, back to her safe haven. Their gaze felt like spiders crawling all over her and she was forced to sit as they explored.

“Only an hour left bookworm,” Reyes mumbled slipping his hand into hers. Squeezing his hand trying to will herself to ignore the feeling of their eyes.

“Through Baron Kendrick and lady Amara are tragically gone they won’t be forgotten. Baroness despite being so young I know just like everyone who personally knew your parents know that they raised you to take over your family’s legacy,”

“Please! That girl is the down fall of the Fentress legacy. So covered with the welfare of those uncivilized pigs,” an elderly nobleman grumbles to one of his shared friends of the late Baron Kendrick.

“We need to gain control of it before she does something stupid,”

“I don’t see how! You mention the word marriage and she instantly ignores you,” The other old man rolled his eyes before saying “Shame she wants to be an old maid,”

“Ew!”

“I know!”

“Imagine! Anree scoffs loudly gaining the attention of the two and those close by " two men gossiping as if they are two bitter housewives jealous over the Baroness! Its like you've switched places with your scorned wives who know they lack your attention because it's on the Baroness. Wait—”

“Anree here isn’t the place—”

“That’s why you’re really upset! The Baroness won’t entertain the thought of ever being with you geezers …”

“You’re disgusting!”

“And you lack respect and decency,”

As the sunset flowers were passed around to toss into the ocean to say their final good byes.

Omorose stood right where the tide waves kicked her feet waiting a moment to toss the bouquet in so it appeared to the others that she was grieving how she was expected to. She let out a sigh as she threw the solid white flowers into the salty waters before retreating. She didn’t care to stay and watch the others toss their flowers in, she wanted to get back on her estate to have a moment to herself before she had to host the dinner for all who attended her parents watery funeral.

“You know you could just stay in your room. I’ll just tell everyone your not feeling well enough to host,” lord Reyes offers after catching up with Omorose.

“You know they don’t care about any of that, Rey. There’s no point in even trying to attempt that,” Omorose huffs climbing into her carriage, Reyes following close behind.

“It’s sick…them using your parents death to get a leg up.” Reyes sighs settling into the luxury seat he took. “Our society…”

“Makes you want to run away doesn’t it?”

“Actually I’m planning on going to Steelgate. Explore the city, maybe apply to their university …learn something you don’t already know!” Reyes teased.

Omorose cracked a smile “Impossible!”

“I know but it won’t hurt to try,” He jokes

-The Fentress estate-

A deep heavy sigh passed through Omorose who stood in front of her locked bedroom door snitching out the dress she changed into after arriving home. She knew 30 minutes was all she had upon arriving and those 30 minutes slipped by quicker than a rat in an ally.

She has to be back in front of everyone like she was expected too and she dreaded it.

The war and the death of her parents were the topics on everyone’s lips and she was tired of both. Like the smaller they were they found away too make both topics the reason what she should marry them.

“You’re young! 24 years right? With this war going on you need to be protected especially now that your parents are gone,” another one of her fathers close knit friends stated. “Rotten people have no problem manipulating someone as young and beautiful as you! You’re like a little kitten abandon in this world. I’m offering shelter,”

“So my family’s wealth, my title, my youth and beauty for your ‘protection’ and to be your trophy wife you get to dote on-sorry brag about to your friend who have already offered me the same?” Omorose questions raising a brow.

” Did you all have a meeting where you copied each other’s speeches?” The Baroness questioned unamused. The older man’s expression dropped from the faux sympathy and hope to the stoic demeanor Omorose one ask her fathers friends to have.

“Truth is no one believes you can run what your family built. They start quiet waiting for you to realize that beauty doesn’t room companies and estates.” He takes Omorose’s hand which she snatched away without a second thought.

“I’m the best option here! I’m richer than the others and still can produce heirs–”

“I want to be with someone around my age not my fathers,”

“Foolish! No man around your age has a quarter of what I have,”

Ignoring him Omorose’s turned on her heels moving towards the crowd and away from the secluded space one of the snakes caught her in.

“Are you okay?” Lana asked witnessing the whole thing.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m use to this by now,” The Baroness assured paying her friend on the shoulder as she passed by.

It wasn’t long until dinner was announced ready and the chairs in the dining room was filled with mostly unwanted guests. As they all settled and the elaborate dinner was being served an elderly woman, the mother of a middle aged screw up began complementing the Fentress estate “seems awfully lonely being alone all by your lonesome,”

“I’m not alone. I have Nina, Malcolm, the triplets –”

“How sweet! She thinks the help is viable company!” The woman snickers, her eyes sweeping the room to see if anyone else found it funny.

“You need your own family. The Help won’t do!”

“They are my family! Have been since forever,”

“They are servants! Most from Intacia! You need to make a proper family! Pure blooded imperial family.”

Rolling her eyes Omorose picked up her glass of wine before calmly demanding

“For once can you all stop trying to pawn yourselves or your degenerate adult children on me? My parents were just ‘laid’ to rest! Have some respect,”

The night continued with whispers of disapproval and praises of her parents. Soon as the last unwanted guest left Anree cheered loudly as everyone else let out signed off relief. With a tired smile Omorose stares “now that they are gone, let us eat cake.”

So as the small group lounged in the family room slumped in chairs and laid out on couches and plush rugs eating the morning fresh cake, Intacian and imperial entered the last battle between each other. Castin standing in the front line staring menacingly at Andrei an imperial noble commander who looked on in disgust. By morning one country world be the Victor of the war. By morning everything would change.

Months later

Omorose’s stepped out of her carriage nervously running her hands over the course of her warm brown dress. Her eyes studying the palace of Intacia noting the stark difference between that one of the empire’s -what was once the empire’s. The two countries were polar opposites in many ways but, knowing the empire was the reason why Intacia looked other worldly made her sick. The trip over was nothing but slums and torched lands, discarded belongings and displaced families picking through it to see what they could salvage. For her to see up close what her people did only inspired her to quickly figure out what she could do to aid those way less fortunate than her.

“Rosie!” Called Aurelia from the top steps.

“Aurelia! It’s been years! Hectic and crazy years since I last saw you!”

“I know! Let’s never allow another war to separate us ever,”

“Let there’s never be another war,”

Rhett smiled at Castin who was grinning still high on the victory was winning the war.

“Coming to join another party, Rhett?” Castin asked bumping into a lower ranks drunkenly.

“You could say,” The king leaned aunt the wall watching as his soldiers drunk copious amounts of liquor and danced horribly “Aurelia’s friend is visiting- the Baroness and while Aurelia is getting her settled in the palace I wanted to visit you…see how you were doing after a few months,”

“On top of the world,brother!” The commander shouted leading his fellow soldiers to howl in agreement.

“Good …” Rhett trails faking a smile.

Snagging a cup of the strong brown liquid from a passing soldier and offering it to his friend, Castin let out a sigh knowing something was wrong “what is it Rhett?”

“Resistance…”

“Already?”

Nodding Rhett downed the drink before getting everything on his mind off his chest

“I have to figure out how to get the coastal empire and Intacia to become peaceful with each other—"

“Never going to happen!” Castin cuts in shaking his head at Rhett childish dream. “To much bad blood,”

“We have to try! If not there will be another war,”

Scoffing Castin rolled his eyes before spitting out his outlandish suggestion “how about we arrest all the empire military, their nobles and the rich and allow the poor to remain free and equal to us?”

“No Castin that wouldn’t be wise,”

“Worth a shot,” Castin huffs leaning into a chair that was open.

“So Aurelia’s friend …what’s she like?” He asked curious about the imperial Rhett welcomed into their country after years of war with her’s . Castin thought it was stupid! The idea of having an imperial stay in the palace as if the war never happened.

She’s kind, respectful , introverted—she reminds me of you,”

“What?!” Castin wrinkled his brows offended.

“Younger you! Before you joined the military. When you were just a boy in our village —”

“So boring?” Castin mutters under his breath

“Hmm?”

Oh I said I should come to the palace to meet the Queen’s friend. Who knows maybe I can charm her before I leave to fight the resistance. Never been with an imperial especially not a noble one,”

“From what my love has told me about the Baroness the only way you can bed her is in your dreams,brother”

“Oh please! I’ll have her feeling like she’s dreaming!” Castin snickers saving up the nearest man while a few female soldiers that heard rolled their eyes in annoyance.

Rhett cracked a plastic smile a laugh slipping past his slight chapped lips at his friend’s antics.

“You can’t take take every woman to bed, Castin.”

A ‘pshh’ pushed through Castin’s mouth “women can’t keep their pretty little hands off me,”

“More like you can’t keep your hands off them,” Rhett points out voicing the gossip he’s heard about his close friend.

“They’re irresistible… I’m irresistible . It’s a dilemma,” Castin chuckled

Rhett roll yes his eyes “I’m just saying Castin coming home to someone who actually cares and loves you beats spending countless nights at a brothel,”

Waving him off Castin turns in his seat waving down someone to bring him another drink.

“You deserve love Castin… before it’s too late —”

“I deserve to celebrate winning a war I put my life on the line for, Rhett! Loosen up!”

“This isn’t my type of scene anytime ,Castin. I’ve grown.”

“To a prude!”

“To a king!”

“Don’t try to get all up with me. We grew up in the same village, Rhett!”

“And it’s sad that you no longer want to grow! We can’t start rebuilding with our head commander being a drunk hound dog when he’s not in battle!”

“Let’s not do this here,” Castin hissed not liking the attention they were gaining.

“You’re right! We’ll have words when you’re sober.”

The room watched as the king marched out of the room bet everyone turned to their commander.

“We beat imperial asses! Drink to that!”

Authors note: I hope you enjoyed this first chapter of the rewrite and excited for how the fanfic is going to be told! Please leave feedback in the comments and or repost! I love reading your thoughts!

#black!reader #asmr boyfriend #desmond asmr #fanfic #castinxbaroness #black oc #black!fem!reader #against the world around us #asmr roleplay

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musings-of-a-rose · 1 year

Text

Jump Then Fall - Part 1

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc “Vanessa Morales”

Word Count: 5300+

Rating: M for mature - 18+ only!

Warnings: Please be aware there is an 11 year age gap. Mature themes and some canon mentioned. Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head for a while now and finally decided to put it down. From the beginning, this story always felt like it needed an original character and so it does! When the story starts, Vanessa is 19 and Javier is 30.

**Shoutout to @vanemando15 for listening and bouncing ideas from me, and for her guidance with being a Latina herself. Without her, this wouldn’t even be a thing, just another line on my WIP spreadsheet. And also to my husband, who is also Latino and answered any questions I had (along with taking me to Colombia back in 2014). And to @wyn-n-tonic, who listened to my rambles and insecurities about writing an oc in first person.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

Jump Then Fall Masterlist

General Masterlist

Javier Peña Masterlist

1988

"Welcome back to the United States."

I thank the border agent as he hands me back my passport, tapping the brim of his hat as he steps back and waves me through.

Coming back to the States after spending the summer in a small village in rural Nuevo León, teaching kids English and helping to build both a school house and a church there was surreal. The village had been quite remote, having a well for water and simple huts for shelter. I had gone for a new type of program through my very Catholic, private university, one that would put missionaries and new teachers in the same places, so the people could learn English while having new facilities built for them.

My parents were hesitant at first. I am only 19, one of the youngest in the teacher program. But several of the missionaries were a few years younger than me and since we were all traveling together, my parents eventually caved and gave me permission to go, as it was obvious that God was calling me down this path.

The summer passed by quickly, my students eager to learn English and ask me questions about life outside of their small village. When it came time to leave, the missionaries were all called away to another village, while my university called me back. They wanted to know how the program was and to have me speak to several administrators from the university and others, as well as other members of the Diocese not directly involved in our university, as they were interested in expanding the program should it prove successful.

Which is what lead me, a young, 19 year old woman, to drive by myself, back across the border to the US. Probably not the smartest idea, but the idea thrilled me as I have never really been allowed to go places on my own. Or even make most of my own decisions.

My parents were pretty strict, always needing to know where I was and mostly keeping me home. It was hard to make friends, even within the church, and the few I did have, my parents had arranged. Corpus Christi wasn’t the biggest city but it wasn’t the smallest either and my parents kept a tight grip on me, especially when I hit puberty. I wasn’t allowed to cut or color my hair the way I wanted to, or pick my own clothes. If I ever came home with nailpolish on, I’d be scrubbing it off and reciting bible passages for a month at least.

Even when I started college, my parents kept their hands on me, demanding I go to the Catholic college close to home so I could continue to live there until I found a husband and got married. One they approved of, of course. I know they were just trying to keep me safe, but sometimes it would overpower me and I’d feel like I was suffocating, unable to make any choice or have control of my life.

Which is why I’m here, driving across the border and stopping in Laredo, Texas for the night. I pull into the first hotel I see that I think I can afford, the “Vacancy” sign lit up outside. Lucky for me, they do have a room I can afford and I pay the clerk, taking my key with the enormous keychain and heading off to find my room. This is the first time I’ll have ever slept somewhere by myself. Even in the village we had dorm style rooms and I shared with a few different girls.

The room is quiet. Turning on the tv helps but soon I’m overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choices - 13 channels is way too much. When the box clicks off, my stomach growls and I realize it had been hours since I’d eaten, possibly since breakfast. I pick up the phone and call the front desk to ask about food. They tell me the closest place is 2 blocks down, a bar called Pit Stop. Everything else would require a cab or is closed and yes, they’ll let me in under 21. I just can’t order alcohol.

I’ve never been in a bar before, but my growling stomach demands I get food. I pull on my sweater and head out, deciding to walk to the bar since it’s so close. I can hear it before I see it, bass thumping as I round the corner and see this square shape of a building, neon letters glowing in the night sky like lighthouse beacons. It’s pretty busy, cars lining the parking lot and people walking and milling about outside. I take a deep breath and pull my sweater a little tighter around me, my empty stomach urging me forward.

Inside was chaos. At least it was to me. The jukebox was blaring some country song that people were dancing to all in a line. People were packed in at the tables, chatting loudly and flirting, drinks coursing through people’s veins. Most weren’t completely drunk yet but many were well on their way. I spot a seat at the bar and slide into it, taking a look at the massive wall of liquor bottles behind it. I had no idea there were so many choices. I thought it was just beer, not beer, and sangria.

The bartender somehow spots me, giving me a once over before he asks what I’d like. When I request a menu, he laughs, saying they only have burgers and wings tonight. He takes my order for a burger and fries, assuring me the burgers “aren’t bad”, dashing any hope I had for a decent dinner. People come up to the bar, shoving around everyone to order and leave, drinks in hand as they turn back to their group. The seat next to me opens up and is immediately occupied by some drunk man who tries to hit on me. When I don’t respond, he calls me a slew of bad names, his face getting dangerously closer to mine and for the first time I realize that this may have been a bad idea, no matter how exciting the thought of it had been.

“Looks like you’ve had too much to drink, friend.”

A man claps the drunk man on the shoulder and he turns to look at him, his eyes unfocused for several long seconds.

“I–h-have?”

He nods. “Why don’t you go sober up? You may have a better shot if you can string 2 words together.”

The drunk man thinks about this for more time than is typically needed before nodding slowly. “Y-yeah. I’ll do that. Th-thankssss.”

He stands and the man helps him away, letting the crowd take the drunk man and shuffle him off to a corner where he promptly sits and falls asleep. The man turns back to me, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Sorry about him. He has a big bark but no bite.”

This man is..gorgeous. He’s taller than me, dark hair that curls slightly at the nape of his neck, a Burt Reynolds style mustache that somehow works for him, and the deepest, darkest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a leather jacket and some tight jeans, a white button up shirt with the top few buttons undone, exposing the tight muscles in his neck.

This man is trouble.

“May I sit?” He asks politely, gesturing to the now empty barstool next to me.

I should say no, tighten my sweater around my neck and take my burger back to my room. But something in me says make your own choices! Take back your life! and I find myself nodding, watching the man sit and and order another drink.

“What are you having?”

“Oh, I’m-” that voice comes back. You said this was your summer to try new things. He’s looking at me, eyebrows raised in anticipation of my answer.

“Surprise me.”

The man smiles and I almost fall off of my stool. It’s like the entire room lights up with it and I feel this intense urge to put another smile on his face, just to feel that warmth again. His eyes scan my body, chewing the inside of his cheek while he thinks. He turns to the bartender and order me a rum and coke, saying he’ll keep it simple for me.

“Why simple?”

He gestures to my clothes. “It doesn’t look like you get out much.”

I scoff. “Well that’s rather presumptuous to say.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Well….I mean, no. You’re not wrong. But I just came back from teaching English in Mexico for an entire summer while building a school and a church so excuse me if I don’t look the part.”

He holds his hands up. “I didn’t mean to offend! You just don’t look like…” he gestures around the room before turning back to me.

“I’m Javier, by the way. Javier Peña.”

“Vanessa Morales.”

He extends his large hand to me and I take it, the warmth immediately englufing my own and we let go of each other entirely too soon.

“So what’s a pretty, young, teacher doing in a place like this? Did you leave your group somewhere?”

I blush at his description of me, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Well, this was the best place to stop on my way back to Corpus Christi. And no group. Just me.”

Why did I tell him that? He could be a creep or worse. Not that I would mind a little worse.

His eyebrows raise. “You drove here from Mexico by yourself?”

I nod. “Probably not the best choice, but it’s my summer to try new things so…” I shrug, taking the drink the bartender had just set down in front of me and taking a small sip. I cough, choking on the strength of the alcohol burning my throat and to my horror, I see Javier holding back a chuckle.

“It has been a long summer then, I take it?”

I cough again, clearing my throat. “It was. I’m just not…used to rum.”

“Ok. Sure….so what do you do for fun, Vanessa?”

What do I do for fun?

“I uh…I go to Mexico and teach English-”

Javier shakes his head. “No, that’s your work. What do you do that’s entirely for you and not to help or please someone else?”

I have to think a lot longer that I probably should, which is pretty depressing.

“I…read?”

“Is that a question or your answer?”

“Both?”

“Let me guess…strict parents? Wouldn’t let you just be you?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“No, hermosa. But the sadness in your beautiful eyes, and the way you struggled to answer that question about yourself, told me.”

“Oh.” I look down at my hands, tracing little lines in the condensation on my glass. The song changes and Javier touches my hand lightly.

“I do not mean to make you sad. Come dance with me? You can’t be sad if you’re dancing.”

My cheeks flush red. “I’d love to but I..”

He leans in to my ear, speaking just for me. “It’s ok if you don’t know how. I will show you.”

And before I can talk myself out of it, I nod, letting Javier take my hand and pull me to the dance floor, his hands on my hips, pulling me close to him as he guides me on how to move, how to sway and dance to the music. I’m feeling a warmth between my legs, one that I think I’ve felt before but I can’t be sure. What I do know is I’d like to feel those hands elsewhere on my body.

“You catch on quickly, hermosa.” Javier whispers in my ear, sending goosebumps down my neck.

The song ends and I don’t want to stop, Javier guiding my body through several more songs before we have to stop, breathless from the dancing, Javier trying to stealthily adjust his pants as we make our way to the bar again. We get another drink and, this time, I’m nearly gulping it down in my haste to hydrate, Javier pulling the glass from my lips, cutting me off.

“You need water, hermosa. This shit won’t help you.”

We spend the next hour huddled together, knees touching and Javier’s hand on my upper thigh, gently squeezing my leg. If he can see the way my cheeks flush, the way I’m squirming in my seat as I start to feel a wet sensation between my legs, he doesn’t let on, his eyes solely focused on mine. Except when they dip down to my lips. I know he's just being nice, flirting with me to get what he wants, but I also know that I don't care.

I announce that I’d better get back to my room as I still have several hours of driving ahead of me. When he asks if he can walk me to my car, I tell him I walked from my hotel a couple blocks away.

“Oh no, hermosa. I can’t let you walk alone this late at night. Not around here. May I walk you back?”

“Oh. Really, you don’t have to.”

“I insist.”

Your summer of new things.

“OK….walk me back, please, Javier.”

We make it back to my room, chatting the entire way. He raises his arm, leaning his forearm against the doorframe and cocking his hip to the side, his other hand resting on his hip. He tells me he’s leaving the country for work tomorrow and I apologize for taking up so much of his time. He waves his hand, shaking his head.

“There is nowhere I’d rather be, hermosa.”

I blush, reaching into my purse to find the room key with the giant keychain on it. I fish it out and stare up at him, those brown eyes somehow darker with…something. Like a tension between us, pooling between my legs. Wait, is this..am I turned on?

His hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb swiping gently at my cheek as he leans in, stopping just half an inch from my face.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers. I nod furiously and he presses his lips to mine as my eyes close.

His lips are soft, gentle, his moustache tickling me slightly as his lips investigate mine, his tongue gently trying to push its way into my mouth. I open my mouth slightly and he takes advantage, his hand wrapping around the back of my head, holding me in place as his other hand grips my hip, pulling me flush against him, a hardness in his jeans poking at me. It takes me a moment to realize exactly what that hardness is and when I do, it sends more heat between my thighs. I drop the key in my haste to open the door, the loud clanging disrupting our heated kiss.

“S-sorry,” I mumble, kneeling to pick it up. I push the key in the lock and turn it, opening the door and walking inside. Only, Javier doesn’t follow me. I turn and look at him, hesitating in the doorway.

“Are you sure, hermosa? I don’t want to pressure you.”

Am I sure? The nerves in my body are going straight to my head, making me feel giddy at the prospect of having relations with a complete stranger. A complete hot stranger.

Your summer of new things.

“Y-yeah. Come in, Javier.”

He enters and closes the door behind him, sliding the bolt into place. He takes off his leather jacket and tosses it on the chair by my sweater, kicking his boots off as well. We both wait in silence for a moment, before Javier walks up to me, pulling my face to his as he resumes kissing me with a deep passion, as if I’m the only person he ever wants to kiss again. Once my shirt and pants are gone, I push back from him, crossing my arms over my body and sitting on the bed. He sits next to me, a worried look on his face.

“Hermosa? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“Talk to me. Please.”

I wait several long moments, gathering up my courage to tell him. “I…I don’t know what to do.”

“What to do?”

I gesture between us and Javier gets a look of comprehension on his face.

“Are you a virgin?”

“Yes? No? I’m not actually sure.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“I…well I mean, when I was with my now ex boyfriend from chuch, we…messed around a little. And I think he put it in? But it was over in just a few seconds so I’m not entirely sure if he did or not. And he ran out so quickly after and we never spoke of it again so I’m not really sure what happened.”

Why am I talking so fast?

“Oh, hermosa. I figured you didn’t get out much but that…ok, here’s what we’re going to do. That time? Doesn’t count, ok? Push it from your mind. If you couldn’t even tell if he was in…no. What’s going to happen is, if you’ll let me, I’m going to take care of you, make you feel so good that you’ll forget all about church boy. How does that sound?”

Do I want this? Do I want my potential first or possibly second time to be with some random guy at a random bar that I’ll never see again? But the way he moves, the way he touches me and speaks to me, and the way my body responds to him tells me it would be fun. Like really fun. And no one is here to tell me otherwise.

Summer of trying new things.

“I say…that sounds amazing.”

He smiles and I melt under it, more heat pooling between my legs the longer he looks at me.

“If at any time you wish to stop, tell me, ok? If it hurts or does not make you feel good, you tell me, ok?”

I nod.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Y-yes. Yes.”

He caresses my face, gently pulling me to him and presses his lips to mine. His fingers brush against my skin as he reaches for the clasp on my bra, quickly undoing it and sliding it down my arms with the speed of an expert. Once it's off, I feel more self conscious, having never really exposed myself like this before. Javier crooks his finger, tipping my chin up to look at him, his eyes black with lust in the shitty hotel light.

"You're so beautiful," he says, kissing me again as he puts slight pressure on my body to get me to lay down.

I do and he lays on his side, propping himself up with his arm as he looks at me, his eyes sliding down to my chest. He lightly trails his fingertips across my shoulders, slowly moving down to my boobs. He gently cups one and I let out a puff of air, the touch sending tingles between my legs. His thumb glides across one of my nipples and a whine comes from somewhere within me, my back arching. He takes advantage of this angle and brings his mouth to my nipple, warm and wet, licking, sucking, and slightly biting at me.

"Oh!" Is all I can seem to remember how to say as he shifts to my other boob, giving it the same treatment.

His hand is on my stomach, gently resting and grounding me here. But as he starts to suck harder, my back arching more off the bed, his hand starts to trace small lines down, pausing at the line to my underwear. He pulls his head up, looking down at me until I open my eyes, not realizing I had closed them in the first place.

"I'm going to touch you now, Hermosa. Is that ok?"

I nod, my chest heaving with anticipation. "Yes."

His light touch down the inside of my thigh, tracing the line of my underwear and going up the other side sends jolts of something through me, gathering between my legs and I find myself begging him, for what I'm not exactly sure. But then his hand slides under my panties, his finger gliding through the slick he finds there and I almost launch myself off the bed, a sound I’ve never heard before erupting from my throat. He uses the pad of his pointer finger to rub small circles on a very specific spot on me and I cry his name, and overwhelming feeling coming over me, like I was about to explode.

“S-stop!”

Jaiver immediately stops and pulls his hand from me, his eyes on my face, his brow furrowed with concern. “Did I hurt you?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“What did you feel?”

“I…I…”

“You can tell me, hermosa.” His eyes are so big and concerned and I know he just wants to make sure I’m ok.

“It..it felt like…I don’t know, like…like I was about to…explode? I think?”

The furrow releases and he cocks his head at me. “Hermosa…have you never?”

“Never…what?”

“Had an orgasm?”

I blush, feeling warmth spread across my cheeks at the mention of this taboo word. Well, taboo in my house anyway.

“I..I don’t know?”

He places a hand over mine, the warmth from his palm spreading across the top of my hand. “It’s ok. Just…let yourself go with it. Don’t fight it.”

I can’t meet his eyes, embarrassed by my lack of knowledge. “Will it…will it hurt?”

He smiles. “Quite the opposite.”

I nod, a little relieved at that. “Ok…just..relax?”

“Yes. Just feel it, feel how good it makes you feel and just let it come.”

I nod, giving him a little smile and his hand slides back down me, rubbing little circles in what I’m calling my magic spot. The heat comes back, my hips lifting to get more pressure and I can feel the explosion building, trying to claw it’s way out of me, my mouth hanging open until-

“OH!” A string of gasps and sounds rip from my throat as the explosion fans out from where Javier was touching me, gliding along all my nerves and out to everywhere, my fingertips, my toes, my head tingles as I continue making sounds I’ve never heard before. Only when my legs start to shake does Javier stop, placing a kiss to the inside of my hip as he waits for me. I open my eyes, chest heaving as I try to process what happened.

“Feel good?” He asks.

“Is that…is that what it feels like?”

“If someone knows what they’re doing. Or you do it yourself.”

“You can do that to yourself??”

He chuckles. “I’ll let you figure that one out on your own. But right now, I really must taste you.”

“What does that mean?”

He looks at me darkly as he shifts over me, pushing my legs apart like it was nothing and slotting his shoulder between them. He smirks at me before lowering his head and-

“Oh shit!”

His tongue is on me, caressing the places where his fingers had once been, and my skin is still sensitive from before. I can feel my thighs banging on the sides of his head, but this seems to urge him on further, his nose nuzzling into me to coax more breathy sounds from my lips.

He lifts his head slightly, looking up at me before licking his hand and placing it on me, sliding his fingers down and circling me before slowly, gently, pushing in a finger. It’s warm, his finger, as he pumps it in and out of me, moving it in a circle as if to stretch me, just a few times before he lowers his head again, his tongue on me as he pushes in a second finger. I’m moaning, hips trying to wiggle away from him but he’s pinned me to the bed, lapping at me like he’d never tasted anything so good. I look down at him and the sight sends the explosion between my legs again, a yell erupting from me as he keeps pumping his fingers, curling them to hit something inside of me that makes the explosion more intense than the first one. He sits up, wiping his face, smiling at me.

“You taste amazing, hermosa.”

“That’s..yeah…ok…I…uh huh…”

Javier chuckles but moves up my body, slotting his hips between my legs, the bulge in his jeans rubbing against me, that now familiar warmth spreading quickly. His lips press to mine and I taste a tang, which must be me, and he deepens it, pushing hair off of my face before he pulls back and looks at me.

“How are you doing?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this good.”

He chuckles, but slides off my body and stands up, his arm muscles rippling as he pushes himself up. He reaches for the button on his pants and pops it open, sliding them down, revealing that he was not wearing any form of underwear. When he stands straight his dick bounces slightly, and I swallow hard, my eyes glued to him. I try to look away, embarrassed by my staring, but Javier assures me it’s ok to look.

“Will you fit?” I ask, nearly whispering.

He lowers himself to the bed, crawling over me until he pushes his hips against mine, his hard cock pinned between us.

“I will. I made sure to stretch you out before. But if anything hurts, tell me, ok?”

“I….ok.”

He kisses me, grinding his hips down and against that spot he rubbed before and I feel the heat coming back, tingles shooting through me as he increases the pressure. He pulls his hips back and I can feel him, hesitating a moment as he looks down at me before slowly pushing in.

“Oh! Oh, what…ugh!”

I have nothing to compare him to but I imagine he’s not exactly small, pushing slowly into me and pulling out to give me time to adjust.

“Stop!”

He freezes and starts to pull out but I grab his arms. “No, just…don’t move. Give me a sec, please.”

He doesn’t move, his eyes on me as I take several deep breaths. It does hurt a little, but it also feels good. Really good. Like he was made for me and I for him. I nod, telling him I’m ok and he starts pushing in again. Eventually his hips can go no further - or so I thought. He adds a small little thrust and I’m seeing stars, my hands reaching for him but stopping just short of grabbing him, unsure of where to be.

“You can touch me, hermosa. Whatever you feel, just follow it.”

He slowly melds his hips to mine, thrusting deeper and I wrap my arms around him, fingernails digging into his back. One of my hands finds the back of his head and I run my fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. He moans, practically purring, so I give it a little tug, loving the sound of the growl he makes when I do this. He snaps his hips a hair faster, my breathy moans echoing in the small room, and the newly familiar tingle between my legs comes racing back. Javier wraps his arrms under my legs, pushing them up and further back, changing the angle and rubbing against something inside of me that pushes me over the edge, my body feeling like it’s exploding all over again.

“Ja-Jav-Javier!” I cry out, my head pushing back into the pillow, my mouth hanging open as my fingernails carve even deeper crescent moons into his tanned skin. A few more thrusts from him and he grunts, little breathy moans spilling from his lips, his eyes closed as he leans over me, nipping at my chin.

We lay like that for a few moments, each of us heavy breathing against the other before Javier pulls out with a small grunt, heading into the bathroom and remerging with a wet cloth. He kneels on the bed and presses the cloth to me and my legs twitch, a smirk appearing on his face as he continues to clean me up. He tosses the cloth towards the bathroom and places a kiss on the inside of my knee, resting his jaw against it as he looks at me, his eyes soft in the dim light of the room.

“How do you feel, hermosa?”

“I feel…” How do I explain this feeling? Complete relaxation, a pleasant, low vibrating feeling throughout my body that makes my eyelids heavy, and what I know is a dopey smile on my face.

“I’ve never felt this good in my life.”

He smiles and I melt under it. “Good. I wanted to make sure you were properly taken care of. It’s a crime that it’s taken this long for someone so beautiful.”

I’m blushing, looking away as if he wasn’t buried impossibly deep inside of me mere minutes ago. He turns, looking around at the ground for his clothes and suddenly I find myself more insecure, vulnerable. I know he was leaving for an extended work trip in the morning, and I was leaving to head home, which is hours away. Still, I didn’t want him to leave just yet.

“Um..Javier?”

He pauses in his search for a sock. “Yes, hermosa?”

“Could, um…I mean, would you…”

He looks up at me and his face softens as he realizes what I’m attempting to ask. “Do you want me to stay?”

“I…only if you want to. I don’t want to impose…”

Javier sets the pants he was holding down on the table and crosses the room to the bed. He pulls back the blanket and slides in next to me, pulling me close to his chest.

“I have an early flight but I can stay until then.”

My body relaxes into him. “Are you sure?”

He nods, kissing the top of my head. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

—-

Javier

It's early, the sun not quite cresting over the horizon to start the day. A glance at the clock told him that he needed to leave to make it to the airport in time for his flight to Bogotá.

Javier runs a hand over his face, pinching his eyes to try and help him wake up. He turns to look at the woman beside him. She's still fast asleep, her bare chest rising and falling softly with deep sleep, her mouth hanging slightly open. Her hand is on his bare chest, like she didn't want to let him go.

He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay and learn more about this woman. He'd intended to go to the bar and get one last fuck in before he went to Colombia, not knowing what he'd find waiting for him there. But when he saw Vanessa, something intrigued him. She was young, and most likely lying about her age a bit, but she seemed confident, although a tad naive. She was smart, damn was she smart, and a wit to match his own. Plus she was easily the most gorgeous woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

Javier picks up her hand from his chest, pressing a kiss to the back of it, gently laying it on the bed next to her. His eyes raked over her face and the words of his late mother came back to him, words she'd spoken to him when he was just a young boy.

"Javier, if you like a girl, give her flowers. But if you love her, give her roses."

Javier wouldn't say he was in love with her already, but something inside him said there was the potential for love. It just wasn't the right time. He had to go fight Escobar and she had to go back to Corpus Christi, the only memory of him some possible soreness between her legs.

He almost missed his flight but it was worth it to find a place that sold roses, buying a single one to leave on the pillow next to her. He wanted her to know she was more than an easy fuck to him. That she, in that moment, was cared for and not taken advantage of.

He lays the rose down, tucking some hair behind her ear and placing a soft kiss to her slightly parted lips before he leaves, quietly closing the door behind him and heading towards what would be the hardest 6 years of his life.

—----

In the morning he’s gone, the clock on the beside table telling me it was nearly 10am. I stretch, feeling a sore but pleasant feeling between my thighs and I sigh, remembering the nights activities. I turn and, on the pillow next to me, is a single red rose. I smile, picking it up and giving it a sniff, it’s sweet perfume filling my brain with even more images of last night. I liked Javier and I got the feeling he liked me, despite the obvious age gap. And the fact that I lied a little about my age. We seemed to have a connection and it makes me a little sad that we won’t get the chance to explore that.

“I’ll never see that man again,” I say to myself, sighing a little before getting ready to leave.

If I only knew how wrong I was.

-------

>>Part 2>>

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thelikesofus · 2 years

Text

you are my boy, buckaroo

9-1-1 on Fox | 1724 words | hostage situation, athena is buck’s mom prove me wrong, established relationship buddie, wrong place wrong time buck strikes again

tw gun mentioned

Read on AO3

Athena is in the middle of lunch when her phone vibrates in her breast pocket. It has been a day and it's only 2 pm. Her morning patrol ended at a residential home for someone’s idiot boyfriend who had left his keys at work and his girlfriend had called the cops thinking someone was trying to break into their house. The guy’s phone had been in his pocket the whole time yet he hadn’t thought to call his girlfriend to let him inside.

For a moment she considers ignoring the call and enjoying her sandwich in peace she knows that Harry has a basketball game today and he was going to call her when the game ended.

Leaving her sandwich on the plate with a sigh she tugs the phone out of her pocket and grins at the caller ID. “Hello, Buckaroo. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“‘Thena.” A tiny voice whispers down the line. Athena’s hackles are up instantly and the skin on the back of her neck goosebumps immediately.

“Buck? What’s going on? Are you in trouble?” She’s already walking out of the station and crossing the parking lot to her patrol car, her sandwich abandoned. She keeps her phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear as she fishes out her keys and climbs into her car. “Talk to me, Buck. What’s going on?”

“I’m at the grocer's on West Adams Boulevard.” He’s still whispering and between the shaking of his voice and the commotion around him, Athena can barely pick up what he’s saying. “They barred the doors. I think someone has a gun.”

“Okay. Okay, Baby. I’m on my way.” She throws the patrol car into reverse and rips out of the parking lot. “Are you somewhere safe? Buck?”

“Athena, I don’t think–.” There is shouting on Buck’s end of the line followed by a grunt and a lot of rustling.

“Buck!”

“This one had a phone!” A voice that isn’t Buck’s carries down the line and Athena’s heart feels like a lump in her throat as she switches lanes and turns onto the next block.

“Buck?” There’s more yelling and then the call ends with a resounding beep.

It takes twenty minutes to get to the grocer Buck mentioned and when Athena pulls up there are already two other cruisers and the ambulance from Station 26 parked outside. Athena swings open her door and charges across the parking lot with her phone still gripped in an iron fist.

Glancing at the building, she can see very little movement inside though most of the windows are blocked by display cases and overstocked food aisles. “Sergeant Cammeray? What's the situation?”

The older sergeant looks at her and calls out, “Sergeant Grant. Were you called to this too?”

“No, but one of my boys is inside? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

He nods and walks over to meet her pointing towards the front door as he walks. “I’m told it’s a hostage situation. We’ve got about ten civilians inside, two men went in just before 2 o’clock and barred the doors behind them. Someone walking down the street called 9-1-1 after they heard gunshots from inside. We’ve had one girl who snuck out through a back door in the loading bay,” He points to a young woman sitting in the back of The 26’s ambulance with a shock blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“She able to tell you anything?” Athena asks.

“Not really. She works there and was in the back when they came in. They must have seen her leaving though because they barred that back door behind her.”

“So they let one escape but haven’t started making any demands?”

Cammeray shakes his head. “We’ve got a hostage negotiator on their way. There haven’t been any more shots fired, for all we know it was a warning shot, to scare them.”

Athena turns up her nose. “For all you know someone could be bleeding out in there while you’re all standing around twiddling your thumbs!”

An hour passes since Buck first called and the negotiator arrives, a stout man with a terrible mustache but who seems to be very good at his job. Or at least, he thinks he is, Athena starts to doubt that at the two-hour mark. There has still been little movement from what she can see through the windows.

Special Agent Sully reports that the men inside are starting to make demands, willing to negotiate. Then more vehicles pull up unannounced as simultaneously all chaos breaks out inside. There’s crashing, sounds of shelves toppling, glass breaking, and gunshots. Three consecutive shots are fired and Athena decides that enough is enough and marches towards the front door, plotting vengeance with every step if they have harmed even a single hair on Evan Buckley’s head.

She is brought to an abrupt halt by Cammeray blocking her way. “Sergeant Grant.”

“You better move out of my way Gordan or you’re gonna have another thing coming.”

“Sergeant Grant, one of them is an ex-marine. This is out of our jurisdiction now.”

“Jurisdiction my ass. Move!”

“You will be the first one in behind them.” Cammeray indicates to the NCIS unit and SWAT teams both gearing up across the parking lot. “But not a moment sooner.”

This seems like overkill for a grocery store and patience is not Athena’s strong suit—she is well aware—but the wait becomes torturous as a fourth and final shot echoes from the building right as SWAT breaches the doors, front and back.

True to his word, Cammeray lets Athena through as soon as the two men are led out in handcuffs by two NCIS special agents. Inside the store is a mess. The shelves have been ransacked and the till is hanging from the bench by its wires. Athena however is more focused on scanning the array of people who were previously being held hostage but are now being checked over by the paramedics from Station 26.

Finally, she spots Buck and some of the pressure in her chest eases when she sees him shuffling to his knees as the paramedic who was checking him over moves on to another patient.

It only takes her a moment to cross the store and crouch in front of him, her hands instantly coming up to cup his cheeks. “Athena?”

“Hey, Baby. Yeah, I’m here.” Buck sighs and falls into Athena’s side. She wraps her arm around his shoulders and runs the fingers of her free hand over his hair. “How come any time there’s trouble, you always find yourself in the middle of it?”

“Special talent?” Buck mumbles and she chuckles as she rubs her hand up and down his arm.

“Okay, let me look at you.” She holds him away from her and brings her fingers to his face.

“The paramedic already cleared me, ‘Thena.”

She tuts at him and turns his face from side to side. There’s a scrape up one side of his face and a nasty welt around his right eye. “Let me fuss for a moment, please. I was worried about you, and for good reason, it seems. Did one of them punch you?”

“Yeah.”

Athena levels him with a flat look and Buck sighs dramatically. “He had a gun, Athena. And he kept waving it at this lady and her baby, and I just–.” Buck motions with his arm and Athena resists the urge to cuff him around the head.

“Just what? Tackled him?”

Buck glances away and won't meet her eyes.

“Oh, you are so glad your boyfriend isn’t here right now.”

“Please don’t tell Eddie,” Buck begs, spinning back to turn wide pleading eyes on her.

Eddie is out of town visiting his parents in El Paso for the weekend, Buck was supposed to be there with him but following one of that other A shift crew breaking their collar bone on a golf trip, Bobby had to regretfully ask Buck to stay behind. Athena knows full well that Eddie would have Buck’s head on a pike for putting himself in danger again, especially while Eddie wasn’t there to protect him.

“You know your boy will find out one way or another.”

Buck sighs and leans heavily into the side of the ambulance door. “I know, just, not tonight. Please?”

“Okay,” Athena relents and reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “But you are coming home with me tonight.”

“Athena–!”

“Nope, no excuses. The guest room is yours and I’m not letting you out of my sight until the sun comes up again.”

Bobby is waiting at the front door when they arrive at the Nash-Grant house and as soon as Buck is within three feet of him Bobby grabs the boy by his shoulders and holds him firmly in place as he looks him over much the same way Athena did.

After dinner, Buck finds Athena on her favorite lounge chair in the back yard and he perches on the edge of the one next to her.

“Hey, Athena.” He starts quietly, looking down at his hands. “Thank you, for coming today, I mean.”

Athena sits up smoothly and reaches out to cup Buck’s cheek, forcing him to look up at him as she smooths her thumb back and forth against the apple of his cheek. “Buckaroo, you are my boy. I will always come when you call me. Always.”

Buck's eyes instantly turn glassy and Athena rises from her seat to kiss his forehead before departing for the night. “Get some sleep, Baby. There’s a toothbrush for you in the bathroom drawer.”

Buck gets a third round of being fussed over when Eddie flies back into Los Angeles the next afternoon—a day earlier than he was meant to be back—but word travels fast and Eddie changed his flights as soon as he heard what had happened. Athena watches from the kitchen table as Eddie winds his arms tightly around Buck and pulls him close to his chest, dropping a kiss on his forehead and to the bruise forming over his right eye.

“I am never leaving you unsupervised ever again.” Eddie says firmly and Buck rolls his eyes but lets Eddie continue to fret over him and Athena can see the pleasing blush that creeps up his neck at the attention.

#911 fic #athena is buck's mom #buck whump #buddie #buddie fic #911 fox #meegs writes stuff #athena grant #evan ‘buck’ buckley #bobby nash #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #911 fox fic

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bullet-prooflove · 2 months

Note

If you’re still doing NSFW alphabet asks:

E, F, H, L, O, T for Jack Dayton?

e = edging; is anyone into orgasm control? who is on the receiving end?

Jack enjoys edging you, but it’s reserved for days that you really need to get out of you own head or if he’s proving a point. Another man flirting with you, touching you, he’s edging you because he wants to give you as much pleasure as possible for as long as possible to prove he’s your man. In those moments he also needs to hear that he’s the only one that can give you what you need, that fucks you this good.

Jack can’t stand being edged, denying him pleasure is like denying affection for him and it makes him question his worth. However he does enjoy being overstimulated. You are the only person whose ever made him come twice in one session and he’s embarrassed about how loud he got the second time.

f = fair; does anyone like to tease? who doesn’t respond well to it?

Both like to tease, esp in public. It’s a little bit of a game between the two of you. Gentle, teasing touches as you slip past each other, Jack’s hand sliding somewhere or his firm body pressing against you for a moment, filthy whispers in French. Wearing the shirt he’s fucked you in that morning, eyes on his as you’re eating a popsicle all of it ends up being explosive when you do end up returning to the condo.

Jack loves to explore your body, so he will spend hours mapping you out over and over again with his hands and his mouth. As for you , you enjoy making Jack feel special, you like to take your time working him up.

g = good; is praise something that’s used often? who does it have the biggest effect on?

Praise works on the both of you. Jack has spent so long being his own cheerleader that he barely believes it anymore so having someone tell him he’s doing a good job, he’s treating them well, that they love him goes a long way and builds up that confidence for him.

For you, you rarely get compliments so hearing those things off Jack’s lips in and out of the bedroom, does something to a woman especially one who battles imposter syndrome on a daily basis.

h = horny; who gets turned on the easiest/most often? how do they show it?

It’s very easy to turn Jack on. Your fingers lightly tracing down the collar of your shirt, giving him bedroom eyes as you bite your lower lip, even undoing your hair from your hair clip, Jack’s getting completely aroused. He’s very attuned to you and your body.

He usually shows it with that heated, intense stare of his. One that says, I know what you're doing and I’m going to punish you a little later.

l = lick; who enjoys giving head? who likes receiving it?

Jack wasn’t a massive fan before you because he felt there was always pressure attached to it. He knew he wasn’t going to get there and the girl is trying to race to the finish line, it was very stressful for him. That changes when he meets you because it’s not about getting there, it’s about the intimacy of it. He enjoys it much more now but he still prefers to come inside you as he craves that sense of connection.

Jack will spend entire nights between your legs if you let him, he loves going down on you and could spend hours making you come on his tongue. You’ve never met a man so dedicated to your pleasure.

o = overnight; what happens when they’re finished? do they like to turn in for the night, or do they stay up?

Jack spends the entire night tangled up in you after you’ve been together. It makes him feel content, safe and secure so he tends to fall asleep like that. Jack is usually the first up tho, he has routine that’s been ingrained in him for years, where you like to sleep in. Jack usually gets up does a bunch of stuff and then returns to the bed with a coffee or a filthy wake up call.

t = toys; are toys used? who uses them on who?

Amélie was single for a long time before Jack so she has vibrators, her favourite is the wand as you can change the settings to match your mood. Jack enjoys using this on her during edging sessions and exploring the settings. She used to have a special set of silk scarfs she used for erotic asphyxiation but after ‘the incident’ they’re more used for restraints.

Jack’s toys are more geared towards sensation play, so a pinwheel because of the boundary it strikes between pain and pleasure, a riding crop. A blindfold, leather cuffs for his partner. When he gets with you he starts to branch out a little into the more softer aspect of sensation play, like a tickler, things he knows will tease you.

He buys some very high quality assplay stuff when the two of you decide to experiment a little in that arena and you’ve gotten a kick out of surprising him by wearing a plug before with a little gem. He discovered it when you turned up at his office and then leaned over to pick up something, drawing your skirt up with you. He ended up cancelling a bunch of meetings.

Jack will not gag you, he will never take away your voice. The closest he’s come is hand clapped over your mouth but even then he’s maintaining eye contact and checking in.

#jack dayton #jack dayton x reader #chicago med

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 10 months

Text

Pleasure Is My Business: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Summary: You’re brought back to your high school days with this case. You put that behind you when you graduated, but life has a funny way of bringing you closer to the person who made your life miserable back then.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"The prostitute is not, as feminists claim, the victim of men, but rather their conqueror, an outlaw, who controls the sexual channels between nature and culture." - Camille Paglia

Before you leave for work, you grab the coffee you premade as soon as you wake up. The coffee is right next to your high school reunion invitation. The opened card stares at you whenever you pass by it, begging you to acknowledge it. High school was one of the worst years of your life because not only did kids bully you, but you felt their own pain as your own.

It wasn't fun.

This reunion is in a few days but you're still in Quantico. Looks like you won't get to go, and honestly, you're kind of relieved. Spencer wants you to go and prove to everyone you're this hotshot FBI agent (which you are), but you don't feel like proving to a bunch of people who never gave a fuck about you in the first place.

"Are you gonna go?" Spencer says from behind you.

"We'll, seeing how it's in a few days and we're not in Dallas, I don't think so. It's so stupid because instead of a night, they made it a whole weekend getaway. As if I want to spend more time with them than I have to."

"Maybe you can go to the other one."

All you can do is shrug. You really don't want to get into this right now, plus, you have to get ready for a case Hothc pulled together. Hotch got called to Dallas early in the morning to do a briefing on a case sent by Patrick Jackson, the attorney general.

Hoyt Ashford, a hedge fund manager for a major bank, has turned up dead in a hotel room. Hoyt didn't do too well in the public eye after going on talk shows and talking about how the real estate crisis wasn't a real thing. He posted an apology video about the issue, but once word got out that he died, his lawyers classified it as a suicide.

If you know any better, then that's not true.

According to Hotch, there was Viagra near Hoyt's body. Considering that his wife was at home with the kids, it's safe to assume the prostitute he was with killed him. Something that's confidential and not to be mentioned in any reports is that Hoyt took $10,000 out of a fund in cash. No one saw the prostitute he was with, which isn't surprising since they know how to be discreet. According to Patrick, this is the second murder in Dallas.

You might be able to attend your reunion after all.

"Female serial killers are a fascinating field," Spencer says once everyone is in the air. "We don't have much information on them, but what we do know involves throwing the rules completely out the window. Take the signature, for instance. They don't torture or take trophies because there is no sexual gratification when a woman kills. Murder is the goal. They don't have to do anything extra."

"So, basically, women are more efficient at killing," you half-joke.

"Historically, they have had body counts in the hundreds."

"Assuming that the job is the stressor, what are some of the reasons prostitutes kill their customers?" Hotch asks over the phone.

"Money, drugs, and PTSD. At some point, every call girl, no matter how well paid, gets coerced into an activity she didn't consent to. Aileen Wuornos used to purposefully stage paid sexual encounters as an excuse to murder men she thought would rape her," you explain.

"Wuornos was psychotic and disorganized. I think this girl is poisoning them before she has sex with them."

"She's using Tetramethylenedisulfotetramine. It's a popular rat poison in China which can be easily soluble in alcohol," Spencer explains after reading the files Hotch sent over.

"Poison is the perfect MO. It's quiet, quick, and the victims never see it coming because they think they're getting lucky." Hotch makes an uncertain noise. "Does that mean something to you?"

"These men are paying $10,000 a night for discretion as well as sex. She has a history with them. She didn't decide to kill them at the moment. She walks in with the intent to kill them, and she's doing it before she sleeps with them. She's not just organized, she's also methodical. She decides early which one of her clients is worth killing," Hotch says.

"Maybe the victims all share the same fetish. Both victims were in their fifties, highly visible, and careful of their image. If they were kinky in the same way, they'd go to great lengths to hide it."

"We're facing a corporate culture that'll do everything it can to keep us out."

"Actually, I had some luck there. Hoyt's wife isn't too happy with how he died. She agreed to talk to us but because every silver lining has a dark cloud, the hedge fund released a statement." JJ pulls out her phone to read the statement that was sent to her. "Ashford died peacefully in his home, according to lawyer David Madison.' They're already trying to close ranks."

"Does that language sound familiar to anyone else?" Spencer asks.

"What do you mean?"

"It's the same thing as the murder of the first victim. 'According to the company lawyer, Stanton died peacefully in his home'."

"Y/N and Morgan, start with the wife and see if you can get her to open up. JJ, call the lawyers and tell them I want to meet with both of them."

"You want to play them off each other?"

"I think one of them wrote both press releases. Let's see which one calls us back."

Once you land, you and Derek head over to the Ashford home where Yvonne Ashford is eagerly waiting for you.

"Mrs. Ashford, we're very sorry about your husband," you say.

"I've been getting nothing but condolences all day. I feel like a hypocrite for accepting them, knowing how he died."

"We think your husband might have been targeted because of something sexual he did with this call girl. I know this is hard, but is there anything you can tell us about what he liked?"

"In bed? I can sum it up in one word. Younger."

"How much younger?"

"Twenty-five. That was when I first met him."

"So, your age difference was part of the attraction?"

"Are you kidding? It was the whole relationship."

"Mrs. Ashford, no offense, but your husband spent a lot of money on this woman. Was there anything else at all that he liked from a younger woman besides the ego boost?" Derek asks.

"There's a certain kind of man, Agent, for whom the only kind of sex that matters is the ego boost. In a marriage like ours, you have to work at it or in my husband's case, pay for it."

Your phone rings and you step off to the side when you see Hotch is calling.

"Yeah, Hotch?"

"We got a meeting with a madame that sets meetings up like the one Ashford was in. Spencer is heading over to meet with her. I want you to go with him."

"Sure." You hang up and walk over to Derek. "I got to go. See what else you can find out about Hoyt."

"Yeah."

The madame, Lauren, is hosting an open house where she is able to meet clients discreetly. It's actually pretty smart since people might think they're there for the open house instead of something else entirely.

"This is actually pretty smart," you say when you meet up with Spencer. "Properties like this are safe and an inspection-free investment for large sums of cash."

An older woman walks out of the house with a big smile on her face.

"Well, hello, you two!"

"Are you the--"

"Isn't this neighborhood just fabulous? You're gonna love this house," she cuts your boyfriend off. She escorts you two inside the house for more privacy. "You two need lessons in faking it. I teach a class."

"So, you arrange dates for escorts?" you ask.

"All I arrange are meetings. What happens between two consenting adults when that meeting is over is something I'm not liable for. Now, who wants a scone?" she offers from a platter.

"Listen, we're looking for someone who is a high-end prostitute who takes fees up to ten thousand dollars. She has the intent of killing her clients before having sex with them."

"Oh, yes. We all know about this woman. She's terrible for business."

"I guess there's only so many men that can afford the service you provide, right?"

"Yes, but with the way she's behaving, she's only hurting herself. An escort's client list is the most important investment she has. It's her daily income and her retirement package when she sells the list."

"She's not working with a service then. No madam would allow an escort to kill off the clientele."

"What about the type of work your employees do?" Spencer asks nervously. "We're sort of operating under the assumption that this escort is killing men who make her perform a specific sexual act."

"What did you have in mind, sweetie?" she smirks.

"I... I don't even... I don't know."

"Don't mind him," you giggle. "It's his first time."

"If I may, I think you're looking at this all wrong. Start with this question: why would a man pay a woman five figures?"

"It's not just for sex, is it?"

"Of course, you've got to be good in bed to be successful, but that's the easy part. What men want more than the no strings attached sex is a therapist. Someone who will absorb the worst parts of their personalities."

"They're looking for someone to tell their fears and insecurities to. Everything they can't take home to their wife."

"That's what I groom my girls to do--how to talk to these men and how to listen. Don't get me wrong, deviancy comes with the territory. I can't tell you how many men need to be submissive as an outlet from their extremely stressful jobs. I can tell you that if the sex was the reason she was killing these men, she would have broken long before she charged $10,000."

"It isn't how these men act in bed, it's how they act out of it," Spencer says.

This unsub isn't killing at a specific time because it's whenever her client wants to meet with her. While you've been talking to Lauren, another murder has taken place. You and Spencer leave the open house and immediately head over to an office firm.

Joseph Fielding is found dead inside the elevator, tied to an office chair with X's marked in lipstick on his eyes, and clear tape wrapped around all over his mouth.

"The victim is Joseph Fielding. He was the CFO here," Rossi says when you two get there.

"Was he poisoned?"

"Yes, and staged. She killed him in his office and then rolled him out here to be found."

You walk over to the victim but pause when you see the energy left behind by the unsub. It's blue because the unsub is a female, but you recognize this energy. There are eight billion people in this world with eight billion different base energies. Every single person you've met has their own energy signatures, and you're familiar with this one. Not only have you seen this energy before, you know the person attached to it.

You've met and gotten to know this person before.

"I know this unsub," you say.

"You do?" Hotch asks.

"Yeah, but I can't put a name to it yet. I've definitely seen it sometime in my life."

Hotch gives you time to put a name to the unsub, but for right now, he focuses on what he can see physically.

"The lipstick is new."

"It was done postmortem. Reid said female serial killers don't leave a signature. I think she did that just for us. She's already exposed him at his most vulnerable. Now she wants to be noticed."

There is commotion by the barrier formed by local police by a man trying to get through, which he does eventually.

"Which one of you is Aaron Hotchner?"

"Me."

"I'm Larry Bartlett. I represent Mr. Fielding in Webster Industries."

"This is a closed crime scene, Mr. Bartlett."

"I know. I spoke to Ellen Daniels, and she said you're a very reasonable man."

"Escort him out, please," Hotch says to one of the officers.

"No, wait. Please." The officer tries to grab him, but he doesn't leave right away. "The press is outside and they can smell blood. Is there any way we can handle this discreetly?"

"We're not about to lie for you," Derek says.

"You don't have to lie. Just don't comment."

"Excuse us."

Hotch takes the team off to the side to talk about the benefits of not commenting on the murder. "Is there any reason to go public yet?"

"Validating her is exactly what she wants. If we hold back, she's more likely to make a mistake," you say quietly.

"He doesn't need to know that. We need everything you have on Fielding like bank accounts, tax records, and emails."

"Everything?" Larry asks in uncertainty.

"Everything."

"I'll gather everything and send it in the morning."

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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bakugoushotwife · 1 year

Text

Inextricable Angst Ending

a/n: here's the angst ending! meant to be read after Sasuke is healed. it's painful im sorry

fluff ending // first part

Kakashi was chosen to be the Sixth Hokage, and at the time you were thrilled. You knew Kakashi had what it takes to keep the village safe. He instills Itachi and Shisui as village heroes, which delights you. He’s able to pardon Sasuke for his crimes considering his war efforts and sacrifice to the village.

He hates what he has to do next. Ultimately he has to do it for the sake of the five hidden villages, they’ll never feel safe with the possibility. He’s watched you and Sasuke grow closer than ever before, and he can see the love you have for one another. So the day he calls the two of you into the Hokage’s office to announce these plans, his heart breaks. All Five Kage had thought about this painstakingly, and this was the best resolution.

“Sasuke, Y/N. Thank you for responding so quickly. I..well.” He clears his throat, wondering what exactly is the right thing to say in a situation like this one. “The five Kage convened recently, here in the Leaf. The other Kage have made me aware that they are..worried about the two of you rebuilding your clan. They fear a repeat of the earlier histories.” Kakashi explains wearily.

Sasuke straightens his back, looking over at you quickly. “What are you saying, Kakashi?”

“I’m saying the Kage agreed to intervene to prevent you two from marriage and having children. Y/N…will be married to the Kazekage in three weeks.” He replies, clearly pained by the ordeal. He can’t even meet your eyes.

Your world comes crashing down around you. Sasuke and you just found each other, spending every night talking and touching and being together, like you’re inextricably obligated to. Sasuke’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, feeling only those nasty flames of anger and hatred licking back up his body.

“I–I can’t believe you would do this to me.” You whisper softly, devastated that Kakashi could settle for such an arrangement.

“I had no choice. Either that, or they want your original sentences served for desertion and treason. Y/N…I’m sorry.” Kakashi frowns, arms folded over his chest. “Sasuke…I know that Sakura would make a lovely partner, and she cares for you very much.”

His words cut both of you down, sucking the wind out of your lungs. All this heartache and pain that you’ve gone through, it’s not over. It would never be over. You’re forbidden to be together, just like in all those awful books. Is this really how your story ends?

Gaara is a wonderful man and you’ve always been happy to call him your friend. You’re sure he would do his best to be a good husband to you, but he wasn’t Sasuke. He could never fill that gap, no matter how hard he tried. And to think about Sasuke with Sakura…it was torture. You got up and slammed the door behind you on the way out.

Over the course of the next few weeks, you met Sasuke when you could. Each time it felt worse and worse, because both of you knew it was closer to the last time. You hold each other a little closer, he kisses you a little rougher than intended, but he just wants to savor the way you taste and the shape of your body under his hand. He knew you would be safe, and as happy as anyone forced into a marriage can be, but every bone in his body wanted to take you and leave this village again.

But he knew that you didn’t want that life of danger, and neither did he. He wanted to protect the Leaf, and make it up to the people who couldn’t trust him to marry the woman he loves. Maybe he could prove them wrong. But it would be too late by then. Maybe this is what you meant when you said that life doesn’t work off of deserving, but he had to disagree. This is exactly what he deserves. He’s done so much bad, how could he think he was going to get his happily ever after? You were an Uchiha Princess, you deserved to be married to a Kage and be forever safe and catered to. But he stole all the time with you he could.

True to Kakashi’s word, three weeks from the day he told you about the occasion, you were being wed to the Kazekage. It was a grand spectacle, you think mostly to ease the nerves of the other Kage. The entire Leaf and Sand combine into one massive cathedral-esque type of building, and it’s decorated to the gods. You can smell all the food that’s been made in preparation as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You looked beautiful. This was a fact, your hair was pinned in elaborate braids and your makeup was perfect. You wore a simple but beautiful and traditional Sand style gown. You had citizens of the sand excitedly racing around your room to make sure every detail was in place, and it was magical.

If only the groom were your preferred choice. Not that you really had one.

Kakashi walks you out, the previously raucous crowd falling silent at the sight of you. “You do look beautiful, sweet girl.” He hums in your ear.

“Thank you.” You return politely, not trying to make a spectacle. You can feel Sasuke’s eyes, and you find him easily. He smiles sadly at you, receiving a pat of support from Naruto. Sakura is on his other side. You smile sadly too.

The ceremony is nice, Gaara is kind and you hope you can come to love him in any way similar to Sasuke, because he deserves a good wife. He has made you comfortable since you arrived and tried to give you whatever space or comfort you’ve asked for. He held your hands now, in front of both of your villages, and swore his loyalty to you.

“I, Gaara of the Hidden Sand, the 5th Kazekage, swear my life to yours. I will make you happy, protect you, and give you anything you ever want or need. I will love you and honor you for all our days.”

Sasuke is visibly upset, though he tries to hide it just for you. Naruto squeezes his friend’s hand. He was upset for the both of you, having third wheeled your relationship for most of his life.

The crowd anxiously waits for you to speak. Gaara squeezes your hands in support, and you can tell he’s trying to be the best for you. You smile softly.

“I, Y/N Uchiha, of the Hidden Leaf, the Sharingan Princess, swear my life to yours. I will make you happy, protect you, and give you anything you ever want or need. I will love you and honor you for all our days.” You repeat, allowing him to lean in for the first kiss of your marriage.

And just like that, you were the wife of the Kazekage, Sasuke Uchiha's Princess no longer.

#inextricable #sasuke series #sasuke x reader #angst ending

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randomkposts · 8 months

Note

Hi, I saw your post about Ryoma coming to the (incorrect) conclusion that Corrin is biological related to Garon and it was really interesting! Do you have any more in-universe misconceptions like it? Thanks

I do. Thank you for your patience.

A bit less of a misconception by the characters, so much as a lie given by one of the characters, and that is why was Takumi was in the Port of Dia? He is invading in a diffrent place then planned, because he was on his way to rescue Azura.

But of course, once he sees Azura with the enemy, he venomantly denies that.

If you have Azura face him, he starts the dialouge surprised.

"Azura?! Last I heard, you were taken by Hoshidan soldiers. Ryoma worried himself sick planning your rescue."

Before decending into anger upon realizing she is there with the enemy.

"I told him it was pointless. And you proved me right, you Nohrian traitor. You should be ashamed."

Hinoka's opening dialouge if Azura fights her is ready to welcome her back.

" Thank goodness you’re safe! I was so upset when I heard you were missing. I’m sorry we couldn’t stop those rogue soldiers from taking you away. You must have gone through a lot of pain and suffering, but it’s over now. Come on back to Hoshido with me, I’ll keep you safe from the Nohrians."

And ends with Hinoka feeling betrayed by Azura's decision to switch sides.

"So you’re to betray us too? …So be it."

Ryoma, by the time you face him has already been told by Takumi and Hinoka.

"Azura... Hinoka and Takumi told me you were fighting with the enemy. I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it. What a pity. I suppose the Nohrian blood flowing in your veins lends itself to betrayal.."

In fact, they are far more upset about Azura betraying them then Corrin. Except Takumi, who is equally upset at both.

Now I'm not a warfare expert, but was Port Dia stratigically important? Not according to the reactions of the residents from what we see when warned. They seem confused and baffled.

Old Woman:" Say what? This town is caught up in the war between Nohr and Hoshido?"

Old Man: "Eh? This town is now a battlefield, you say? What in tarnation-"

Girl: "Oh dear! I've heard rumors about the war, but I never thought it would reach us here. "

Boy:" Dang, I had a feeling somethin' was up when I heard all that commotion. Never thought this town would see war."

They are not expecting the war. Which probably indicates this place isn't an ideal place to launch an invasion. What I looked up about Port cities in supply chains (not that I know much), indicate that "ports are usuable if the imeadite area is secure enough to avoid persistant attacks and capacity to process good sized shipments." Of course, we can't fully tell the size of the city from what we see of an in game battle map, but from what we do see and the reaction of the civilians, Port Dia is not considered stratigically important. Or at least, not important enough for them to be conisdered the location for the first official battle between home and invading army's.

So why did Takumi pick Port Dia to invade first? Particularly if they are Allied With Cheve? Wouldn't a landmass above or below the opera house suit better, and be better able to bring aid to their allies? The Opera house is where they went in Birthright, so why the change?

The only real reason I can find for Takumi to be invading Port Dia, is to grab Azura, and Make their way to Cheve or Macarath depending on the timeline and strength of Intel.

Which raises the question of when he fell into the Bottomless Canyon, as when faced in chapter 13, he has a diffrent battle theme from his siblings, which paired with his dialouge, indicates posession that wasn't present earlier. Then again, falling into the Bottomless Canyon probably isn't the only possible way to get posessed, as I highly doubt Pre-Possession Garon would go there for the funzies, so perhaps there are other ways of attaining influance in the minds of those who don't fall down an abyss into zombieland, particularly when you consider that the royals have dragon blood passed down through the bloodline, and in Fire Emblem, dragons-particularly old ones -are at risk of degeneration, and so become Manaketes to avoid it. Not all do.

So I wonder if Anankos is capable of using intense feelings of anger and despair to induce a sort of mental degeneration and manipulate targets to going with his goals. Takumi's intense feelings of betrayal, inferiority complex and dragon blood make him easy to persuade to go along this goal.

For all he claims he expected the avatar to be a traitor, he also has one of the faster support growths with the Avatar, something he lacks with both Hinoka and Hinata. Of course, the Avatar has fast support growths with all their siblings, but given how hostile Takumi starts off with them, you would think that shows in gameplay mechanics, and that it stays has some intresting implications.

The Nohrians fast support with all their siblings and both of their retainers, save for Xander who does not have fast support with Laslow. It makes some amount of sense, as Xander has lost retainers in the past, and Laslow was not one he chose personally. In contrast Ryoma is the only one who fast supports with all his siblings and both retainers. Unless something didn't make it on to Serenes forest, the next highest is Sakura who fast supports Corncob, her brothers, and both retainers, then Takumi, with Hinoka at the least, only fast supporting Ryoma out of all her siblings.

None of them fast support Azura, which could have been interesting, and Kaze only fast supports his brother, which parallels Flora, to their siblings Felicia and Saizo who fast support with their fellow retainer and Lord alongside their sibling. They are also both capable of picking a different loyalty then the one they start the game with.

What you can pick up about the bonds between the characters based on combat classes tell you things about the characters that add to their relationships I think.

#takumi fire emblem #ryoma fire emblem #azura fire emblem #hinoka fire emblem #fire emblem conquest #fire emblem fates #random k #port dia #fe laslow #xander fire emblem #sakura fire emblem #kaze fire emblem #saizo fire emblem #felicia fire emblem #flora fire emblem

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forlornmelody · 10 months

Text

Bury A Friend: Chapter 2 -- Say it, spit it out, what is it exactly?

Rating: Explicit (previous and future chapters have smut)

Ship: Jayrose, Roseroy, eventual poly dynamics.

AO3 Link: Here

Summary: As Rose's employers tighten the net around them, she has a harder and harder time hiding her feelings for Roy from Jason.

Note: Aaaah, one of the scenes for this fic was DIRECTLY inspired from the fic's namesake, and was one of the first scenes I wrote for this fic. In my head, anyway. So excited to finally share it with y'all.

---

Two days after the first kidnapping, Rose’s in the same room, but this time her captors didn’t bother with the bag. No, a blunt-force knock out proved much more efficient. Someone else might have died. Rose, on the other hand, has a killer headache. On the bright side, she isn’t going to have a headache for much longer.

“I’m disappointed in you, Wilson.” Why do they always have to monologue? “So much potential gone to waste.” Seriously, Rose has a fucking supervillain for a father. She’s suffered enough monologues to last her a lifetime.

Rose breathes in and out, focusing on her breath the way Joey taught her to meditate, staring down the barrel of the gun as if there’s a light at the end of it.

BANG!

Rose blinks, watching as the woman in front of her, her former employer, flops face first onto the table, blood spilling from her forehead across the steel surface. She blinks again as Jason opens the door from the other side of the two-way mirror, Roy right on his heels.

“You really thought we were gonna let them kill you?” Roy says as Jason slashes through the zip tie holding her wrists.

“Maybe you should have.”

“Maybe they should have made the glass bulletproof,” Jason mutters as Roy helps her up.

—

None of them return to the safe house, as it’s no longer safe. Rather than take any of their vehicles, or those belonging to Bruce Wayne–too many chances of being tracked–they decide to hotwire a generic chimo van. Roy wins rock paper scissors, and so he breaks in with a trick arrow, and hotwires the ignition with both Jason and Rose watching over his shoulder.

“Really-Roy-toy? You’re making a huge mess.”

“We’re only using it once, Jaybird.”

Rose’s head knocks back against her headrest. “Ugh. I could’ve done it faster.”

Roy wipes his brow. She wonders what it would be like to watch it drip down his chest. “Not all of us are blessed with visions, Rose.”

“You mean cursed.”

Jason shoots him a look. Gritting his teeth, Roy says nothing at first, then sighs. “Sorry. Could I get some space here?”

“C’mon. Ginger Snaps needs more room to work his magic.” Jason and Rose snicker together as they exit the van in search of tacos. It’s Tuesday, after all.

There’s a taco truck around the corner. There’s also a line ten people deep.

“Fuck. Maybe we can order delivery?” Rose spins on her heels, but Jason grasps her shoulder, stopping her.

He leans over, his whisper stirring her hair, and making her shiver. “And how would we explain Roy hotwiring a van to the driver?”

“He lost the keys. And we don’t want to pay for a locksmith.”

“Delivery would also take longer.”

“Fine.”

“I know how we can pass the time.” Rose waggles her eyebrows playfully, leaning her head on Jason’s shoulder.

Jason runs his hands through his hair, and it makes her want to mess it up even more. Pull on it until he hisses with pleasure. His shirt pulls up with the motion, exposing a delicious sliver of skin. Rose traces it with her finger and he bats her hand away. “Rose.”

“C’mon.” She grins, giving him a lingering kiss. “No “we almost died so we’re gonna fuck in an alley” sex?”

He matches her grin, despite himself. “Not yet.” He pushes her to arm’s length. “If we’re gonna keep doing this, you have to promise me something.”

“Mm, weird way to ask for a safe word, but okay. I’m game.”

“No,” he snorts. “No more secrets.”

“Jason,”

“Rose. Please. Promise me.” He takes both her hands in his own, kissing them like they’re in some historical drama. The sop.

But it gets under her skin regardless. “Okay. I promise.”

Just when Rose starts to squirm, her phone buzzes with a text message.

Van’s ready. I want carnitas with extra guac.

—

Y’know. Maybe this whole running from death thing is overrated. Maybe Rose is going to save her ex-employers the trouble of taking her out. Anything to avoid this.

The hotel is full of people–good, yes. More crowds to disappear into. More guests for the staff to pay attention to. More noise to mask the sound of their voices. Only one problem, really.

There’s only one room left in this entire hotel. And it’s a fucking honeymoon suite. Only one king-sized bed for the three of them. Oh, an entire kitchenette and a fully stocked fridge. But only one fucking bed. Rose is going to murder someone.

“I could sleep on the couch,” Roy volunteers.

“Absolutely not,” Jason and Rose snap.

The room is too hot to sleep in, even with the AC. These stupid fucking synthetic sheets that feel so luxurious until you’re fucking baking like a cake beneath them. And so, Rose spends the night sandwiched between two very hot guys (in both senses of the word) and she can’t do a thing about it. Facing Jason to ignore Roy and his Old Spice aroma does nothing. And her fucking boyfriend falls right asleep.

She must’ve passed out sometime before dawn, because Rose wakes wrapped in Roy’s arms. If only Rose can extricate herself before Jason wakes–and that’s when she smells french toast. Rose looks up just in time to meet Jason’s eyes, watching her. Does it bother him? She can’t tell. Jason and his fucking poker face. “Hungry?” he asks.

In more ways than you know. Fuck. Does she wake Roy up? Does she let him get his beauty sleep? (Like the fucker needs it.) Rose is almost about to move regardless when his murmur stirs the nape on her neck. Roy tightens his hold, as if she’s a full-size teddy bear.

“Might as well wake him up, unless you want to spend the entire morning in bed.” Jason says neutrally over the sizzle of the frying pan. Is he suggesting—?

Rose stammers, “I swear I woke up like this. I didn’t–” She pries Roy’s arm off her middle and slips out of bed like she’s bypassing security.

A ghost of a smile appears on Jason’s face as he focuses on the french toast. “Roy’s a total cuddle bug. You look cute together.”

Her heart hammers in her chest, and her cheeks flush. Really? She mouths, too afraid to avoid the question out loud. You think so? Instead, she darts to the kitchen and pulls Jason into a kiss, breakfast be damned.

“Mm,” Jason kisses back, briefly, before pulling back. “You’re in a good mood. Something happen in your dreams?”

Rose searches for a suitable answer, but Roy breaks the silence first.

“Huh? What’d I miss? Mm…you cookin’, Jaybird? Save s’me f’rme.” Roy twists in the sheets, tangling himself up further.

Rose is in the middle of coming up with a convincing lie when the vision hits her. Sighting lasers. The countertop peppered with bullets. Jason’s head knocked back by a bullet in the forehead. Red circles blooming on the sheets covering Roy’s body. “Get down!” she shrieks.

Both Jason and Roy duck. They know better than to hesitate when Rose uses that tone. She sees the lasers a second time–in real time, and the sound of the bullets hitting and cracking the granite above their heads. The ping of bullets going through the pots and the frying pans. “Should we call security?” Roy yells over the din, still in his boxers.

“Don’t bother. They would have been called by now.” If hotel security was on their side. Which it isn’t.

“Shut the fuck up, both of you.” Rose needs to concentrate. Lean into her adrenaline rush. Her dad once said she had a brain like a computer. She just needed to use it.

Use it.

Rose waits for a break in the covering fire, grabbing the bag of ice they stuck in the freezer, dumping it on the frying pan. Sorry, Jason. The ice cubes crack and hiss, filling the room with steam, the grease spilling over and catching fire, following the steam with smoke. She needs the phone. But not for a phone call. She pitches the phone at one goon’s head, shattering his visor and knocking him back. The base she rips out of the wall and strangles the next guard with the cord.

C’mon, c’mon. Always living three seconds in the future means she’s always waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. Jason found his pistols. Twang. And the hiss of a smoke-bomb arrow. But it doesn’t hit its target in time. Rose hears the SMACK of a body hitting the kitchen floor. She doesn’t wait. She lunges, grabbing the last goon and ramming him against the counter. Jason stops firing, and the smoke slowly clears.

Roy’s on the ground, and he’s not moving. Shit. Rose should have seen it coming. She should have blocked it. At least she heals on her own. There’s blood trailing down the side of his temple. C’mon, c’mon. Pressing her fingers against his neck, Rose bites her lip as she waits for his heartbeat. It’s faint, but it’s there. “Jason, get some cold water.”

The moment the water hits him, Roy shoots back up with a gasp, and Rose has to hold his shoulders down to keep him from rising too fast. “Easy. You got hit pretty hard.”

Blinking several times, Roy slurs “Rose? Why’re there three’f you?”

Fuck, she could cry night now. “Shut up.” And then she’s kissing him. Maybe it’s the fact he could’ve died. Maybe it’s the way he’s sloppily kissing back. Or maybe it’s those energy drinks he’s always pounding–Roy tastes so sweet.

And then he pulls back, bumping his head on the floor. “Ow.” He opens his eyes, looking up at her. “We shouldn’” Roy’s blue eyes pop against his flushed cheeks, and they slide to the right, drawing Rose’s attention to the man watching this entire exchange. Her boyfriend. Shit. Fuck. Fuck.

“Jason,” Rose says quicky.

He holds up his hand. “Can we talk? In private?”

The air leaves her lungs. Rose manages to nod, stuffing her hoodie under Roy’s head. “Stay.” She mutters, dragging herself out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. Jason shuts the door behind them.

“Jason, I wasn’t thinking. I was just happy he’s okay.”

He watches her with his goddamn poker face. Why couldn’t he just be angry? Like a normal person? “Was that all?”

“I swear.”

Jason shakes his head. “Rose, you promised. No more secrets.”

“I’m not keeping any! I told you about my employer–my ex-employer.”

“I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about Roy.”

“There’s nothing about Roy!”

Jason’s face finally breaks–his eyebrows crinkle and his eyes waver, but otherwise he keeps that perfect Wayne composure. “Rose. Please.” He swallows. “I know this isn’t the first time.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She can’t lose him. Not like this. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Releasing the breath he was holding, Jason runs his hand through his hair. “Rose. Listen. Please. Do what you want with Roy. Just don’t hurt him.”

“But–” I love you, she finishes in her head. “I want to stay with you.” Yeah. Safer to say that instead.

His eyes light up as he brushes his thumb across her cheek. “Why does it have to be one or the other?”

“Huh?” Rose’s brain short circuits.

Jason reaches for her hand, squeezing it. “Who says you have to choose between us?” He falters before she can answer. “Well, Roy might.” Licking his lips nervously, he adds softly, “but I won’t.”

“You mean it?” Rose squeezes his hand, and Jason opens his mouth to answer her.

“Guys?” Roy calls out groggily from the living room.

“Shit, Roy!” They tumble back into the living room together.

#Sorry to disappoint you if you were hoping for smut this chapter. I just couldn't fit it in (heh) with the plot constraints #and have it make sense. But I DO promise there is SO MUCH MORE SMUT to come.#dc comics #jason todd #rose wilson #roy harper #jayrose #roseroy #melody writes #bury a friend

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goodlucktai · 10 months

Text

run, boy, run

chapter five

natsume yuujinchou pairing: one-sided kitanishi word count: 2k summary: Nishimura has a cursed mark on his arm, a crush on Natsume’s famous idol friend, and a whole lot of brand new problems that start and end with the taboo circle he found. full circle au

read on ao3

Satoru keeps looking over his shoulder at Hiiragi, just to make sure she’s still there.

“Watch where you’re walking or you’ll fall, Nishimura,” she says after the third backwards glance, voice low and monotone and still, somehow, entirely reassuring. She’s looking at him, talking to him, and he can hear her.

“No, I won’t,” Satoru argues cheerfully. Natori’s hand on his shoulder steers him around a crack in the pavement before he can prove himself wrong. And he’s still holding a sleeping Nyanko-sensei, so he definitely would have eaten dirt.

They’re south of town, much farther down the highway than Satoru ever has reason to go on his own. Matoba must have had his yokai chauffeur drive them for longer than Satoru realized. He’s pretty sure there’s a gas station nearby, and he thinks this is the road his old elementary school is on, but other than that he’s got nothing.

Natori’s rental car is parked in a tiny lot outside a Western-style building with a rustic cottage vibe. Satoru expects to be sheparded into the car, but instead Natori leads the way up the brick steps and through the lattice-patterned front door.

The inside is cluttered and cozy, warmed by potted plants on every available surface. A smiling young woman behind the pastry counter encourages them to pick any table they’d like.

There’s an older couple seated in the back corner booth, and a grizzled man reading the paper in a squashy armchair shoved next to a bookshelf overrun with paperbacks and waving cats. Natori guides Satoru to a table by the window, points him into a chair, and then slides over the laminate menu. Satoru remembers, abruptly, that he skipped breakfast and missed lunch.

“Order whatever you like,” Natori says, sounding distracted. “I need to make a few calls. I will be right outside. Okay?”

“Do you want something?” Satoru asks. He settles Natsume’s cat in his lap, relieved when the lucky cat actually stirs a bit and grumbles before tucking himself into a comfortable-looking loaf and going back to sleep.

“No, but Hiiragi has a sweet tooth. Pick her out something with strawberries.”

The shiki makes a noise that could, by generous definition, be considered a scoff. Natori leaves, and the cheerful woman who greeted them by the door takes Satoru’s order for hamburger steak and an ice cream parfait with all the extras. She looks indulgent when he tacks on the dessert and he can’t exactly explain it’s for a ghost.

The ghost in question sinks into the chair across from him only after the employee has dropped off a glass of melon soda and gone again.

“Your friends were very scared for you,” Hiiragi says without preamble. “They’ll be relieved to know that you’re safe.”

Satoru’s heart makes a sudden glad leap. “You saw them?”

“I did. Natsume called Natori-dono this morning when you didn’t arrive at school on time. And your little bird warned them you weren’t safe. You were missed immediately.”

It seems like she’s making a point, and Satoru can’t say he knows why, but he’s grateful all the same. It’s good to know that the whole time he was in Matoba’s dubious clutches, rescue was imminent. It’s really, really good to know that Fish didn’t just fly away in a panic, she flew away to the rescue.

“Do you know if they told anyone else?” Satoru thinks to ask after a moment.

“Just your brother,” the shiki replies. “Kitamoto informed Natori-dono that he had two hours to find you, after which time he would also be telling his mother.” If she considers it strange that Satoru’s own mother wasn’t a part of the equation, she keeps it to herself. Yokai probably don’t have strong feelings on humans and their relationships with each other anyway. She does add, “It took Natori-dono an hour and a half. …He was stressed.”

“I bet.”

Kitamoto can be kind of intense. Sure, Natori deals with curses and ghosts and what have you, but that’s nothing on Acchan when he’s in a mood.

Natori doesn’t come back to the table until after Satoru has started eating. He orders a cup of coffee and seems content to sit there for an indeterminate amount of time. Even though he’s busy—living a double-life, with double the work—he makes pleasant conversation with Satoru and teases Hiiragi about her ice cream and does nothing to rush either of them out of the restaurant.

Digging the tines of his fork through the sauce left on his plate, Satoru carefully doesn’t look at anyone in particular when he says, “Um. I didn’t say earlier. Thanks.”

Natori doesn’t speak up right away, and the silence is excruciating, even though it’s only like two seconds long. Satoru rushes to fill it.

“For—you know. You didn’t have to. I know you don’t really—uh, I just meant, thank you.”

Please stop talking! he begs himself.

The coffee cup lands against its saucer with a solid click and Natori’s hand comes to rest on the table between them. Satoru catches the little dart of a lizard tail disappearing up his arm, beneath his sleeve. It’s distracting enough that he almost forgets to be mortified that Natori Shuuichi is giving him his undivided attention. Almost.

“You’re a good kid,” Natori finally says, sounding, somehow, as if he means it. “And you have nothing to thank me for.”

Nyanko-sensei wakes up for real in time to finish the rest of Satoru’s hamburger steak. Natori gives sensei a dirty look, but Satoru is so relieved that he lets him have the fried potatoes and broccoli florets, too.

———

Less than an hour later, Satoru is delivered to the temple doorstep like he’s a Lotteria burger and Natori-san is a very stylish, very single-minded Demae-Can driver.

At around two in the afternoon, anyone who might be happy to see Satoru turn up out of the blue is almost definitely still at school. Satoru is opening his mouth to explain as much when the door rattles open hard enough that it crashes into the wall, and half a dozen voices yell, “Nishimura!”

It's a little funny. The sudden chaos settles something jangly and jittery in his chest that the quiet ride back into town couldn’t. Natori’s hands on his shoulders propel him gently forward and Satoru is folded into the crowd. Nyanko-sensei is lifted from his arms. Kitamoto is there.

He looks paler than he should. His eyes are dry, but red-rimmed, and while he usually greets Natori with a glare for whatever reason, this time he doesn’t seem to see the man at all. He’s staring right at Satoru from the second the door opens. He yanks Satoru into a hug that feels like it could go on for years and years, warm and tight and safe.

For the first time since he left his house that morning, Satoru relaxes fully. He can’t move his arms enough to get them around Kitamoto in turn, so he clutches fistfuls of his best friend’s shirt and sinks against him. He could probably fall asleep standing up right there if they’d just give him about five minutes.

“Come in, please,” Tanuma is saying, his tone equal parts gentle and stressed out. “I’ll make tea.”

Natori helps shuffle the Kitamoto-and-Satoru package into the genkan. The door rattles closed, and Satoru floats through the motions of exchanging sneakers for house slippers, peeling out of his sweaty school jacket and pulling a hoodie over his head instead.

“I know for a fact that you should be in English right now,” is the first thing he says, to Natsume, who looks like he doesn’t know if he wants to hug Satoru or shake him like a terrier would a rat.

“If anyone should have been anywhere, ” Taki says, and lets the statement hang there ominously.

“Shibata will be here by dinner,” is what Natsume settles on saying. He has Nyanko-sensei nestled in one arm, petting him gently with the opposite hand. Sensei’s eyes are slitted, his purr a quiet, rumbly thing. “He’s getting on a train after school.”

“Ogata’s volleyball team is away at a tournament right now, but she’s going to be livid she missed all this when she checks the group chat,” Taki adds.

Tanuma returns to the crowded hall with a tray of tea and glasses, and since he looks like he’s seconds away from a nervous breakdown if he can’t host them properly, everyone finds a place in the living room to sit. There’s one too many cups on Tanuma’s tray, but after the day they’ve had, Satoru doesn't blame him for miscounting.

Kitamoto doesn’t even pretend like he’s about to let Satoru go anytime in the immediate future, keeping an arm wrapped around him like it belongs there. Satoru, for his part, doesn’t pretend like that’s anything but a comfort.

A clatter on the engawa is the only warning any of them get before a frantic magpie bursts inside, silent except for the noisy scrabbling of her talons against the floor, wings half-spread, beak ajar.

“There’s my best girl,” Satoru says brightly. “Fish, you’re a hero, you know that? Hiiragi told me what you did. They should write songs about you.”

“satoru,” she cries, hopping across the room with gusto. “the scary human took you.”

“That he did.” Satoru puts the cup down and offers his hands to his bird instead. “But thanks to you, he gave me back.”

With Fish nestled under his ear where she belongs, her warm, slightly oily feathers and rapid little heartbeat against his cheek both a touchstone, Satoru accepts the cup of tea that’s pressed into his hands. He opts to just hold it for a while, breathing in the fragrant steam, shaking off those last, clinging fingers of anxiety.

“Wait,” Taki blurts. “Hiiragi told you?”

Oh, yeah. “There’s been a new development,” Satoru tells the room at large. “I can see yokai without the circle now.”

For a beat, no one moves except to stare at him blankly. Then all heads swivel toward Natori, who only says, with feeling, “It has been a very long day.”

“And it’s only halfway over,” Hiiragi comments plainly.

Since unpacking the yokai thing is going to be a conversation and a half, Satoru interjects quickly, “Before we get into all that, can we talk about how much trouble I’m in at school really fast?”

Natsume and Taki look too frustrated to speak for the moment, so Tanuma says, “You’re not in trouble, Nishimura. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Refusing to let Tanuma’s whole soft-spoken, gentle self get to him—he was kidnapped today and didn’t cry about it, he’s not going to cry just because his friend is being nice —Satoru replies, “Okay, we know that, but Nomiya-sensei doesn’t.”

“He does,” Tanuma insists.

It turns out that Satoru won’t have after-school suspension after all—because Kiyoshi, in a bizarre, uncharacteristic turn of events, covered for him.

“Sorry, I forgot to let his homeroom teacher know this morning,” was his brother’s story. He had called the school and lied directly to the principal herself, according to an impressed Taki’s eyewitness account. “He has a stomach bug. Can one of his friends bring by his homework later?”

“We had to call Kiyoshi-niisan when you didn’t show up,” Kitamoto says doggedly. It’s the first thing he’s said since Satoru got here. “I didn’t tell him everything, but I had to tell him something.”

Fish tugs on a piece of his hair with her beak. Satoru leans his head on Kitamoto’s shoulder.

“Acchan knows best,” Satoru says, because that was true even when it wasn’t. Of course, this meant that Satoru owed Kiyoshi the truth, whether he was ready to have that conversation or not, but at worst, he would just think Satoru and his friends were crazy. And he kind of already thought that, so no harm done. “At least that’s future-me’s problem,” he goes on, smiling around at his friends. “He’s taking a mock entrance exam for Kyushu University today, up in Fukuoka. That’ll keep him busy and give me time to spin a story.”

They frown back at him. Even Natori looks over, a crease in his brow.

“You think he still went to Fukuoka?” Taki says slowly.

“Nishimura, you were missing, ” Natsume adds, bemused. “Someone took you right off the street.”

“It sounds bad when you say it that way.” Satoru can feel the twinge in his arm that means the cursed bruises are coming back. His heart rate picks up a little, too, for good measure. “But it’s his mock exam. Mom’s been hounding him about this school for ages. He wouldn’t do anything to mess this one up.”

He wouldn’t let me mess this up for him, is what Satoru doesn’t say out loud. He digs his fingers into the overlarge hoodie he’s wearing, twisting the cuffs all out of shape.

Natsume glances at Natori quickly, concerned. The man sets his tea aside and stands up, moving around the table and then settling tailor-style in front of Satoru and Kitamoto.

“I think there is a reason your brother studies so hard,” Natori says. “And I think it has very little to do with your mother.”

“You haven’t met my mom,” Satoru says. It makes Natori crack a smile.

“I haven’t had the pleasure. But Kiyoshi told me plenty. And while you might think he’s doing everything he can to please her, from where I’m standing, it looks a lot more like he’s doing his best to spite her.”

Natori Shuuichi spoke to Satoru’s brother. They talked about personal stuff. Satoru wants to bury himself under a rock.

It doesn’t sound like Kiyoshi at all to trash-talk mom in any capacity. He’s her shining up-and-coming med student, bringing home perfect scores and skipping weekend trips and holidays to study. She doesn’t really care about Satoru, but she loves Kiyoshi. He has no reason not to love her back.

But if his friends are to be believed—and of course they are—then Kiyoshi covered for him today, even without understanding what, exactly, he was covering for. Why would he do that?

Footsteps from further in the temple draw nearer, along with a voice that Satoru would know anywhere. He whips around, spilling tea over his fingers, because that’s his brother’s pissed-off tone, here, in Tanuma’s house, where Satoru and his friends and Natori and the ghosts all are.

As he gets closer, his words get clearer, until Satoru can make out, “…my problem, remember? Not yours. Please don’t trouble yourself.”

“Nii-san has always had the best timing,” Kitamoto mutters.

“Kyushu was a compromise, ” Kiyoshi is saying, his voice making it easy to trace his progress down the engawa. “Fukuoka is three hours away, I didn’t want to go to school there in the first place. Kumamoto University is much closer, and it’s a good school. My friends are applying there, too. It’s where I want to go.”

Fish is poking insistently at Satoru’s ear and chin, so he lifts his hands mechanically and moves her down into his lap instead. She busies herself with snapping at the drawstring of his hoodie instead, unbothered by the force of nature headed their way.

“Um, so he knows some stuff,” Satoru hears himself say weakly. “How much exactly is that?”

“Enough,” Kitamoto says, which explains nothing.

The porch doors rattle the rest of the way open from where they were cracked, presumably to let nosy spirit birds in and out, and Kiyoshi stands there backlit by afternoon sunlight. It’s impossible to make out his expression. Satoru thinks he’s more nervous now than he was with Matoba.

“Bye, mom,” Kiyoshi says, and hangs up without waiting for a reply.

“You wanted to go to Fukuoka,” Satoru blurts before anyone can say anything else. “You made me memorize the train line.”

“That was just in case, brat,” Kiyoshi replies, crossing the room in long strides. Natori moves and Kiyoshi takes his place, looking over first Satoru, then Kitamoto carefully. “I was probably going to throw the mock exam anyway. I was just going today to make mom happy. I’ve been accepted at Kumamoto Uni already. An hour-long commute will be annoying, but it’s better than the alternative. Heaven only knows the kind of trouble you’d get into on your own.”

“And us,” Taki pipes up. “We know.”

“Right,” Kiyoshi says, sitting back. His expression is no-nonsense, gaze level and boring into Satoru’s. “And now me. Start talking, or I’ll make your life miserable.”

Now that, Satoru thinks, is the first believable thing anyone has said all day.

#natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #nishimura satoru #natori shuuichi #kitamoto atsushi #nishimura kiyoshi #natsume takashi #tanuma kaname #taki tooru #my writing #full circle #does more college research for this story than i did for my own self #and ends up barely using any of it lmao #i almost forgot to tag tanuma. owl would be ashamed

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