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steve0discusses · 2 years

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S5 Ep 32: Mahad’s Dead

Feels like a million years since I’ve actually sat down and done a Yugioh post, which is a shame, because Bakura was just about to do some nonsense.

Mahad has decided that he’s going to trap Bakura’s soul into this tablet which like...good luck, man.

and like if we are assuming that all of these blank Chekhov’s tablets are going to house demon souls from all of Yami’s dead friends that will eventually become our playing cards in the future...Bakura’s monster, diabound, is a card nowadays right? (And I mean he’s a modern card in the shows universe, I figure there’s like a billion versions of diabound by now in Yugioh proper) so ... at some point Pegasus made him into a card.

So I guess that means Bakura’s soul monster isn’t actually diabound. I think? I try not to think too much about that at this point cuz it is a little bit confusing.

Look at em go, doing this vertical wheelie drop in those flimsy wraps, upskirting everyone on Bakura’s front line. They’re living their best life. Me, personally, would be terrified about going this fast without at least one belt on my sarong, but strangely this is the only time in Yugioh no one has 5-20 belts each.

(Bakura stuff under the cut)

Meanwhile, inside the tomb, Bakura and Mahad are gonna have a card tablet fight against the diabound that Mahad already knows needs a freakin God card to win against. Mahad really thinks a lot of his magician powers, which youknow...that’s hubris for you.

Yugioh loves to go back to hubris as a reoccurring theme and I appreciate that in every season of Yugioh, that has always been a constant. Don’t tempt (card) gods, folks.

Diabound now has a new look, and it’s getting kind of complicated for the art team, who just have no idea where to properly put the snake on this guy without it looking like a problem, so they just go for it and let it be a problem. I mean why the hell not, he has a snake for a lower torso. You can’t make this not awkward.

Because I know a little bit about how this game actually works (Character Development on my part, can I just say) I actually looked up this card, and no where does it say “it gains the super powers of the monster it fought before” so um...really glad I learned how to play this game.

When’s car season? I only know the car deck, and apparently no one in Master Duel plays any of these anime cards except for like Blue Eyes White Dragon so all of this is still completely over my head.

There’s not enough cars in ancient Egypt man. But you know what is in Egypt?

A little bit of actual Egyptian, which was cute!

At first I was like “wow, way to out that you’re from modern day Japan, Bakura!” and then I remembered his past self isn’t even from Egypt, either. Bakura being quite meta here.

Anyway, it was time for Yami to get the hell out of bed, because Yugi and Yami both have a really damn hard time sleeping on this show. And, I guess it’s been so long since Yami had a body and had to go to sleep that he forgot a little bit about how one gets ready for bed. Please admire how much metallic jewelry this child wears to bed.

It’s worse than Yugi. Yami your magpie situation is wow. Four rings, four bangles, a stacked choker, Tea’s airport cartouche, earrings--THE HAT? He even slept in the hat??? (also his eye liner, but I’ll give that a pass. We have, all of us, every single one, slept in our makeup and woke up to a pillow that has that one little splotch of mascara. We have, all of us, every single one, taken that pillow and just flipped it over to cover our sleeping-in-makeup sins.)

From an artist perspective, part of this is because they very much used a mirror tool do draw a lot of him here (which like, yes, you should absolutely be using the mirror tool if you have one. Please use the mirror tool and save your precious time on this planet earth. We like art shortcuts in this house) so if there’s earrings on one hand, it’s on the other by default. And also they just didn’t want to bother figuring out what his bangs situation was without the hat on--but it is pretty funny that he just...went to bed like this.

OR, and this is a big thing I just realized--that’s a wig. He’s bald under there. Do they have the guts to draw a bald Yami? Clearly not.

Parts of me are like...was there a point in the storyboarding process where Yami had no hair here? Did someone in a suit point at that and be like “this is very off-brand put back on the 30 lb hatwig I don’t care if he’s sleeping.” But we will never know.

Also please admire his bed.

What you don’t see here is the giant millennium eye just hovering over him on the bed rest. This is a very cursed bed situation that only a ghost would sleep in for any amount of time. (and that it was too spooky for even Pharaoh is saying something.)

Yes I did look up ancient beds in Egypt and none of them seemed to have four posters. But it’s not like this bed was even drawn to the perspective they clearly mapped out on the floor right there, so I don’t think they had the time to research that. Team did their best. Which involved taking that spooky bed from Noah Kaiba’s arc in S2 and shoving it here in Egypt in S5.

So Yami decides to ponder the sky pyramid that no one else can see but him. Just vibing in the middle of the night on a balcony filled with so much anxiety. This episode is really calling me out right now with my chronic insomnia, but thankfully none of my friends play murder cards (that are apparently made out of human souls of my ancient best friends).

In a sequence that was too hard to cap, one of the towers set off a little laser beam to inform us that Mahad was being a dumbass.

So something that I didn’t catch last episode, when I was hootin and hollering about the Anubis and how Anubis allowed everyone to just use the same damn deck of cards--I was wrong actually. Not my fault, it was the show doing organic storytelling and I was not prepared for that. Because it turns out everyone gets their own unique card crypt. So really, each of these towers is it’s own deck.

What a freakin nuisance this must have been to build, holy hell.

Also when bro was capping this, he at first was like “huh, isn’t this Dartz’ tower of souls?” and like yeah. Of all people, we’re getting a lot of Dartz throwbacks this season, so S4 wasn’t so tangential after all. Really they were just hinting that the horrible awful thing Dartz was doing, was done about 7 times over by Pharaoh’s Dad himself.

Which youknow...Yami is taking this in strides, still getting over the fact that his Dad probably (absolutely) killed that village, and that Seto is going to betray him very soon, and that Bakura is about to kill Mahad. Pharaoh I’m sure will eventually address this hypocrisy soon. Maybe. Kind of. Maybe not.

Man I can’t believe how honest Dartz was when he was telling Pharaoh point blank about how Pharaoh’s dynasty wasn’t that great in the past. Man. Pharaoh really shouldn’t have come here, kid should have just gone to math class, honestly. This isn’t worth ditching PE.

Anyway, Mana’s here because she also had the very bad dream that Mahad was about to biff it.

Imagine if this was a rule during the season where Tristan had the souls of 5 different dudes crammed into his brain who all freaking died in there. Tristan would be like 5 times banished.

Which now that I have played a Yugioh game, I know that banishing the same card 5 times in a row is a completely normal way of playing Yugioh.

Speaking of being dead and being banished and being Tristan, the gang is still lost in Yugi’s brain palace.

Yugi finds a door in it that for a split second really threw me for a loop. I 100 percent saw this and was like “DAMN IT HOW MANY BAKURA’S ARE THERE.”

Thankfully, this was a trick Bakura, and Ryou is indeed still passed out on the steps of Marik’s tomb. Assuming Marik hasn’t picked him up by now and shoved him into the Jeep.

Back in the simulation of the past, Bakura is doing really, really well for himself.

I do like the dedication to the detail on his Ancient Egyptian Toms. When even was the last time I saw a Toms in the wild with the tiny toe box? Like 2012? Maybe the fashion was the same for 3012 BC.

Anyway, Mahad is a real freakin asshole to Bakura this episode and that was kind of refreshing. It was a straight up Home Alone situation in here with him using his magic powers to just make a billion traps invisible. (and do less damage to Bakura than the Home Alone kid did to those robbers, ngl)

HOW.

How did he freakin miss this?

How is it even possible to miss the guy who is chained down by a bear trap with the largest ax that mankind has ever made? And how did it manage to break off said bear trap in the process? Like Mahad may be dark Magician, but he’s also the unluckiest human who has ever lived.

Anyway, Bakura reacts by shoving the ax at him which like--I never get to see this ceiling to figure out how the hell the suspension on this can go so many directions, but the big takeaway is that Mahad overcompensated, tried to kill a card god, and cheated at cards in the process of doing so, which in Yugioh means you’re already dead.

Meanwhile, in the Desert, Pharaoh is doing his best to not look like a dumbass in front of Mana.

Mana directs him to the summoning training grounds, which is where I guess they practice cards usually (don’t think about how many souls were sacrificed so they could practice cards). Where, Pharaoh finds out that Mahad has already locked himself into a cave, and that it’s too late to do freakin anything about it.

Mahad’s explanation for why he’s doing this is that he wanted to pay back Yami for all the goods stuff he’s done, like that time that Yami sucked the snake venom out of him all those years ago--which is a somewhat symbolic thing about how Yami tends to remove people’s darkness when he plays them with cards (or kills them, either/or)--but also puts in motion the fact that Mahads going to hella die here and put Pharaoh in a pretty bad position.

Mahad shouldn’t have done this, it definitely hurt Pharaoh’s dynasty in a huge way more than it helped Pharaoh, but Mahad was absolutely certain that his dark magician powers could do the trick. Which they didn’t but youknow...hubris.

Anyway, Bakura’s guards are here.

Lets jump cut so we don’t have to animate that. Instead, we’ll just jump straight to this:

This is a nice shot. For your redraw a scene from an anime meme, you could redraw this shot. I like this shot.

I don’t like this next shot though.

Good ol Egyptian spandex.

Unprovoked, the tablet from the very beginning of this episode decided it had enough of this plotline.

Pharaoh realized he was about to lose all of his magicians in one single day because of this single damn piece of rock, thanks to Mana just...standing underneath it. Bit she’s fine now. Mana survived.

Mahad is not though, he HELLA died.

If it had killed them both, it would have been a little awkward for that tablet because it’s only really supposed to fit one dude. We gotta wait to kill Mana for later.

Who would you cast as Mahad? Serious question, because I joke about this show becoming a Netflix original but there’s been a little bit of a Yugioh renaissance lately (like apparently Master Duel ended up having WAY MORE downloads than anticipated and it’s really upset the meta of the rankings because everyone is playing the same deck) so we all know it’s only a matter of time. How white are they going to cast Mahad?

Like it’s just going to be an off brand Robert Pattinson, and honestly I’d be kinda down for that because my expectations are zero, and I just want to recap that potential hot garbage and what it would do to their hair.

And if an off brand Pattinson is too much, like I enjoyed the cowboy Bebop remake cast, I just didn’t want them in the Cowboy Bebop remake. Make them all Yugi. Go ahead Netflix, Yugi’s so many people at this point, turn him into those three, you have done worse.

Yugi realizes that he needs to stop searching through random doors and simply wait for Pharaoh to call out to him, which, because Yami is trapped in a hell period where he’s absolutely going to die, should have already happened like a billion times already but Yugi just wasn’t paying well enough attention.

And like that, they get transported away. To where? Probably Egypt. Excited for the outfit change on all four of these guys. Yugi will be the only one in Egypt with a belt around his neck.

Soon, they will all be eating a garlic in Egpyt with the homies, assuming they don’t get immediately murdered because everyone will think they’re some sort of wizard. Which, in the case of Yugi is absolutely correct.

Anyway, see you next episode, here’s a link to read these in chrono order from the beginning.

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

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lmaoeraserhead · 3 years

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pairing : stripper!Ushijima x reader

wc: 2.5k

a/n : this is based off of a random thought i had a couple of days ago. It’s so past my bed time right now, this is completely unedited and its most likely awful, but please please please enjoy!

warnings: SMUT 18+, pet names, one (1) pussy slap, mean Ushi, sex work??? idk lemme know if i missed anything please

You hear the opening of Old Town Road from the booth you and some of your closest friends rented for the night. Never in a million years had you imagined you’d be spending your night in a sketchy ass club, and you definitely hadn’t expected the country (if you could even call it that) song from the booming speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome our star performer, Ace, to the stage.” The clear voice rings loud enough to push through your hazy thoughts. Despite having tons of fun with your friends (and one too many drinks), you were tired and just about ready to call it a night.

The lights suddenly took a dive, and you were left in the dark with your vodka cranberry. Excited squeals can be heard from other people around you. The song started slowly, definitely edited, the bass making the ice cubes in your drink dance with the beat. You could feel the vibration deep in your bones, and it sent a pleasant shiver up your spine.

As slowly as the lights had plunged dark, they sure took their damn time brightening back up. Squinting from your seat, you could hardly see anything on stage through the red haze of the lights and fog machine. You didn’t know why, but the anticipation had your toes curling in your platforms. The achingly slow buildup pushed you forward in your seat and sent your legs moving to get closer to the main stage. You weaved your way through the packed crowd alone, ducking under and around stray limbs that got in your way.

The guitar of Old Town Road picks up, and it strikes you odd how sensual the usually goofy song sounds. Of course, you’re in a strip club and you should have at least expected some unconventional set lists. Your friends call out your name from the dark corner they’re sitting in, but you’re mesmerized by someone you can’t even see yet, so you don’t even turn to acknowledge their calls.

Taking a big gulp from your drink and stealing one of the few empty chairs left lining the stage, the hair on the back of your neck raises when the spotlight finally focuses on the figure that is in the center of your vision. His routine hasn’t even started, and he already has the whole club enthralled. Ace was his stage name, but you wonder what his real name could be. Although, Ace seemed to fit him well enough. He’s built like an executioner, ready to deliver the last blow.

He’s huge, well over 6 feet tall. His rippling muscle that’s somehow already sweaty and glistening, bulges with every one of his subtle movements. You can’t see his face, which is tilted down underneath a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, but you can only imagine how attractive he is from his build alone. He’s shirtless, wearing jeans, a huge rodeo buckle, and boots with spurs.

His left hand comes up to lift the brim of his white wicker hat, slowly revealing his smoldering hooded eyes. He is the center of attention, and he’s enjoying it. The hundreds of chattering mouths fall quiet as the beat picks up, along with his very anticipated dancing. His hips move with practiced ease, back and forth, stretching the taut muscles of his stomach. Your eyes find the thatch of hair below his bellybutton, and follow it’s trail, huffing under your breath with dissapointment when you end up at the heavy-looking belt buckle he’s wearing.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry, you lick your lips and take a sip of your slightly watered-down drink. Your teeth catch your bottom lip when you look back up from your lukewarm vodka to find warm chocolate eyes level with yours, among other things. Sucking in a deep breath, you watch as his body, now perpendicular to the worn wooden stage, as it grinds to the beat.

His eyes never leave yours as he dances to what is now becoming one of your favorite songs. His fist meets the ground, simultaneously paired with a thrust of his hips. He turns his head to the side, giving you a glimpse of the strong column of his neck. One particularly smooth move of his has your thighs clenching together.

Not once in your whole life had you ever thought you’d be jealous of a floor, but the way Ace was practically fucking himself against it had you squirming in your seat. The clank of his belt buckle against the hardwood had you imagining his sweaty body above yours, you could practically feel the strong build of his shoulders underneath your fingernails. You could feel the way he’d thrust into you, leaving you a whimpering mess.

Ace makes his way uprights again, slowly, teasingly. He smirks at you, and only you. His gaze is heavy and his expression sends a swooping feeling through your stomach. The song finally comes to an end, with Ace kneeling down in front of you. His thick index finger is under your jaw, closing your mouth and tilting your head up. You’re both breathless, for two completely different reasons. He places his hat on your head, bends down, and whispers in your ear, “Find me backstage.”

Before he backs away, he pulls your earlobe in between his teeth and growls lowly. Your wide eyes and stunned expression make a chuckle rumble from his bare chest. You nod slowly, because what else were you supposed to do?

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

“You liked the show, huh?” Before you could respond, you were pulled against Ace’s sweaty chest. Backstage was a mess of show runners, other performers, and wires. But somehow Ace had managed to get his own private dressing room, fully equipped with a couch, closet, and functioning shower. And you had managed to find him with the help of his hat on top of your frizzy hair.

The alcohol you had consumed earlier helped you melt into his sturdy lap, and lean into him, “I enjoyed it very much, Ace.” You contemplated for a bit, tilting your head, “Interesting song choice, though.” You couldn’t help but squirm on his jean-clad thighs as his hands trailed up and down your sides, catching on the hem of your dress.

“My name isn’t Ace, little one,” he smiled and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, “It’s Ushijima.” He took his hat off of your head with little ceremony and pushed one of his thumbs past your lips. “And from the state of your sloppy pussy you’re trying so hard to grind on me, I’d say you didn’t mind the song too much,”

You suck on his thumb like a good little girl and nod frantically. Now that you think about it, you had been subconciously rubbing yourself against the hardening bulge in his pants. “M’can’t help it, i-it hurts so bad.” You slur around his thick digit, and drool drops onto your chin. His performance had turned your silk panties see-through, and you were staring to leave a dark spot on the crotch of Ushijima’s jeans.

“You’re such a messy little thing, aren’t you.” He pulls his thumb away and smears your spit into your cheek, “I bet you’d do anything to ride my cock, hmmm?” He presses your body even closer to him, his body heat deliciously warm. Being this close to him makes you realize just how enormous he actually is, another thought that leaves your thighs clenching.

Ushijima’s harsh breaths are mingling with yours, you don’t have space to think, but your body is answering every question he shoots your way, tenfold. He kisses you with the ferocity of a starved man. It’s messy, and when he pulls back, a string of saliva connects you both. His pupils are blown so wide that the hazel of his eyes can hardly be seen.

You nod your head, “Please.” Looking up through your lashes you see him hesitate for just a moment. “Please! Please Ushijima, fuck me.” You’re whining at this point, you know, but you’re so desperate.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath and swipes his sweaty hair from his forehead, “get up, little one. I want you to take off this fucking dress.” He lifts you from his lap with ease and turns you around in front of him. “You’ve been teasing me with this outfit all night. Squeezing those soft thighs together in front of everyone, like a whore.” You whimper, suddenly feeling very exposed, “What? You think I didn’t notice?” He taunts you mercilessly. You’re so wet at this point, you can feel it dripping down the inside of your thighs.

You lift the hem of your dress over your head and drop it next to you on the floor. You’ve never been extremely shy but the man in front of you makes it nearly impossible not to want to run away from his sharp gaze. The black underwear you had decided to wear for the night were nothing special, and your reluctance to wear a bra had come back to bite you in the ass. You were practically naked in front of Ushijima.

“Your panties too, little one. I can’t fuck you with those in the way, can I?” A small moan gets caught in the back of your throat as he slips his hands underneath the soft silk covering you. “And here I thought you were gonna be my good little slut.” He tsks and shakes his head disapprovingly. The muscles in his jaw work as he slips a finger through your slippery folds. “You’re… so wet.” He admonishes, still circling your cunt but never where you need him the most.

“No shit.” You roll your eyes and grip his forearm, trying and failing to get his fingers on your clit. He pulls his hand away and before you realize what’s happening, he slaps you through your underwear. The shock is enough to send you back into his lap, mewling. “F-fuck! What was that for?” You thread your fingers together behind his neck and press your bare chest against his, feeling very impatient.

Ushijima is finally at his limit, apparently, because he reaches in between your sweat-covered bodies and takes off his belt. You gulp and fumble to help him, but again, you’re stopped by his strong grasp on your wrists. “No,” he’s practically growling, “bad little sluts don’t get to touch as they please. Put your hands back where they were and don’t move.” You do as he says immediately, feeling like you’ve already tested your limits for the night. The button and zipper of his pants come undone with a quiet ‘pop’, and he licks his slightly chapped lips fighting the urge to teach you a lesson right then and there. “You better hold on, little one. I’m gonna have to fuck some manners into you.”

His cock slaps his stomach when he finally gets his pants down and Ushijima breathes a sigh of relief. You choke on the thick air of his dressing room when your eyes finally catch a glimpse of what you had been grinding on earlier. His dick is enormous, very befitting of its owner, but you were regretting your loud-ass mouth right about now. The tip is red and angry, leaking precum against his impressive abs. Ushijima’s hand can barely wrap itself around his impressive member when he strokes himself a few times before hissing out another sigh through his teeth.

“Don’t worry, baby it’ll fit.” His words did little to reassure you as he lined himself up with your slick entrance. Your position gave you some small amount of control, although you knew Ushijima had his large hands on your waist for a reason. “Take what you can, for now.” His soft eyes met yours for a moment as he rubbed circles into your back, his harsh words gone for a moment.

You lowered yourself onto his length slowly, using his shoulders as leverage. Ushijima filled you like no one had ever managed before, and when you thought you had seated yourself completely, there always seemed to be another inch. Mouth open and eyes wide, you were babbling incoherently, the delicious stretch of his cock left you drooling and dumb.

To help you, Ushijima finally gave your neglected bud the attention you had been seeking all night. The small amount of friction he allows sends you spasming around his length. Between moans and whines, Ushijima could hear curses and little cries of ‘thank you, Ushi’, he smiles, thinking it’s completely precious how quickly you managed to fuck yourself stupid.

“That’s it little one, just like that. That’s a good fucking girl. Take what you need from my cock,” He smirks and brings your face close to his own, gripping your cheeks tight, “Before I ruin every other man for you.” He kisses you on the forehead, almost condescendingly, before grappling your hips again and thrusting up into your messy cunt.

His thrusts are brutal, his sweet demeanor gone now that he’s chasing his own release, using you as nothing but his own personal fucktoy. His grunts get louder and the muscles in his defined stomach grow taught the closer he gets to his orgasm. Ushijima’s strength is impressive, it has to be with the way you’ve gone limp in his lap, shaking from the over stimulation.

“P-please cum Ushijima.” You hiccup around the syllables of his name and scratch at his upper-back. You’re jostled with every powerful thrust he gives you, too tired to meet them. All you can do is take the pleasure he gives you.

Moaning a long string of curses, Ushijima’s movements become more erratic and his cock swells impossibly further, “Where do you want my cum little one?” His teeth catch his bottom lip and he continues to hump into you frantically.

You whimper as you feel the heat in your belly starting to spread, “I-inside! Want you t-to fill me up Ushi.” The pleasure building up inside you finally snaps when you feel Ushijima’s warm cum coat your insides. He keeps thrusting into you shallowly, almost unconsciously, as you both ride out your orgasms.

After a few beats of heavy breathing and muffled club music, Ushijima clears his throat, “Hey, uh, are you alright?” His hands are rubbing soothing circles into your thighs, which are shaking horribly.

You lift your head up from his neck and blink dazedly a few times before smiling, “Never been better, big guy.” You truly are dick drunk, “But I could use some help getting to the bathroom.” You brush a few stray hairs from Ushijima’s forehead and laugh when he picks you up bridal style, carrying you like you asked.

“I can do that, little one.” He smiles back at you, “If you don’t mind can I, uh. Fuck this sounds awful.” He laughs awkwardly, “Can I get your name, maybe?”

You blink back at the man holding you naked against his chest. “It’s Y/n.” You tell him with a small smile.

#case writes ;)#haikyuu #hq ushijima #ushijima smut #ushijima x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #ushijima wakatoshi #please this drained me physically emotionally and sexually #SHES FINALLY HERE

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

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Desire.

CEO ! Jung Hoseok x Married ! OC

Summary : Tall Handsome CEO Hobi meets dainty delicate country girl, Elena and falls head over heels. Too bad she’s already taken.

Genre : Infidelity, Morally ambiguous characters.

Chapter 1

On Fridays, Jung Hoseok liked to unwind.

After a whole entire week of heading Gwihan Inc., going over proposals, signing off on acquisitions and baby sitting his two younger siblings who were just entering the company business, Jung Hoseok liked to relax on Friday evenings, usually with a glass of wine, maybe some good food from the Chinese restaurant down the street and occasionally with some company of the feminine variety.

As the CEO of one of the largest conglomerates in the country, Hoseok was pretty much a household name in Seoul. Not just because of his dashing good looks and his staggering business acumen, but also because of the incredibly humble, down to earth persona that he wore .

Never in the history of Korea, had there been a more approachable and friendly multi billionaire Chaebol prince : the very personification of generosity and kindness.

At the young age of 34, Jung Hoseok charmed reporters and celebrities and his fellow businessmen with alacrity .

Affectionately nicknamed the Sunshine CEO, Hoseok’s dimpled smile was a staple and he was well known for being fair and even tempered, the first to extend his hand in friendship to anyone.

Which was a wonderful reputation to carry of course but it also made people forget that for all his sunny disposition, Jung Hoseok was still very much human.

And he did not build his company ( once on the verge of bankruptcy because of his unscrupulous father ) from scratch, by being a pushover. Which meant that Hoseok had to balance being a good guy and a firm guy and sometimes it was such a fucking pain in his ass.

“Hyung, come on....it’s just for a few hours. It’s fun.... “ Kim Taehyung could whine like no other. Korea’s top model, Taehyung or V as he liked to be called had a deep voice which could also do a full 180, making Hoseok’s ears ring, when the younger wasn’t getting his way.

Like right now.

“Tae, i’m so fucking tired, i need a drink and a shower and I’m crashing into my bed. I am not bar hopping with you morons. I’m too old for that shit. “ Hoseok groaned, watching Taehyung and his photographer husband slur and sway after one drink too many. It was already a little past eleven in the night and he had every intention of sleeping for the next thirteen hours at the least.

“Awww hyung...its not a bar...it’s a strip club ... Come on , hyung live a little. “ Jeon Jungkook was adorable, like a bunny, but also a brat that never took no for an answer. Together , the couple were pretty much indestructible.

Too tired to argue with the two of them, he groaned .

It was going to be a long, long night.

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The club was called Desire, nothing like the posh high end places Hoseok was used to. It wasn’t a dump or anything but the decor, the furnishings and the clientele all screamed middle class, which wasn’t Hoseok’s usual scene.

At all.

But apparently, Jungkook had stumbled on someone here during one of his photography stints.

A dancer called the ‘ White Dove’.

The White Dove was apparently, one of the most sought after dancers in the club, because she only performed twice a month. She didn’t do it for the money, no one knew why she did it. But according to Jungkook, she was the most sensuously arousing woman he had ever seen in his entire life.

she moves like water, Hyung, fluid and transient. ...like the laws of physics don’t apply to her body, it’s like magic.

Which was high praise, coming from a gay man.

A gay man who had actually majored in dance in college.

And even Taehyung hadn’t even looked all that bothered, watching his husband sing praises about someone else’s body .

“Would love to have both of them in my bed at the same time hyung, how do i make that happen?” He’d asked, glassy eyed.

Hoseok had gagged, elbowed him in the ribs and moved away.

But his dongsaengs could be pretty darn insistent and so here he was, on a friday night, half asleep from exhaustion, stumbling behind Jungkook and Taehyung as they led him to a private room, at the back of the club.

The room was wide, shaped like a semi circle, with an elevated stage up front. Just a couple of feet away from the stage, three sofas lines the curved edges of the wall.

Taehyung and Jungkook lay wrapped around each other in the first one, closest to the door and Hoseok did not want to see them touching each other so he skipped the middle sofa, choosing to recline on the sofa in the farthest corner.

A very dim light hung right over his head , offering very little by way of illumination but he supposed that was the point. The dancer would be distracted by a well lit audience.

And while he had been quite opposed to the idea when the evening began, Hoseok couldn’t help but admit , that seated on the cheap maroon sofa, with tacky vinyl upholstery, in a dimly lit room, he couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Who was this woman?

“Hyung, you’ll love her!! She’s totally your type!” Jungkook called out excitedly .

Hoseok threw an amused look at the pair, shaking his head before turning around to stare at the stage again. The lights in the low lying ceiling dimmed, the one on the stage turning on gradually and to his surprise, he felt his breath catch when the stage curtain moved, gentle ripples on the satin surface.

Music began pouring in, smooth and sensual and intrigued and then a voice followed , feminine and soft.

“Good evening. I’m Elena .... or as they call me, the White Dove. Thank you for letting me entertain you tonight.”

She sounded absolutely delectable and Hoseok felt his eyes widen, lips parting in shock at the voice.

Soft and sweet, dainty and almost elegant.

Low and submissive, like she wanted nothing more than to make him happy.

Like honey in his ears.

It sounded so out of place , in this cheap dingy strip club.

She sounded like a fucking princess.

And then the curtains parted, revealing a petite, svelte figure.

Hoseok sat up straighter, eyes wide as he stared at her.

She wore a mask, covering the upper part of her face and leaving only her lush, plump lips on display. They were an alluring red, bright and radiant in the golden light. She was dressed in a small robe, full sleeved and falling to her knees , showing off her slim, curvy legs and her skin was honey tinted, smooth to his gaze.

Hoseok swallowed and as he watched, she threw a smile, soft and gentle and absolutely serene.

It was the smile that did it for him.

Innocent and altogether lovely, like the kind of smile you would give someone you had loved for a hundred thousand years and he felt himself aching for it, wanting more of that gentle voice, more of that dazzling smile.

As he watched she stepped fully into the center, the light bathing her in gold as she lightly gripped the pole and stepped forwards fully, lips parted in a smile as she bowed.

Hoseok had sat through enough strip shows to know that this was different. Elena took small, hesitant steps into the light, tugging on the belt around her waist, the short velvet robe sliding off her shoulder gently.

Hoseok’s throat went dry when he saw what she was dressed in : A ruby red lingerie set, with satin bows along her neckline, applique orchids all across her torso , the hem of her dress stopping just an inch below her waist, revealing satin bikinis that hugged her ass so tight his finger itched .

He wanted to touch so bad.

She grabbed the fabric of the robe and instead of tossing it away, she folded it, moving to place it on a chair in the corner of the stage, gently before tossing another smile, this time apologetic.

“I’m sorry, i need to wear this again and I don’t want it to get dirty...” She giggled then , her voice like the tinkling of a bell and Hoseok was so gone , he couldn’t think straight anymore.

He gripped the edge of the sofa, the last vestiges of sleep leaving his head.

And then the music began, low and soothing and seductive and she began to move.

Elena was a phenomenal dancer, that much was obvious in just the first minute. She moved easily, and perfectly, her long legs wrapping around the pole with ease, her hands gripping it with ease but it was her gaze that drew him in....

She clearly thought Tae and Jungkook were the only ones in the audience so she kept her gaze on them, hadn’t seen him at all and she looked at them with eyes that begged for approval. She smiled often, threw her hair back and jerked her shoulders in question, asking unsubtly if they liked it, and Jungkook and Taehyung responded with enthusiasm, cheerful shouts of “ so gorgeous, beautiful sweetheart....” filling the room.

Hoseok leaned back against the couch, his breath leaving him in a harsh exhale.

This wasn’t the kind of woman he had been expecting.

He had been prepared, for brash and bold and seductive and sensuous. A woman who knew how to use her body to get what she wanted.... The only kind of woman he had ever met in his entire life.

But Elena....

She looked so desperate to please, so desperate to be good and it was evident in her eyes, the thirst for praise , for approval. She wanted to be good and she wanted someone to tell her that.... to tell her hat she was beautiful, that she was perfect , that she was absolutely scintillating and Hoseok wanted nothing more than to be that someone.

To be the person who rained kissed all over her body, gentle touches all over her as he breathed praise into her ears, told her how perfect she was, how enchanting and how unreal she was.

How she was the kind of woman he would never ever tire of......

The kind of woman who deserved to be worshipped on the satin sheets of his king sized bed. .

And he would. This wasn’t going to end like this, he thought , his heart pounding. It couldn’t.

He felt his heart pound as the performance ended, as she stepped back into the limelight and bowed, all sweet smiles and gentle gratitude.

Taehyung and Jungkook jumped to their feet applauding cheerfully and she laughed.

“Thank you for coming today. I hope you enjoyed my little dance. I would love to see you again. “ She smiled, cheerful and bright.

She finally turned to his side of the room, eyes widening when he finally pushed away from the shadows, moving into the pool of light in the middle of the room.

“You were absolutely gorgeous sweetheart.” He said gently.

Her eyes went wide, lips parting in surprise and e watched her eyes travel up and down his torso, catching on the lean width of his waist, tongue peeking out to lick her lips as her eyes stayed glued to the front of his crotch, where his rock hard dick was probably very poorly concealed.

“You’re the one to blame for that, princess.” He said with smirk and her eyes jumped to his, a blush blooming on her cheeks so fast that it made his head swim.

Fuck.

Fuck she was gorgeous.

He glanced at his friends, both of who were looking between him and the dancer with knowing looks.

“Dinners on me tomorrow if you two leave right now.” Hoseok said softly.

Laughing, the pair waved good bye, closing the door behind them.

Elena stood on the stage, still staring at him like he was a full course meal and he moved back to the middle sofa, lowering himself down before spreading his legs and patting his thighs.

“How much for a private....conversation?” He asked quietly.

She hesitated.

“I.. i need to ask the manager.” She said hesitantly.

Hoseok felt a grin creeping up his face.

He pulled his phone out and dialed quickly. Less than a minute later, the manager stumbled in, bowing almost ninety degrees.

“Mr. Jung.. you called?” The man was breathless.

“Elena and I are going to be occupied for the next hour or so.... I don’t want us to be disturbed.”

The manager looked very surprised, glancing at her with wide eyes.

“You want to... ?” He asked quickly and Elena blushed. Hoseok was oddly impressed that he had asked for her consent. Well at least this place wasn't as sleazy as it looked.

“Just a conversation.” She whispered. Hoseok felt his eyebrow raise in surprise.

Wait, did she really think he wanted a conversation? Had he been too subtle? Was the hard dick and the invitation to sit on his lap not forward enough?

The man gave her a confused look but nodded.

“Of course Mr. Jung. Anything you like.” he bowed again and left , locking the door behind him. Hoseok glanced at her, watching as she slowly climbed down the stairs

Elena hesitated, before slowly moving to get her robe.

“Leave that.” He said , a little more sharply than he intended and she startled a little at his tone.

“Okay.” She whispered, scratching the back of her neck nervously and smiling a little.

“I’m sorry...I don’t usually do this... I... I’m married.” She said with a laugh.

Hoseok froze .

It felt a little like someone had dumped a whole entire barrel of ice cold water all over his head.

Of course she was fucking taken.

Of fucking course.....

He was such a fucking fool....

“Oh..” He croaked, voice breaking and even that single syllable dripped with so much disappointment that she noticed.

Her eyes flashed with something and she carefully climbed off the stage, walking up to him. He held his breath as she came closer, standing right between his spread legs. He wanted to touch but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

Her hand rose up and he felt his breath catch when she lightly touched his hair, patting the strands carefully.

“you have really thick hair.” She giggled.

“Does you husband know you’re here?” He said softly.

Her gaze flitted to him.

“No. “ She said softly. And then she pressed in closer, enough that her knee brushed his thighs and he gripped her waist with both hands, instinctively.

“No?”

She bit her lips, eyes shifting away from him.

“He doesn’t... understand.” She sighed.

Intrigued, Hoseok tugged her closer and she tumbled into his lap. He pulled her in till she was seated on his thighs, legs thrown over the couch as she nestled into his chest.

He gripped her harder and God, she felt like a delicate bird in his hand. His arms stayed firm but inordinately gentle around her, and he swallowed scared to move because he was afraid he would break her . Scared to let go because he was afraid she would fly way.

“What doesn’t he understand sweetheart?” He prompted.

She turned to look right at him and he wanted to take that mask off so badly. To see her face in all its glory.

“That I need this...” She whispered.

“To dance...?” He prompted and she sniffled a little.

“No.” She whispered. And then her eyes met his again, bright and somehow desperate.

“What then baby? Why are you here?” He asked although he could already suspect it.

“To be desired. “ She smiled that same sweet smile of hers.

And really, not even a saint could resist that breathtaking smile.

And Jung Hoseok was so , so far from a saint.

She was the one who owed loyalty to the unknown husband. Not him. So he was going to just take what he was being offered.

He grabbed her chin, tilting her face to kiss her hard, his tongue forcing its way in before she could get her bearings. She didn’t protest, her body going limp in his arms a he looped her arms around his neck.

He flipped them over , till she was flat on her back on the couch and he was on her, grabbing her thighs and spreading her legs, grinding his clothed erection down into the heated center of her body as he kissed her.

She whimpered, hands scrambling to clutch at his shoulders. as she kissed him back. And he wondered if she lied, telling him that she was married. There was a world of inexperience in her kiss , absolutely no finesse in the way she spread her legs wider, hips jerking up to chase friction.

But what she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in enthusiasm.

“Relax baby... We don’t have to rush...” He kissed her again, drawing back to stare at her and she looked a little out of it.

“Please.. I just... i need...”

Something about the look on her face made him pause. It was a familiar look. He’d seen this look before.

Not in the last decade no, but ....that desperate, confused inexperience took him all the way back to his senior year in high school when the Queen Bee , Kang Sejin had finally agreed to let him fuck her.

For the first time.

Hoseok stilled completely, refusing to believe it.

How old was this girl underneath him? She couldn’t be younger than twenty five.

“How old are you?” He demanded.

She stopped trying to yank him closer and went still, staring at him and licking her lips.

“I’m twenty seven.” She said finally and he frowned.

“You’ve done this before right?” He asked stupidly.

Of course she had...she said she was married for fuck’s sake.

But her eyes widened and she looked away and oh.

Oh.

What the actual fuck....

Hoseok scrambled off her, his head swimming with disbelief. She choked out a sob and sat up, hugging herself and he felt his heart break when he saw the tears swell, spilling over her lashes and God, that pout on her face.

“Elena.... “ He held his hand out, wanting to touch her again but she scrambled to her feet and backed away.

“I’m so sorry... i don’t know what I was thinking...” She bowed, her tears flowing freely now. “ Please...forget this ever happened...”

Hoseok stared at her as she ran up to stage, grabbing her robe and disappearing behind the curtain quickly.

He stood there, still painfully aroused as he tried to process what he’d just learned.

A virgin, he thought in sheer disbelief.

The stripper I nearly fucked right now is a fucking virgin.

His legs stopped working as he collapsed on the sofa.

So much for unwinding on a Friday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Listen, I know this is dumb but you really need to stop bringing this up so often.” My husband gave me an annoyed glare, his handsome face scrunched in impatience as he stuffed a couple of files into his leather briefcase.

“Why ? We’re married... we’ve been married for four months now!! Why won’t you touch me?! “ i demanded, exhausted and tired and so guilty.

Guilty because I’d come so close to cheating on him.

“Because i don’t get a hard on when i look at you. Because I never wanted to fucking marry you in the first place.!!” He snarled and i bit my lips feeling my heart hurt at the familiar words, the pang still just as painful as the first time he’d said those words to me.

“But you did...” I reminded him, following him to the door. He growled, throwing the shoe closet open and grabbing his work shoes.

“Elena... I’m not in the mood for this.” He said sternly.” I’m running late and Hoseok ssi’s supposed to be inspecting our department today. Do you have any idea what an important man he is? I need this meeting to be perfect if I want to get that promotion.... I can’t let anything distract me.”

“I’m your wife...not a distraction!!” I protested.

He ignored me, tying his laces and giving me one last look of loathing.

“if this doesn’t work for you, call your fucking parents and go back to that no good village of yours. We’ll get a fucking divorce and I’ll stop paying for your parents Hospital bills and then we’ll see how you survive.”

I stared at him, hurt and upset.

“Yesung...”

“I need to go. “ He stormed out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I tried to get my bearings. It was so hard, doing this. Waking up day after day to cater to his every need and i wondered if it had even been worth it, agreeing to marry him just for the chance to pay for my parents.

Surely, there could have been another way?

Why had I agreed?

My mind flashed to the gorgeous man in the club the previous night.

How much for a private conversation.....

For a second i had been tempted.

I had actually considered asking him to pay me in return for sex. Maybe if he wanted to do it more than once.... Maybe he could keep me with him.

And then I could use the money to pay for my parents’ care and i could divorce Yesung.

Surely that was better than being shunned in your own home? Being made to feel ugly and unappealing.

I had been so close to doing it last night. So so close and then that man---he had somehow sensed it. Sensed that I hadn’t ever had sex before.

How embarrassing that had been. He had guessed that I was a virgin and I couldn’t help but wonder how.

What had i done wrong? i had hugged him, kissed him back and yet he had realized that i had no idea what i was doing or what i wanted.

How humiliating that had been.

I bit my lips.

I missed dancing.

Twice a month in some sleazy club hardly made up for fifteen years of training to be a dancer.

I missed the ballet school that I had to quit when my dad lost his job.

I missed Busan.

I missed my old life so bad.

Sighing I went back to the kitchen to fix my breakfast when my eyes fell on the packed lunch and i groaned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yesung’s company was easily the most luxurious building I’d ever been. Thankfully, I’d dressed well enough, a yellow summer dress with floral prints. I’d left my hair down, even put on makeup. I looked pretty and i wanted nothing more than for my husband to look at me with a little appreciation.

Yesung was a tall, very handsome man and i had really genuinely liked him when his parents had offered to set us up for a seon.

He had seemed genuinely interested and it was the only reason I’d agreed to marry him. But apparently, his parents had forced him into the whole thing and he felt nothing but deep resentment for me.

It was so unfair but i wasn’t ready to give up yet.

I had every intention of winning my husband over.

The lady at the reception gave me a visitor’s Id and told me where I could find my husband and I quickly walked over to elevators, nervous because I was the only one in flashy summer colors, all the employees dressed in muted tones of brown and grey. Flushing, I kept my head low as the elevator climbed all the way to the seventeenth floor. When I stepped out of the elevator, I caught sight of Yesung at once. He was talking to a tall man, who had his back towards me .

“Yesung!! “ i called out brightly. “ You forgot your lunch!!” I held the bag up and my husband’s eyes snapped to me widening in surprise.

I smiled and kept walking until the man talking to my husband turned around.

My smile froze on my face, my brain processing the very familiar features.

I stopped walking , my legs stalling .

No.

Oh, God no.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Yesung! You forgot your lunch!!”

Hoseok felt his entire heart turn over in his ribcage at the sound of that voice.

No.. No way...it couldn’t be.

He turned around, stunned and his eyes caught a flash of lovely yellow, bright and incandescent in the dreary dullness of the office and oh god, it was her.

It was Elena.

She looked like sunshine.... Like one of those yellow tulips you saw in wall papers. Fresh and beautiful and even more breathtaking in the bright light of day and Hoseok felt like his brain had been fried.

She had seen him too and the look on her face said it all.

Guilt and horror flashed in rapid succession and those lips....those cherry red lips he’d tasted three days ago....they parted in shock.

Hoseok felt his mouth go dry as she went completely still.

“I’m so sorry sir... I don’t know why she came here!!” Kang Yesung’s voice drew him to the present and he frowned, watching as the man stalked over to her. His fists clenched as he saw the man grip her arm, hard.

Elena winced, looking hurt and something in Hoseok just snapped.

Completely forgetting where he was , who he was.... he stalked over , hands coming up to shove Yesung hard. The man, completely taken by surprise, stumbled and fell , crashing into the filling cabinets with a loud noise.

Everyone in the office went still, staring at him in sheer disbelief

And he knew exactly what they were thinking?

Did the Sunshine CEO just physically assault an employee? Was the world ending?

Hoseok stared at Elena.

“Are you alright? “ He whispered.

She was gawking at him, but also rubbing the skin where Yesung had grabbed her and before he could stop himself, he was reaching for her arm, brushing her own fingers away and stroking the skin with his.

“That looks like its going to bruise.” He whispered.

He whirled to glare at Yesung, who had pulled himself together and was now staring between Hoseok and Elena, shock written all over his features.

“Is this your code of conduct when it comes to women, Mr. Kang?” His voice came out loud and angry , almost a furious snarl.

Yesung turned an ugly shade of red.

“She’s my wife sir. She ...she knows she can’t visit me ...” Yesung was gaping at him.

“So you’re going to assault her?” He demanded.

Yesung closed his mouth quickly.

“Are you alright, El-” He stopped himself , “ Mrs Kang.”

She was looking at the floor.

“Yes , sir.” Her voice shook and he could see her hands trembling. The urge to draw her into his arms was so overwhelming he had to clench his fists to stop himself.

“Jungkook! “ He called for his assistant. “ Please drop Mrs. Kang back home. Make sure she doesn’t need anything else.”

Jungkook bowed and smiled wide at her.

“Please, this way, Mrs. Kang.”

Hoseok stared at her and she glanced at him, one small fleeting glance heavy with guilt and confusion and worry.

He closed his eyes, trying to get his palpitating heart under control.

Oh, God he was in so much trouble.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Also please give this fic a lot of love!!!!! My baby never gets the love he deserves!!!

author’s Note :

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

i LOVE jUNG hOSEOK.

THAT’S IT THAT’S THE TEA.

Feedback is how you repay me so don’t be shy <3

#jung hoseok #hoseok smut #hobi smut #hoseof fic #hoseok fanfics #hoseok ceo #bts smut #bts ceo au #bts fics #hoseok fic #hoseok fanfic

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Rodeo Romeo and Agent Juliet

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/Kingsman Reader

Word Count: 2,118

Warnings: None

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

Jack was never a fan of classic literature, but when Agent Juliet comes in from Kingsman for the annual Statesman Holiday Gala and immediately calls him the ‘Rodeo Romeo,’ he may be a little bit, okay a lot, in love with the totally off limits woman. What he doesn’t know is that darling Agent Juliet is just as deep in it for her beautiful Rodeo Romeo. Expect many references to Shakespeare, and I promise no one dies at the end.

Author’s Notes: Based off a wonderful post by @pedrocentric that cursed me into writing 2,000 words in a day. I love you for the stab of inspiration I was given.

The Statesman annual holiday gala was, in Jack’s words, a fancy pain in the ass. It was an excuse to get dressed up and horribly drunk, and while he knew his night would end in some beautiful woman’s bed, he didn’t want to go through the actual gala to get there.

“This is bullshit,” he decided firmly, adjusting his hat and mask. Every year, the gala had a theme, usually pretty vague so people could get creative. This year, the theme was masquerade. Jack, at Ginger’s request, was wearing his usual tuxedo that he wore to every gala, his hat, and a gorgeous black mask with intricate silver details. It was a pain in the ass, but he had to admit, the mask made him look really good.

“I know,” Ginger reassured, tying her own delicate golden mask. “But as two of the more involved agents, we have to attend.”

Jack sighed. “Anyone new attending this year, or will it be a familiar crowd?”

Ginger reached over his chest and readjusted his bow tie. “Kingsman is coming. Eggsy, Harry, and I think they’re bringing a new agent. Agent Juliet? They’re rebranding to have classic literature names instead of Arthurian legend names. Something about inclusivity, I think.”

“Yeah well,” Jack mumbled. “I was never a fan of classic literature.”

They left the room together, ready for the music and the lights of the party. It was a bit more toned down from last year, with quieter music and gentle lights. Plenty of Statesman agents filtered around, along with some of their business partners. Jack did what he always did at these parties. Started his night off with a glass of whiskey and went right into flirting with some pretty thing in a tight rose colored dress.

“Heads up,” Ginger said behind him, sliding up to the bar as Jack’s rosey target walked away. “Kingsman’s here.”

Jack turned, seeing the familiar two Kingsman agents he’d tried to kill. In his defense, he hadn’t been right in the head, and they’d both forgiven him. Apparently holding grudges wasn’t the Kingsman way.

“Whiskey,” Eggsy greeted as he walked up to the bar. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I could say the same about you,” Jack said smoothly. “Who’s the lady?”

Standing by Eggsy’s side, chatting happily with another woman, was the prettiest lady Jack had ever seen. Delicate features barely hidden behind a midnight blue and silver mask, Jack traced down perfectly shaped lips lined in dusty pink and a beautiful silver necklace that laid across her collarbones perfectly. Her dress was a soft looking midnight blue, all flowing fabrics and cinching at her natural waist with a silver belt. The heart shaped neckline and semi-sheer sleeves lay across her skin in a way that made her look, in a single word, like a goddess.

“This is Agent Juliet,” Eggsy introduced, nudging Juliet forward. “Jules, this is Agent Whiskey.”

Juliet scanned Jack from top to bottom, her brows knitting a bit as she thought.

“Oh!” She finally exclaimed. “Is this the one who couldn’t flirt for shit?”

Immediately, Jack almost choked on his drink while Eggsy laughed out loud. “Yeah!” He said. “Something like that.”

Juliet smiled. “From the looks of it, I’d say he’d a regular rodeo Romeo.”

Just like that, Jack was deeply in love with her. The way the corner of her mouth quirked as she gave him the nickname, the way her hands clasped in front of her, the look she gave him. It was enough to ruin the newly christened Rodeo Romeo.

“Jules?” An unfamiliar man came up, sliding a hand around Juliet’s waist. “Who’s this?”

Juliet sighed, a deep and unsatisfied sigh as she shifted the man’s hand off her hip. “Darling, this is Agent Whiskey. Agent, this is my boyfriend, Agent Paris.”

And with one word, she had broken his heart. Jack drew a breath in, an action that went entirely unnoticed by everyone but Ginger. She put a comforting hand on his arm. “It’s wonderful to meet you Agent Paris. Jack and I are going to see if we can’t find Champ, I’m sure you’ll want to meet him.”

Jack nodded halfheartedly as she pulled him off. Suddenly, he wasn’t very happy about meeting the new agents.

———

You sighed, watching Agent Whiskey get dragged away. He seemed so nice, and his brilliant brown eyes were so deep, you could’ve easily gotten lost in them all night. Instead, your boyfriend had to walk up, ruining the moment.

“Babe,” he said, kissing your neck, much to your disgust. “Want to dance?”

“No thanks,” you said sourly, hoping he understood your tone as you walked away, heading towards the bathrooms.

Sliding down the wall, you sighed, adjusting your shoes so they weren’t so tight, and finally abandoning them altogether.

“Knock knock,” a familiar voice said, knocking on the bathroom door. “Can I come in?”

Unlocking the door and allowing Eggsy to slide in, you smiled, seeing him holding two drinks. Accepting one and immediately swallowing down the soda sweetened liquid, you collapsed back against the wall. “Fuck me Eggsy, I hate him.”

“So break up with him,” Eggsy said plainly, joining you on the floor. “You’re an adult. Tell him he sucks complete ass and run right into the strong and manly arms of your cowboy Romeo.”

You punched his arm playfully. “Firstly,” you said. “It’s rodeo Romeo. And secondly, I am not in love with Agent Whiskey.”

Eggsy raised an eyebrow at you. “Yes. You are.”

“Am not.”

“Are to.”

You burst into laughter. “We sound like children,” you realized. “What was in that drink?”

“A bit of whiskey, some coke, a few ice cubes,” Eggsy recited. “Now go get your man.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood and smiled. “Maybe I will.”

You headed off to the balcony, intent on clearing your head. It was barren, the cold weather deterring most from braving the outside. You sighed, leaning against the railing and looking out at Statesman’s garden. It was beautifully kept, with fields of trees you assumed grew fruit in the warmer months.

A rustling broke you out of your thoughts. Looking down, you saw Jack wandering the gardens, his mask still on. He looked up, seeing you and smiling. “Ain’t this like, a big part of your story?” He asked.

You nodded. “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” You said, leaning over so you could see Jack better. “She’s wondering why he has his name, because that is the only thing preventing their relationship.”

“Yeah I was never into Shakespeare.”

You gasped. “Really? Romeo and Juliet is an undeniable classic! Hold on, I’m coming down, and when I do, you are in for one hell of a literature lesson.”

Hurrying down the stairs and into the gardens, you met Jack under the balcony. “I cannot believe you’ve never read Romeo and Juliet,” you grumbled to yourself.

“I never said that,” Jack said. “I’ve read it.”

You smiled, following his aimlessly wandering feet. “It was Shakespear’s greatest comedy, a work of absolute genius.”

“Back up,” Jack interrupted. “Comedy?”

“Yeah, comedy,” you said. “Shakespeare was incredibly, well, I don’t want to say he was anti-love, but he wrote Romeo and Juliet to poke fun at couples who said they were soulmates. After all, Romeo and Juliet spanned about three days time from start to finish.”

You continued to go into detail about the intricacies of Shakespeare, wasting away a good portion of the night. Jack was an excellent listener, occasionally asking a question that sent you on a tangent, but always quiet and respectful while you talked.

Finally, when the clock tolled twelve, you two headed back to the gala.

“It was nice getting to know you,” you said softly, not wanting to enter the building again. “Agent Paris is kind of a jerk about me talking to other men.”

“Oh my god, is there any redeeming thing about him?” Jack asked.

“Not that I can tell.”

Jack took your hands. “So break up with him. Find a man who’ll treat you right.”

You stared deep into his eyes, into the depth and complexities he kept hidden behind a deceptively simple brown color. “A man like you?”

Jack didn’t respond. Instead, he cupped your cheek and kissed you, molding his face to yours and satisfying that craving that had building in you since Paris.

“Jules?”

Jack broke away, sliding out of sight so quickly you had to wonder if you’d only imagined him. Eggsy came up to you, confused and a bit concerned. “Jules? Are you okay?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Never better.”

That night, you tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The ghost of Jack’s lips kept waking you, until you were forced to pull a robe on and open your balcony so you could get some fresh air and hopefully clear your head.

Settling on the stone and leaning your forehead against the railing, you stared out into the Statesman stables. “Romeo, Romeo,” you said, mostly to yourself as a comfort. “Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet.” You had memorized large portions of the story in order to keep yourself calm during Kingsman training, and even now, the familiar passage eased your troubles.

At least, until someone responded.

“I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized. Henceforth I never will be Romeo.”

You stood, looking out at the stables. Standing there, lit by the light of his phone, was Jack.

“Are you reading that off your phone?” You asked, a laugh bubbling in your throat.

“You’re getting the lines wrong!” Jack called back, coming closer so you could hear him properly.

Laughing, you leaned against the railing and stared at Jack. “You kissed me earlier.”

“You’re still getting the lines wrong.”

“Jack!” You said happily, unable to not laugh. “I’m serious!”

Jack’s grin was obvious even from your distance. “I did kiss you earlier. Are you mad about it?”

“No.”

“So shall we make love like your namesake?” He asked. “Run away and get married after having known each other, what, a few hours?”

You shook your head. “No. Because then we’d both have to die.”

Stepping closer, Jack shrugged. “Yeah, that would throw a wrench in my plans to woo and marry you.”

You yawned, and Jack smiled. “Does the lady need her beauty sleep?”

You gave him a very ladylike middle finger. “Goodnight Romeo.”

“Goodnight my fair Juliet.”

The next morning, you went out for a walk with Eggsy and Paris, walking by the stables and admiring the horses.

“Juliet!”

You turned, seeing Jack atop a beautiful black horse. He rode with ease, as if he’d been doing it all his life. “Fancy seein’ you here,” he said. “Y’all sticking around?”

Eggsy shrugged. “Jules wanted to stay for a bit. Airplanes make her wonky, so we’re leaving later tonight.”

Jack’s face visibly fell. “Aw damn. I liked having a beauty like you walkin’ around.”!

“Leave off,” Paris said, wrapping you in his arms. “She’s taken.”

“Might wanna reconsider that one,” Jack said with a wink. “What’d’ya say Juliet? Wanna take a ride with your Rodeo Romeo? Saddle’s got room for two.”

You didn’t even hesitate. Squirming out of Paris’s grip, you eagerly jumped the fence and joined Jack. “Just as long as we don’t die at the end.”

Jack helped you up in the saddle, kissing you long and hard. “Well, like I said, I’m not one for the original story anyway.”

He rode off with you, leaving Paris and Eggsy behind. Holding you tight as he jumped a fence, he continued out, beyond the orchards and the buildings, until you two had reached a small, run down church.

After helping you off the horse, Jack pulled you inside, where there was light and warmth.

“You’re really not helping our horribly cliche love story,” you said.

Jack raised an eyebrow, pulling you down onto a couch and wrapping you in his arms. “Am I? It’s been such a long time since I read Romeo and Juliet.”

You laughed. “Clearly. Although this is very close to the part where they both die.”

“And we definitely aren’t doing that, right?”

You nodded. “Definitely not.”

Jack looked around. “One day,” he said decisively. “I’m going to marry you. Right here, in this church. I promise.”

Smiling, you pressed a kiss to his nose. “Sure you will Romeo.”

Three years later, he asked you to marry him.

You, as if it were any question at all, said yes.

After all, how could you say no to your Romeo?

#kingsman the golden circle #kingsman #agent whiskey #jack 'whiskey' daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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chil2de · 3 years

Note

Hi just wondering if you’d ever consider writing for chuuya from bungo stray dogs and nishinoya from haikyuu. I love them both so much and you’re my favourite author and I’d really love to see how you’d write for them if you’re up for it

sorry @ all my other fandoms it’s literally the way i dropped everything to write this LMFAO

hiya!! i’m sosos happy this came through i remember a while back a lovely anon requested dazai from bsd and i completely forgot about it so aaaa!! so sorry if you’re reading this that anon! but nevertheless! i really, really adore chuuya and this is in fact my first time writing for bsd and chuuya for that matter. i’m so flattered anonie, thank you <3 i hope i done him justice :) p.s: i got a little bit carried away and was planning to post nishinoya in this one too but.. yeah. be sure to look out for him cause i’ll post a separate piece for yuu! enjoy.

nsfw content below! if you’re new here, please read my disclaimer here before proceeding. thank you!

a note: logically, this fanfic makes no sense because chuuya doesn’t wear his sexy vest + hat outfit until after dazai has left the port mafia so... don’t think about logic, k? (i think so anyway? it’s been a while)

there’s a clink of ice dragging against glass that chimes through the air. inside the glass seems to be a transparent liquid of sorts, leading anyone of the ordinary to believe that it may at least be vodka. in actuality, it’s just lemon flavoured water with some ice. it’s not like anyone would pick up his drink to take a sip anyway-

“oh? it’s not vodka? ehhhhh, are you trying to look cool, chuuya?” dazai takes a bold swig of the beverage before setting it back down onto the coaster. he bears a large grin that stretches from ear to ear, eyes lightly fluttered shut as he hums sardonically. there’s a spring in his step as he traverses beside chuuya and hops himself up onto the window, legs dangling and ankles fluttering.

“what the hell do you want?” chuuya barks, eyebrows creasing in disgust.

“what do i want? hm. like right now? you know.. i could probably go for some coffee right now! a cappucino? no- maybe latte? oh, wait, what about a flat white-“

“dazai.” chuuya hisses, spinning around from his chair to face him.

“seriously. cut the bullshit. why are you here, huh? i’m not having a tea party with you, so if you’re here to waste my time, leave.”

“ugh, you’re always so to the point. a little smalltalk and banter never killed anyone.”

“it killed my brain cells. spit it out.”

“chuuuyaaa~ you’re so meaaaan!”

there’s a scowl that chuuya pierces through dazai so heavily to the point where the latter is forced to drop his foxy act.

“we’re taking a woman in for questioning. she refuses to stay anywhere that’s not a proper bedroom, said that she’s more than willing to comply otherwise.”

“pffft, what a fucking stuck-up princess. so what? you’re sticking me with her?”

“believe me, you’ll thank me. i can’t take her. i’m out on a job in a few.”

“i’d never thank you but alright. i just have to keep an eye on her until tomorrow?”

“even you won’t be able to screw this up.” dazai remarks as he slides off the window, straightening himself before beelining towards the door.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean? you tryna say something?”

“uh-huh. anyways! see you later.”

as dazai heads outside, he takes one last glance at chuuya from over his shoulder.

“alsooo, can you keep the noise down to a minimum? everyone knows your name here already-“

“shut up!”

“yeah, okay~”

the door quietly shuts with a thud and chuuya leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling for a while.

within a couple of moments, he notices the shuffling of footsteps outside his room. instead of looking like a moron who fell asleep with his eyes open, he swings around to his desk and continues to gloss over the details of his next job.

an unfamiliar feminine voice rings out from behind him, causing his interest to peak.

“oh, um, thank you!” you awkwardly bow to the guards? the uh, big scary people with guns? (probably guards) who escorted you up to the room. you take a step inside and let out a small squeak before the door behind you shuts.

and locks.

“eh?”

“what’s with the ‘eh?’” chuuya snorts, not making the effort to turn to face you just yet. he goes to take a sip of his drink and wrinkles his face in disdain when he realises the being that tarnished it beforehand. using his right hand, he crosses over his left and effortlessly pours the beverage out the window. you only gawk at him with utter confusion. couldn’t he have just gotten up to go to the kitchen or something? do they even have a kitchen?

you conclude that standing around stiffly and eyeing the man at the desk isn’t a good look on you, so you move towards the bed. sure you said you wanted an actual room, but, you didn’t think it would be someone else’s.

“may i?” you motion towards the bed. chuuya briefly flickers his attention to you in his peripherals.

“sure.”

you scoot onto his bed, making yourself comfortable. you slide your back up against the wall, leaning yourself into the wall on your right as well. you decide to glance out the window, counting by the different coloured cars in hopes for either time to pass or the mafioso man to offer you some form of entertainment. maybe a book? oh, shit, uno cards? can you even imagine playing uno with him? this guy would flip his desk before the first round’s finished.

you laugh to yourself, and within a split second, you immediately lament your existence.

“what’s so funny?” chuuya implores, setting his pen down. you haven’t even turned yet and you can feel his gaze burning holes into you.

“nothing.” you blurt out.

his sigh fills the room as he picks up his chair before setting it down beside you. chuuya slumps down with his legs spread apart, torso cradling the back of his chair.

his slender and bony hand reaches out, ice cold fingertips from his beverage send you into a state of alarm as he clasps your chin before yanking your head to face him.

“i don’t tolerate bullshit. quite frankly, i won’t repeat myself to you.”

“the least you can do after strolling in here like a prestigious brat is listen to me. i don’t know what shit you pulled to get involved with the port mafia but-“

chuuya grazes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down. he peers down at your teeth and the beginning of the pink in your mouth.

“what were you snorting about?“

there’s a desire that fuels your extremities and every nerve in your body. you don’t know why, but fuck, this man makes you wanna act like an intolerant brat. and you think, what’s the harm? if you’re gonna get picked apart by the port mafia, you might as well start early.

and bonus points? he’s hot as shit.

“that’s none of your business, is it?” you grin over his finger, valiantly lapping and curling your tongue before circling the muscle over the tip of his thumb.

chuuya screws his face at you. his eyebrows furrow in turmoil at the blatant disrespect and the corners of his lips crinkle in distaste. your eyes lock with his deep blue orbs and you smirk at the arousal that glosses over them.

chuuya uncurls his hand from your chin before easily kicking aside his chair. it goes clattering halfway across the room.

“down on your knees.” chuuya snaps, tone deep and laced with danger. you oblige, scooting off the bed as fast as humanly possible before settling down onto your knees.

you eye chuuya as he grabs ahold of his belt. he’s extremely short, for one, so you can see why he’d ask you to sit like this. he’s slender, but not underweight. there’s obvious implications of built muscles along his body, especially his thighs and arms. there’s something about the black fingerless gloves that rock against his smooth and pale skin that makes your stomach stir.

“what are you staring at?” he hisses before tossing aside his belt.

“isn’t that obvious?” you remark, licking your lips.

chuuya flashes you a smirk before zipping his fly open. using his gloved dominant hand, he decorates your face by slapping his thick dick against your cheek. his cock is piping hot against your face. you swallow with anxiety when his size is made apparent to you. he’s got a girth that’s wider than average, with a length of around 7 inches. maybe 8? you’re not exactly sure. you lick your lips at the deep red tones that flush his pretty cock.

“i’ll wipe that shitty attitude clean off your face. you’re reminding me of that dumbass clown.”

“eh? an ex or something? you’re bisexual? that’s freaking amazing! happy pride mont-“

“shut the fuck up. you spew way too much.” chuuya barks before shoving his cock down your throat mid-sentence. you gag and sputter around his length, fuelling his ego.

he grabs ahold a fistful from the back of your head, using your strands to roughly pick you up and back onto his cock. your wrists scramble to his hips and you try to push him back, to whimper that it’s too much and too sudden for you.

“where’s that cocky big girl attitude gone now? you can’t suck a dick? almost makes me feel bad for you.”

you whine and spill muffled complaints but it only fuels him further. it sets chuuya’s veins ablaze, controlling you like this.

you weren’t even sure it would be possible, but he manages to brush his tip against the back of your throat. your vision blurs, tears streaming out from your gag reflex. your nose runs and you can only sniffle constantly. drool and saliva envelopes the underside of his shaft, leaving your chin and some of your neck soaked. you wrinkle and wince your nose at the small stubble that’s slowly beginning to grow back near his base. through your tear stained lashes, you look up at chuuya like the good girl you are, lips wrapped around his dick and all.

“oh you god damn kinky bitch” he hisses out through a whine, features melting in compassion.

in that moment, recollection flashes in his eyes. he slides himself out, and a loud wet slurp fills the room. through your blurry vision and fit of coughing, chuuya grabs the long abandoned chair, spinning the back support until it lands the right way. he takes a seat, cock painfully erect and glistening in the deep orange sunset light.

his slender and pretty long fingers curl in a “come here” motion. his other hand leans into his jaw and he bears a smug grin. the harsh lighting from outside pours in so that only half of his face is visible, even then, you can still make out the fact that he’s about to absolutely fucking ruin you.

“ride me.”

#fun fact: today i found out i share the same personality type as okkotsu yuta #it’s a sign for marriage😔🤚#hsbdhfs i hope i wrote him well <3 thanks anon for the request!#bsd #bsd chuuya #bsd imagines #bsd headcanons #chuuya nakahara #nakahara chuuya #chuuya fluff #chuuyabsd #chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya x y/n

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melon-wing · 3 years

Text

Unrequited Love [Ren/Grian/Impulse]

[Fanfiction Masterlist] Grian smoothed down the fabric of the costume he was wearing and smiled at his reflection. Mumbo had teased him earlier when he’d seen Grian’s costume hanging inside the base, but Grian loved it. Sure, the guy who had sold it to him off-world might have thought Grian was buying it for his girlfriend, but that hadn’t stopped his excitement.

He was dressed in all black, a top held up by an array of leather belts, with translucent fabric attached to it’s back and sides, when Grian moved around it flew nicely behind him and the little pieces of glitter sparkled like the night sky. Below it he just wore some simple black pants… Well, simple apart from the fact they were so tight it had taken him a good minute to get inside.

Grian picked up the gloves from his bed, and pulled one after the other over his hand and arm, the soft satin gently caressing his skin. They stopped a bit above his elbow. He turned to look at himself in the mirror again and smiled. There was a loud knock on his door and a loud string of curses escaped his mouth. Damn, was it already so late? He really should have taken less time doing his makeup, but he had just felt the need to put some on to complete the look.

Grian hurriedly stepped into his boots, pulling them up all the way to his knees. There was another knock. He grabbed the rest of his outfit and strode to the door of his mansion hurriedly, pulling it open just after a third knock, to look at Mumbo, hand still raised from knocking.

“Took you long e- Grian! Oh my word!”

Mumbo looked him up and down and Grian knew that look he had on his face, the way his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“That is a rather... interesting look you got there. How in the world can you even walk in these?” Mumbo was staring at the boots and Grian smiled as he looked down at the heel as well, shrugging slightly. “Lots of practice. It’s not that hard once you get used to it”, he said and then let his eyes travel over Mumbo. “You look adorable.”

Mumbo was still wearing his suit and from afar, Grian probably wouldn’t have even noticed a change. Mumbo had two cat ears clipped into his hair and when Grian leaned a bit to the side he could see a black tail attached to the suit pants.

“I wanted to go as a secret agent again, but I was warned that I would not be let inside then, because wearing sunglasses is apparently not a real costume.”

Grian giggled and finally put a little black hat atop his head. He had considered also taking a broom with him, but it would have been annoying to carry that thing around for the whole party. Mumbo offered an arm and Grian took it, letting himself be led down the stairs by his friend.

“You really should have dressed up as an angel. Then you could have gone an evening without the need to hide your wings. I bet the others would have been impressed by that costume”, Mumbo said thoughtfully.

Grian only shrugged. “Not spooky enough”, he mumbled, though that wasn’t the real reason. He didn’t want the other Hermits to see his wings. He didn’t want them to know. Mumbo only knew because he had found out by accident. Not even Ren knew he was a Watcher and they had been getting closer and closer lately.

Mumbo chuckled a bit, luckily not picking up on Grian’s unconfident thoughts.

“Or could it maybe just be the fact that Ren told you he had a thing for ‘sexy lil witches’? Though I think you might have overdone the sexy part a bit.”

Grian could feel the heat rising to his cheeks immediately, as his mind wandered to Ren. Mumbo had hit the nail right on the head. While he hadn’t dressed up as an angel because of personal reasons he probably wouldn’t have dressed up like this if it hadn’t been for Ren. His best friend just knew him too well.

“I just liked the costume. And I bet he was talking to Impulse when he said that. You know? His boyfriend? His very serious and long term partner? Even some stupid sexy costume won’t change that”, Grian replied, going from flustered to saddened. “Just this once. I just want him to look at me and think I’m attractive once. I want him to look at me even a tiny bit the way he looks at Impulse.”

“Grian, you know they love-”

“Do you think Xisuma will have a new suit again?” Grian interrupted Mumbo suddenly, raising his voice slightly. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t even want to think about it. And while Mumbo gave him a knowing look he still indulged him in changing the topic.

It didn’t take them long to reach the area where Xisuma had set up the party, an open field just next to a forest. Everything was decorated for the occasion, lit up pumpkins surrounding the area. There were chairs and tables, crates of drinks and foods set up. Loud music came from some redstone contraption that Mumbo had built a few days ago. Xisuma greeted them with a smile, still wearing his armour, but at least he had changed its look once more, now resembling some spooky creature instead of the little friendly striders.

Grian’s eyes drifted to the people already there and then his eyes landed on Ren and Impulse, standing in one corner and he could feel his heart pulling him forward. He left Mumbo’s side, who only gave him a little sigh, probably knowing of Grian’s hopes. What if they’d look at him differently today? Maybe today they’d finally notice him in a different way.

Ren turned around first. He was dressed up in the robes he had worn back at the demise games, a hood covering his hair. The scythe he used to carry around was lying abandoned on a wall off to the side, along with some scary looking mask that he had probably added on to the costume, more fitting the style of his space themed area he was living in now.

And sure, the costume was probably not meant to be sexy, but the spooky and powerful vibes Ren gave of in this were such a turn on to Grian and he swallowed, almost tripping over in his heels. He raised his gaze from Ren’s costume to his face. Ren was looking at him open mouthed, eyes wide and Grian was pretty sure he saw a blush. He smirked. Well things were going as planned after all. Grian’s eyes drifted to Impulse and he froze for a second. Impulse was dressed up like he had been in Demise as well, fake blood staining his clothes that were partly ripped. A partner’s costume… Now wasn’t that nice?

Grian forced a smile onto his face and kept walking while knowing that those two pairs of eyes were fixed on him.

“Grian, dude! You look good! Only you would be crazy enough to pull off a look like that. It suits you!”, Ren said, pulling him into a half hug and patting his back a few times. Grian could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, looking up at Ren, right into his eyes. In his mind he was just throwing his arms around Ren and pulling him into a kiss, but that was just a fantasy.

“Thanks. You guys look good as well. That brings back some very nice memories of last season.”

“Like when you killed me, lil guy?”

Grian burst into giggles.

“Your greed killed you, not me. Well your greed and your cute overexcitement when you jumped off that tank.”

Ren laughed as well and suddenly there was a hand on the side of Grian’s face, gently tugging a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Well right now I’d say you’re the cute one between us, Grian.”

Grian’s heart was racing. He leaned into the touch, his breathing getting faster. Was it just imagination or was Ren leaning forward? Was this just another one of his daydreams or was this-

“Ren”, Impulse’s voice pulled them from the trance and Ren let his hand drop immediately, stepping back with a sheepish smile, before turning to Impulse and caressing his cheek the same way he had just done to Grian.

“No worries, my sweet little zombie boyfriend, I haven’t forgotten about you. I never would.”

Grian felt his heart aching as he forced the smile to stay on his face. Impulse looked at him weirdly, making Grian wonder if he knew how much Grian wanted to get in between them. Or maybe he thought Grian only wanted to steal Ren away… God, he couldn’t bear it if Impulse started hating him. He quickly raised his hands defensively and smiled.

“Yeah! I won’t use my charm to bewitch him, no worries. I have my eyes on someone else anyways. There was a reason I dressed up like this after all”, he just lied. He needed them to get off his trail and a crush on someone else would certainly remove all the doubt cast on him.

Ren looked confused and wanted to say something, probably to ask who that person was, but Grian didn’t give him a chance, making up some excuse about having to go over to Doc to annoy him a little next and he darted off to the table filled with drinks where Doc stood.

He had an easy time, falling into his bantering with Doc while getting a drink, both of them poking fun at the other’s costume. And seriously… A half creeper dressing up as a cat - “because seriously Grian, those things are scary as hell.” - was the funniest thing. At least Doc had put some more thought into his costume than Mumbo and actually looked good in the get up.

They were a few drinks in, both laughing at Grian telling another story of a prank he had pulled, when Doc was called away by Ren. An amused snort left his lips.

“Gotta go, G. Someone is not happy about us talking.”

Grian sighed, shaking his head. He didn’t really know what Doc was hinting at, but he’d probably know sooner or later if it involved some shenanigans on the server. Maybe something about the war in the shopping district. But he was still the tiniest bit annoyed at Doc for hurrying off. Just when he had started to have fun and forgotten about everything else. He took another full bottle and then went off to the side, sitting down on a small stone wall, letting his eyes travel over the party now going in full swing.

He smiled fondly, when he saw Mumbo. A very drunk Stress was sitting on his lap, painting whiskers on his face and by how flushed Mumbo was, she was definitely moving around more in his lap than absolutely needed and Grian bet she knew what she was doing. Despite the very obvious flustered state Mumbo was in, he didn’t seem too uncomfortable, so Grian wouldn’t need to pull one of his best friend saving moves.

Doc had moved on from Ren and was now in a heated discussion with Iskall. Going from the way their hands were moving and their scrunched up faces, it had something to do with redstone. And well… Those two discussing redstone? That could take at least an hour. So much for Grian’s plan to go back to their little banter.

That meant he had to find something else to distract himself. Or someone else… He knew for a fact that Bdubs wouldn’t say no if Grian came on to him. Maybe he could just have some fun and-

He looked at Impulse and Ren again, Ren throwing his head back and laughing, Impulse smiling softly, and Grian’s heart jumped in joy.

Maybe he’d just get another drink after all.

~*~

The party had been going for a while now. And honestly, Grian wanted to have fun, he really tried to. He had downed a few drinks, hoping to loosen up, but the way Impulse and Ren stuck together, showing way too much PDA, was really putting his mood down.

Impulse leaned over to Ren, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, making the other giggle in amusement. Grian felt something tighten in his stomach. He wished he could make all his feelings just disappear, go and take the pain away. He wished he could turn back time to stop himself from ever starting the Hippies. If he had just let things go, maybe joined Area77 instead of fighting them, he could have just developed a crush on someone like Doc who probably would have been much more open to any advances Grian made. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel this overwhelmed and helpless right now.

Xisuma walked up to Ren and Impulse, talking to them and Ren stood up, waving to Impulse before leaving with their admin.

Grian felt relief flooding him, followed by guilt. He shouldn’t be feeling like that. He should be happy for his friends. It should be enough for him that the people he loved were happy, even if he wasn’t the one to give them their Happy Ever After.

This guilt burdened him every day, overwhelming him, combining with the sadness and jealousy, making him fall deeper and deeper into what felt like an endless hole of his own creation. He had tried to get out, tried to move on. It seemed impossible. It was as if his crush was a giant mountain he had to dig through, but all he had was a wooden pickaxe.

Every time he looked at them, every time they showed any signs of affection for one another, everytime they were nice to him, everytime they kissed, the mountain just seemed to grow, becoming even more impossible to overcome. And he hadn’t even started digging yet, just standing in front of the mountain, frozen, unable to do anything.

Grian looked into his glass at his own reflection. He had really tried his best for this party. He had really thought he could sway them if he just looked attractive enough. It hadn’t worked.

“What’s got you looking so sad?”

Grian looked up at Zedaph and Tango, who both looked at him and then sat down on the wall next to him, both taking one side. Tango was dressed up in a white robe, little wings and a halo attached to his body to finish the look, wearing golden glitter all over his body. Zedaph on the other hand was wearing a red suit, with little bat wings and two red horns on his head.

“Nothing. I was just lost in thought. The question is what’re the two of you up to again? Playing a little angel and devil on my shoulder?”

They both giggled and it was Zedaph who spoke up first.

“Really no need for that if we both tell you the same thing. Although, if it helps, I can phrase it more crudely and Tango can make it sound more sweet.”

Grian looked between them in confusion as his eyes finally settled on Tango.

“What?”

“See, told you he would like to hear it said more sweetly, honey.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

Grian just raised his eyebrows in confusion and Tango smirked. A smirk that didn’t really fit the way he was dressed up.

“Well we noticed the way you were looking at our dear buddy Impulse as if he was a godly being walking among mortals.” “Also the way you devour Ren’s sexy ass.”

“Yeah, that as well. You’re pretty obvious.”

Grian felt a blush rising to his cheeks, against all effort to suppress it. He knew where this was going. This is why he had tried to hide his crush from the other Hermits as well. They would disapprove and tell him not to get in between those two. He didn’t want to hear how hopeless it was from somebody else. His mind was already doing a good enough job of screaming that.

“You guys really don’t have to worry! I won’t do anything.”

“Well now that is the problem and why we came here”, Zedaph said and Tango made a sound of agreement.

“Yes. I think Impulse really wouldn’t mind banging you.”

“TANGO! Language! Remember you’re the angel. I’m the one doing the dirty talk.”

Tango giggled and batted his eyelashes a bit, trying to look innocent. “Sorry. I meant Impulse and Ren really want to spend some quality time with you.”

Grian wanted to laugh at that. He did believe that Tango was telling the truth. What would he gain from lying? But what he was saying… This wasn’t what Grian had wanted.

He simply nodded and Zedaph went on.

“What Tango was trying to say is that the two of them have been talking about you. They’ve been doing that for a while but they won’t get their asses up and ask. And we noticed how sad you are. It really shouldn’t be our place to tell you, but since they’re too dumb to realise… They really would like you to join their-”

“It’s alright”, Grian interrupted Zedaph and stood up, gently smoothing down the fabric of his costume with one hand and then turning around to look at his fellow hermits. “I know you want to help, but I’m really not interested. You must have misunderstood.”

It was weird. All they were saying made his heart race and hurt at the same time. He wanted to be with Impulse and Ren. He really did. He would give anything to be with them. But to hear from someone so close to them that all they were interested in was Grian’s body and to have a little adventure with him? It hurt so bad.

“If you’ll excuse me now, I need another drink. Maybe try your angel and devil spiel on someone more interested. I think Mumbo’s pining hard for Stress and too scared to make a move. I’m just fine.”

Without letting Tango and Zedaph protest he went over to the drinks again, putting his empty bottle into one of the crates and looking over the selection of drinks. He heard a noise and raised his head, looking to the forest. Ren stood there between the trees, staring at him through the holes of his mask, beckoning him with one hand. Grian blinked in confusion, turning his head to look behind him. Surely Ren meant Impulse and not him. But Impulse was still sitting off to the side and no other Hermit was close by. Noone was even looking in Ren’s direction and Xisuma still had not returned. Grian turned back. Ren was still waving him over. So Ren really did mean him. Grian felt his heart skip a beat when he walked around the table and up to Ren. But just when he reached him, Ren turned around and started walking into the forest.

“Ren? What’s up? You already done with whatever help Xisuma needed?”

Ren just nodded and kept walking and Grian stumbled a bit trying to follow him. This forest ground was really not made for high heels.

“Do you want to show me something?”

Ren nodded again and Grian smiled a bit uncertain. Well Ren surely was full of surprises and this might be one of them.

“Well let’s go then. Just… Maybe a bit slower. I really don’t wanna fall down.”

Ren turned his head a bit, looking at him, but Grian really couldn’t make out any expression with his mask back on his face again, covering everything but his eyes, the hood so low that it cast a shadow, making even his eyes disappear.

Ren made a hum of agreement. It seemed to echo and Grian looked around in confusion. Well that was a strange effect. The trees weren’t even close enough to produce an echo…

“Where are we even going in such a hurry? What do you have planned? Any prankage happening?”

“Hungry… So hungry.”

Grian looked at him a bit confused, but then smiled again. “Oh well that explains the hurry. You really should have gotten something from the snack bar before taking me here. Just… A little slower then.”

They started walking again. Slower this time, giving Grian the opportunity to walk up next to Ren. He kept looking down at Ren’s hand, right next to his and his heart was racing as he decided to be brave. He let his hand brush past Ren’s a few times and when he didn’t pull away, Grian just grabbed it gently. He expected Ren to pull away or make a joke, but he just closed his fingers around Grian’s hand, holding it tight.

Grian smiled.

He’d have this at least.

~*~

Impulse smiled as he watched Ren and Grian retreat into the forest. Everything was going according to plan. He had been a bit worried when he had seen Zedaph and Tango approaching Grian. They had kept threatening to tell Grian everything if he and Ren didn’t finally pull their heads out of their asses and confess.

But they were ready now. They had planned everything. They had waited so long for this evening. Ren would talk to Grian now. Alone without Impulse, so they wouldn’t overwhelm him and so the others wouldn’t notice. Grian could let Ren down gently without feeling pressured in a two against one situation. And since Ren and Grian had been closer before Impulse had entered the picture, Impulse had let Ren have the honour of confessing for both of them.

Impulse would get his own opportunity to shower Grian in love later, if everything went according to plan. It had been kind of cute, seeing Ren so overeager the whole evening. He had almost spilled their secret the moment his eyes had landed on Grian in his sexy costume. And Impulse could understand that sentiment. One comment from Ren and Grian had dressed up like that. It really had to mean something. Both of them were so confident… He just wished Ren would have told him he’d go for it now after he had been done helping out Xisuma with setting up the fireworks. It had just been a lucky coincidence that Impulse had glanced up when Grian had followed Ren.

Impulse kept glancing at the forest, heart racing as he fiddled with the scythe lying next to him nervously. He knew a talk light that might need a while. Ren surely would have some explaining to do. Impulse just wished he was still able to see them between the trees. They couldn’t have gone more than a couple of metres after all.

A few minutes passed. Impulse’s fingers kept twitching, his leg bouncing up and down. He rolled the scythe back and forth on the little wall. A loud clattering sound yanked him out of his thoughts and he looked down in confusion, bending down to pick up the object that had fallen. He looked at it in confusion. It was the metal mask that was part of Ren’s costume. He had abandoned it earlier in the evening, because he had said it was weird to have his face covered all the time.

Hadn’t he just worn that when he had walked into the forest? Impulse was pretty sure he had seen it on Ren’s face…

“I’m back!”

Impulse raised his eyes from the mask to Ren who was walking up to the little wall, Xisuma only a few steps behind him. He wasn’t wearing a mask… He had come out of the opposite direction of the forest.

“Ren…? How… How did it go? What did he say?” Surely Ren must have just rounded the party, maybe he had taken a walk while talking to Grian. Surely there was a logical explanation.

Ren stepped up to him, tilting his head, scrunching up his forehead in confusion. “Xisuma?”

“No. Grian. What did he say?”

“I… What?”

“Didn’t you just go into the forest with him?”, Impulse asked, a weird feeling rising in his stomach. “Oh god, did he take it that bad and ran off?”

“Impulse what are you talking about? I was just helping Xisuma out. It took a bit longer because he’s crazy and went completely overboard with the fireworks again.”

Impulse suddenly felt panic rising. He had seen Ren walk into the forest with Grian. He was so sure of that. But had he really seen Ren. With the robe and the mask covering the whole body.

“Ren… I just saw someone dressed in your costume take Grian into the forest. I thought you were going with him for a talk.”

Ren froze up a bit as well, his smile faltering a bit.

“You think someone is playing a prank on him? You don’t think Tango or Zedaph would pretend to be me to get this done with?”

They both looked to the party and as Impulse’s eyes drifted over the people his heart began sinking further and further until Ren uttered the words that made his heart almost stop, voice filled with dread.

“Everyone else is here.”

Impulse sprang into action at once, running over to Xisuma and grabbing the admin who dropped a crate of fireworks.

“Impulse? What the…?” “X! You need to teleport Grian over here right now!” Xisuma looked at him in a mixture of confusion and worry.

“Impulse. Calm down. What’s going on?”

“Grian went into the forest with a person and everyone whitelisted is here. X! He could be in danger!”

Xisuma seemed alerted at once, the helmet lighting up with what Impulse knew was the admin console. He let go and Xisuma typed something apparently into thin air. Impulse waited with bated breath. A teleport wouldn’t take long. It was a simple command. A very simple command. Seconds passed. Xisuma was typing again. And again. And again, his movements getting more frantic.

“I can’t teleport him. Something is interfering with my powers.”

Impulse felt like someone had dumped an ice cold bucket over him, desperate eyes looking to the forest.

“No… Grian.”

~*~

Grian felt his heart racing as they kept walking, the forest growing more and more dense. They were lucky though, no mobs were spawning and Grian wondered if Xisuma had tweaked the world’s settings a bit for their little party after the phantom fiasco of last year when all the redstoners had forgotten to get some sleep in a bed before the big event.

“Is it much further? I don’t think I can go back if we walk any longer. I might look confident in these heels, but they’re not made for long distances.” Grian gave a small chuckle, but Ren didn’t say anything. It was weird, just how quiet he was. Usually Ren would chatter all the way to some destination. It was hard to get him to stop talking.

“Ren is everything alright?”

“Hungry…”

Grian made a confused sound and looked around again. Something felt off. Something wasn’t right. The forest was quiet. Too quiet. This was not natural.

Grian cast a look at Ren, but he seemed really focused ahead on whatever way he had planned out for him. He wouldn’t notice… Grian concentrated and he knew his eyes were glowing slightly. Ren’s fingers twitched, tightening on his hand and Grian wondered if he somehow felt the Watcher magic. But there was no way he could. He would only notice if he turned and noticed the glow in Grian’s eyes.

Grian let his magically enhanced senses spread out. There was nothing. Nothing at all. And that was a huge red flag. There was always something. He always felt something. There was no sign of any living being, alive or dead close by. Not even a tiny insect. Not even...

Grian suddenly stopped, pulling his hand from Ren’s grasp.

Not even Ren.

He took a few hurried steps back.

“Ren. What is going on? Why… Why do you have no life force?”

There was a weird echoing sound and it took Grian a few seconds to realise that it was laughter. Deep, distorted laughter. And it was coming from Ren.

Ren raised a hand to the mask, taking it off as the hood of the robe fell back as well.

Grian was staring straight into Ren’s face. It looked like Ren, but the expression seemed so twisted. A grin he had never seen on Ren’s face, revealing sharp teeth when he opened his mouth.

“I’m hungry.”

Grian took a few steps back again. Ren’s mouth stretched open so much further than a human mouth could, revealing so many sharp teeth.

“You look tasty. You smell good”

Grian raised his hand up as fast as he could, but Ren - no, not Ren, something - was faster as he was pushed against a wide tree with a force that was not human, his head hitting the wood hard, making him dizzy.

He summoned his magic up, a purple glow surrounding his whole body. He’d just push the creature off, summon his wings and run off. He just needed another second to collect his energy and-

The creature moved forward. Grian expected an attack, but suddenly lips were pressed against his. It felt weird, it felt wrong. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t pull away. The glow around him started to flicker. He tried to summon his magic, but it kept slipping from his grasp. And then the glow disappeared completely. The creature pulled back from him. His face morphing into that of Impulse and Grian looked at it out of breath, feeling so weak all of the sudden, his legs beginning to shake.

“W-what…?”

“You really are tasty… Unrequited love. The amount of sadness. Loneliness. Desperation. It all called out to me so loud. So tasty.” The creature licked its lips, a long tongue darting from the wide mouth. “I’ve never had a taste this good. Being in love with two people… Must be painful.” Another laugh, echoing all around Grian’s head, Impulse’s voice being distorted as if another voice was speaking at the same time. ”And you have magic as well. This meal will last me for centuries. I will enjoy every last drop of your energy until you’re nothing but a hollow shell… and then I’ll devour you.”

Grian made a tiny sound, raising his hands, weakly trying to push the creature away, but he couldn’t stop it from moving forward again.

“Goodbye, little witch.”

There were lips on his again and Grian’s legs buckled when he grew even weaker. An arm snaked around his waist, holding him upright, as the lips pressed harder against his.

So this would be his end.

He really should have confessed to Impulse and Ren.

For someone two centuries old he really was a coward.

The creature pushed harder against him. Grian felt sharp teeth.

His vision swam, black dots dancing in front of his eyes. He searched for his magic. What was usually a roaring wildfire inside of him was now nothing more than a flickering candle flame and he directed it all to pull deeper inside, pulling it down to protect his magic core. He already felt a crack forming at what was essentially his soul, pain spreading through his whole body.

He’d die.

He’d die here and his friends would never even find his dead body, not knowing about his fate, searching for him and maybe one day thinking he abandoned this world.

Grian felt a tear run down his face. His hands fell from the fabric of the robe, his arms dangling uselessly at his side now. It was over.

A loud scream. Grian was falling. There were loud noises. A taunting voice. The creature. Screams. He needed to open his eyes again, to see what was going on. He was on the ground. Would he be devoured now? Something pressed against Grian’s lips and for a second he thought even his last bit of energy would be sucked out now, but it didn’t feel like lips. It was more hard and cold. It pushed unrelenting until Grian opened his mouth the tiniest bit. Liquid started to flood his mouth and through the fog he realised that he knew the all too familiar taste of Stress’ brewing. He swallowed the potion greedily, feeling at least some of his energy return.

Slowly he opened his eyes to see Impulse and Ren’s worried faces right above him, Ren being the one to hold the potion up to his face. Xisuma stood behind them, helmet abandoned, a sword still in his hands. All of them were covered in something that looked like black blood. The bottle of potion disappeared and Grian opened his mouth, but his voice was still weak and barely above a whisper.

“What happened…?”

“A succubus”, Xisuma replied, voice cold as he looked at something on the ground. Grian followed his gaze. On the ground was a body, but it was no longer wearing Impulse’s or Ren’s face, but a weird distorted monstrous grimace, hollow eyes staring emptily at the sky. “I don’t know how it managed to sneak inside this world. I’m glad we made it to you in time. From the way it was glowing I’d say another minute and you would have been dead…” Xisuma stopped and looked at Grian searching for something. “We’ll talk later about why a succubus was also sucking magic from you and not just energy.”

Grian smiled weakly and nodded.

“I also think the three of you need to talk. I don’t really want a repeat of this. We’re not taking chances… Message me when you’re done. Teleport works again.”

Grian stared after Xisuma in confusion as he walked over to the body, touching it, which caused it to disappear in the green light of his admin magic. Xisuma took one last look at them and then walked away as well. Grian turned to Impulse and Ren, about to ask what this was about, when two pairs of arms pulled him up and he was crushed in a hug.

“Guys…?”

“I’m so sorry, Grian. So sorry. This is all our fault”, Ren whispered, his voice heavy with sadness. Grian didn’t understand why he sounded so sad, but before he could ask, Impulse continued, voice sounding just as depressed.

“It told us. You were just targeted because of us. Because you love us.”

Grian felt his heart sink, his eyes widening. Right. The creature had talked about feeding on his unrequited love. Oh god. It had told them. The taunting voice he had heard in his dazed state. That must have been it.

“I- It’s- I’m…” Grian took a shaking breath. “It’s not your fault. You can’t change the way you guys feel. It’s not your fault you love each other and not me.”

They both pulled back, but only slightly, arms still on Grian as they all sat on the forest floor.

“But Grian…” Ren looked at him, eyes shining as he gently caressed Grian’s back. “We do. We really do love you. We were just cowards. If we had just told you earlier that we loved you”

“You… What?”

“We love you”, Impulse answered, smiling softly.

Grian sobbed loudly and he felt the stinging of tears in his eyes, trying real hard to hold them back. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. He couldn’t.

“You really don’t have to say that. I don’t need you to pretend The possibilities of another succubus coming by is really low and I bet Xisuma will raise the defenses after today and-”

There was a finger on his lips. Ren’s. Both of them smiled. Both of them looked at him with nothing but love.

“Grian, we really do love you”, Ren said and Grian couldn’t hold the tears back any longer, letting them flow freely, raising his arms to put them around the other two now again, all of them pressed together tightly.

“God, I love you two so much.”

“We know”, Ren said and chuckled softly. “Almost dying to a love sucking monster is a really crazy way of confessing though, G-man, just so you know.”

Grian laughed through the tears as well and when he pulled back he smiled at them softly. He might have almost died and he still felt far too weak to even walk back, but the way those two looked at him, as if he was the most precious being in this world right now made him think that this might be the best Halloween he’s ever had after all.

#hermitship #hermitshipping #polyhippies #Happy late Halloween

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minnie-mei · 4 years

Note

okay so hyde likes knives, blood, and tattoos. and he can be both masochistic and sadistic,,,,and he is possessive,,,,,imagine, he takes his favourite knife and writes hyde on his darlings arm, then gives the knife to her and makes her to do the same to him,,,,,blood oozes from both of their names,,,and then they mutually lick the blood hohoho sorry i’m nasty 👉🏽👈🏽😳

cut me | jackson hyde

yandere oc !

scenario !

gn! reader

note; this is right up his alley bitch thank you for this request 👁️👄👁️

WARNING(S): NSFW !!! AT THE END, swearing, obsessive/possessive behavior, abusive themes, graphic violence, implied kidnapping, blood, sensitive topics

This wasn't an unfamiliar sight; Jackson Hyde coming home covered in blood after returning from a kill. But it was, however, the first time he returned injured.

It wasn't a major injury or anything, the blood on him wasn't his, but he had a deep, messy cut running down his jawline. You weren't sure if he felt it or not; he was moving around perfectly fine, save for his breathing being slightly heavier and movements a bit rushed. He began stripping down as he usually did, ridding himself of his black shirt and hat and throwing them into the hallway. You were sure there were stains on the floor from where he did that so often, but it wasn't like you were ever given the chance to look.

"C'mere, Doll." He snapped his large fingers, pointing to the edge of the bed. His hands ruffled through the messy black hair atop his head, before pulling a familiar knife from his belt.

You thought it was pretty and he knew it. That's why it was his favorite, actually. You remember when he lined out all his blades in front of you and asked you to pick which one you thought was best. You'd picked an 8-inch, black handled hunting knife with daisy patterns decorating the silver. It was ironic how delicate it looked despite its intended purpose.

You were shaking by the time you crawled over to where he wanted you. He didn't waste any time either, rushing to lean down and press his lips to yours, the blood from his jaw smearing on your chin and dripping down your neck.

"Shh." He shushed your whimper, shoving you roughly back onto the bed before pinning your arms down with one hand, his other clasping his knife. Crawling up your body, he moved to straddle your thighs to keep you from kicking, his hands unmoving. It was entirely too quiet in the house, at least to you. The only thing that could be heard was Hyde's heavy breathing.

The raven haired man wasn't moving, preferring to stare at your body below him instead. You were wearing nothing but his favorite Mötley Crüe t-shirt, a garment that was maybe six sizes too big for you, and a pair of skimpy pink panties he'd bought for you as a shitty surprise gift only a day ago. You knew he liked seeing his shirts on you, they were all he gave you to wear and he'd told you on multiple occasions how fuckable you looked when wearing them. But he'd never watched you beneath him for this long before.

"Ya so pretty." He said suddenly, his crazed hazel his glaring into yours, "Mine. You're mine, ya know that? Forever."

His large left hand gripped down on yours harder when you started to struggle, having spotted his knife moving down your body.

"Jack-!" You gasped his nickname out, knowing how well he liked when you used it, "I've been good!"

"So good." He agreed, using his knife to push the shirt further towards your chest, revealing the soft skin of your stomach.

You jerked when the cold silver touched your ribs, "So- ah- why...?!"

"It's not a fuckin punishment, so relax, Doll." He scoffed, some form of desperation still strong in his voice, "This'll be good for us..."

To be fair, the cuts weren't that deep, just barely enough to scar. But that didn't stop the broken screams from leaving your lips at the sharp metal dragging across your upper abdomen. Hyde didn't seem to mind the screams, probably used to them now that you thought about it. He just continued, humming some rock song to himself with a sick look of satisfaction across his face.

He cooed at you when he was done, dropping the knife and pulling your hands to his mouth to press sweet kisses to your fingers, "Ya did good, baby~ Took me cuttin' up ya little tummy so well, huh?"

Excluding the carving of your stomach, he'd never actually been this sweet with you before. He was usually blunt or sarcastic, only nice if it was in a teasing way. He was gentle sometimes but always sure to make up for it with plenty of bites and rough pinches.

"'Don't gotta cry..." he kissed your tears away to the best of his ability, "Ya get ta do it ta me." He chuckled darkly when your sobs began dying down out of surprise, "I'm yours too. Here, here..."

The knife was shoved into your hands, Hyde forcing you to grip it as he still hovered over you. He didn't have to speak out loud for you to know what he wanted. His eyes said it all.

'cut me'

Jackson Hyde's upper body was covered in tattoos, save for most of his abs and right side of his chest. You guessed he was just giving you full reign of where he wanted you to cut him. What should you write? You didn't even know what he put on you yet. When you looked down to find out, all you could see was red.

"Ya name, Doll. Put ya name." He whispered, licking his lips and pulling the knife closer to his chest.

You could admit to yourself that a piece of you had always wanted to inflict harm on your captor, but now that you were actually presented with the opportunity? You were scared. Was this some sort of test? He'd certainly tested you before. But something was different about this time; he looked so genuine. He was practically vibrating in anticipation. There'd never been a time before this when you'd seen him anything other than calm and cocky.

When you allowed the blade to touch his chest, rather than the hiss of pain you expected, a happy hum left him. You swallowed nervously, continuing to drag the knife down to shape the first letter of your name. The way he shook out of pleasure made you want to just stab through his ribcage. You had all the power at the moment. Even his hulking figure couldn't beat a hunting knife. But something stopped you: this was kind of nice, in a sick way. For the first time in months you didn't feel entirely like an unloved victim. Well obviously you just had something carved into you, but the affection was nice and so was the small taste of power.

"I-I love you, Doll." Jackson sputtered out, high off the pain and feeling of being claimed by someone, "I own you. 'Love touchin' you 'n hurtin' you. 'Want ya ta touch 'n hurt me too."

You hated how attractive he was, especially when he grinned like that. You hated his stupid Boston accent too, it just made him hotter. Somehow though, it was good for distracting you from the blood flowing down the knife to your arm, only adding to your own blood covering your body. His jaw had stopped bleeding heavily and hadn't dripped on you since he first started using the blade.

It was taken from your hand and tossed to the ground the moment you finished your name. You thought it was because he didn't want to risk you stabbing him for real, but you were proven wrong when he slid down your body and stuck his tongue to the cuts on your stomach.

And fuck did it burn.

"Stop-- stop!" You sobbed out, tears flooding back.

Of course he didn't, he didn't pay any mind to your pleas at all. He continued to drag his warm muscle across the red liquid and stinging wounds. You gripped his dark hair in your hands tightly, knowing better than to try and push his head away. If you did, he'd probably switch to biting you. Lost in your pain, you seemed to forget just how much he liked his hair pulled. His lips switched from your abdomen to your mouth in a second, swallowing your cries and gasps.

The remaining bit of blood he had on his tongue slipped onto your own, forcing you to taste the metallic flavor. His kisses were never soft, just like they weren't now. They were rough and hungry, full of the lust he didn't have moments ago. On the bright side, at least your cuts weren't being sucked on any longer, just your lips. As if sensing your relief, Hyde pulled back to stare at you. He was using his left elbow to hold himself up, the same hand was tangled in your hair to keep you down. You could only watch, out of breath, as his right index and middle fingers traveled up to his chest to catch some of the fresh blood there.

The bloodied digits were shoved into your mouth before you had a chance to process what he was doing. You didn't want to swallow at first but when he sunk his fingers deep enough to make you gag a couple times, you knew you didn't have a choice.

"'Taste good, Baby?" He smirked, his tongue running over his teeth. His eyes were back to normal now; dark, animalistic, and threatening. The 'softer' moment you were having before had apparently ended.

He was exceptionally rough with you the rest of that night; you'd eventually passed out from both exhaustion and blood loss. You had no doubts that he continued to fuck you after you lost consciousness, something he's done before (though he tries to make up for it by bringing you 'presents'). Your thoughts were only confirmed by the stickiness you felt between your legs when you woke up the next morning. You felt sticky everywhere actually, and that's how you realised you were still covered in blood, along with the sheets and blankets.

Jackson had gone to work already it was a Tuesday, leaving you to clean yourself up. He wasn't very consistent with his affection for you; sometimes he was sweet and gave you tons of aftercare, and sometimes he just dumped your limp body and fucked off. It was the latter today.

You knew what was most likely written on your stomach, but you couldn't tell by just looking in the mirror. The blood was so heavily cached on your skin that you could only see red. Blood was all over you: stomach, chest, limbs, and face. It was even in your hair and under your nails.

You kind of regretted taking a shower though. You weren't sure if feeling clean was better than feeling dirty if you had to see yourself claimed like this. Because there, carved surprisingly neatly into your upper abdomen was his name:

'J. HYDE'

___

i... rlly love him lmao

- Admin Duckie

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc imagine #yandere oc x reader #yandere ocs #yandere imagine #oc x reader #oc imagine #yandere oc smut #yandere smut #possessive yandere #possessive yandere x reader #jackson hyde #hyde

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kryptored · 3 years

Text

Fall

Would you look at that, huh? I finally finished mine and get to post it for all of you to see, especially @bbwoulfc who I wrote this for and provided me with wonderful prompts.

Here’s to my first time participating in the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Valentine Exchange Event 2021. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Cross-posted from AO3.

Organizing his room isn’t something Luka learned from his mother, but it’s what he makes into a habit after living with her his whole life before moving out. His apartment isn’t as messy as La Liberté is after leaving it alone into his mother’s hands, but that doesn’t excuse him from cleaning his own domain every now and then. And so on that’s what he ends up doing on a Monday, free from other obligations that would’ve prevented him from cleaning.

He starts off by clearing out a particular box stained with multi-coloured paint, sitting at the bottom of a shelf in the corner of his bedroom. He wouldn’t have paid too much attention to it on any other day and just made sure to organize the chaotic stacking of whatever’s on top of it, but there’s something about the chaotic joy that emits from the box, calling out to him like a fairy in the forest. And so he sits down, clearing out the surprisingly spacious box filled with so many things. He finds old photos of him and Juleka smiling widely into the camera and showing off their missing teeth, a few forgotten guitar picks obviously painted by himself, some beads of what could only come from his mother’s collection, and an old shirt that he hopes was washed before sleeping in the box for years. But underneath all of those lies an even smaller box painted dark-teal with splatters of pink, rectangular in shape, and with a latch keeping it closed.

The box is small enough that he can hold it with his two hands, but the sound of shuffling tells him that something is hiding inside it. He opens the box carefully, mindful of any stray glitter that he might’ve forgotten about (something he’s learned in the past), only to find something else. He picks up a small notebook that appears to have something stuck in between its many pages, and he realizes they’re pressed flowers – daffodils, rose petals, violets, daisies, and even bluebells. He carefully closes the notebook, making sure that the flowers are left undisturbed, and notices something written on the first page. He recognizes his handwriting and his pathetic attempt at writing his name in cursive, Juleka’s, but there’s a third name that’s written by someone else’s. It looks much neater than his, so it’s easier for him to read it, and his finger gently brushes against the years-old charcoal on paper: ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’.

All of a sudden, the name of a long-lost friend unlocks memories of the past. Memories of children spending most of their days together, running around and splashing each other with water and sharing snacks while sitting under a tree. He sees memories that unlock something that has been planted in his heart a long time ago, spending years in silent hibernation, until now.

He blinks his eyes multiple times, trying to shake away the wistfulness and longing of what he thinks is already gone, and puts the notebook back in its place. As he does so, he notices a necklace chain lying at the corner of the small box and picks it up. Strangely enough, nothing is attached to it. He thinks hard on what could have been there, and whether or not it had been lost during one of his previous cleaning before, during, or after moving out. He’ll have to ask his mother and maybe Juleka about that. For now, he pockets the chain and puts the small box right by his bed as a reminder to put it somewhere else.

Not wanting to get too distracted, he quickly and carefully puts the rest of the trinkets away and continues with his cleaning. Despite that, though, he spends most of his cleaning time thinking about the past and a girl he once called Marinette.

While he clears out the dust gathering from every corner, he remembers the softness of her hand whenever they held hands.

While he sweeps the floor, he hums the tune of an unnamed song he remembers singing to her after tripping and scraping her hands and knees.

While he washes, dries, and folds his laundry, he smiles when he remembers the sound of her laugh.

While he cooks dinner, he remembers the smell of grass that lingers around them after rolling around it for hours.

It takes him until he’s lying on his bed, eyes wide open, fingers twiddling with the necklace chain that he realizes it’s always been there. The feelings have always been there, but he was too young to know until now. He closes his eyes to sleep, hoping to at least see her again - if not in reality, but perhaps in his dreams.

He wakes up in the morning, tears staining the sides of his cheeks, and he realizes he’ll never see her again.

A few days after the impromptu visit down memory lane, he walks into an arts and crafts store to buy some special paper to use for his band’s flyers. After asking an employee on which aisle to go to, he hums the same song that reminds him of her, and for now he won’t cry again. But as he turns the corner of the aisle, he halts his steps and his face is frozen with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

There, standing in the middle of the paper aisle, is who Luka can only assume is Marinette (if he remembers her features correctly). From the looks of the basket she’s carrying filled with paint and paintbrushes, she must’ve been here for a while now. She looks pretty - no, prettier - than how he remembers her, and he wishes he can take a picture of her in case it’s all he has left of her before she disappears again.

She looks pretty (what was wrong with repeating it?) standing there looking at the shelf of cardstock paper, her hair done up in a bun with a few stray strands brushing against her neck and cheeks. She’s wearing a peach-coloured blouse with a ruffled collar and short butterfly sleeves tucked into light-blue high-waisted jeans, and gold-coloured sandals.

Luka changes his mind and thinks that she’s not pretty - she’s absolutely beautiful.

“Marinette?” He calls out to her in a soft voice, unsure if she’ll hear him. Luka remains standing still, his breathing even caught in the moment, and that’s how Marinette finds him when she turns around at the call of her name. She puts on a polite smile, unsure how to address the stranger who knows her name, until she realizes it’s not just a stranger.

It takes her a while to recognize Luka, mostly because of the teal-dyed tips of his hair that apparently suits him well. He’s grown up from the lanky boy she used to grab onto whenever she gets scared, judging by how well the all-black raglan t-shirt clings to his arms. She notices how tall he’s gotten, what with how long his legs look wearing those dark skinny jeans and a pair of low cut white and mint green sneakers.

“Luka? Is that you?”

They simultaneously walk closer to each other, but still wary about whether or not they’re mistaking someone else for their childhood friend.

“It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” He asks, and his heart beats a little louder and faster when he hears her laugh, the back of her hand covering her mouth to hide her smile and he so wishes to see it again after all these years.

“I guess it has been.”

“So… 15 years, huh?”

“Hm? Oh! Oh, yes!” She laughs again and he loves the sound of it. It sounds even better than he remembers it to be. “I can’t believe it’s been that long already.”

“Yeah, neither can I. So, uh… how have you been? How’re your parents? Do you live around here, too?”

“I’m doing fine and so are my parents. They have a bakery and apartment set up at the 21st arrondissement, so you should come by! They’d love to see you again, you know?” she holds onto one of his arms, and it feels so warm and he doesn’t want her to let go. “What about you? How’re you doing? And Juleka? Your mom?”

“We’re great,” he responds breathily, “I’m glad to see you again, you know? And I’d love to drop by at the bakery. And you said ‘they’ so, does that mean you…?”

“Moved away? Yes, I have.” She lets go, and he feels as if winter has come to hold him instead. “It’s actually not too far from them so, we don’t really miss each other that much.”

They continue with their small reunion, walking around the store while exchanging stories that they missed out on each other. They talk as if 15 years had never separated them at all, until their meeting comes to an end when Marinette sees that time and tells Luka that she has somewhere to be. Sad as it is, he finds comfort when they exchange numbers and have something to hold onto the other - to have something to remind them that they’re not separated anymore.

He waves her off from the store’s door, and it’s only when the same employee he spoke with earlier asks him if he’s found what he’s looking for that remembers he was there to buy paper.

Right, of course.

They spend the entire night after their reunion talking to each other, and it ends with them agreeing to meet up outside of Shakespeare and Company, a bookstore they’ve both been meaning to visit soon. They agree to meet the day after, and it leaves Luka feeling nervous as he picks out what to wear. After 15 minutes (he made sure to wake up extra early today) were spent looking through his closet, he finally decides on a white graphic shirt slightly tucked into light-grey chino shorts with a brown belt to secure it, and blue and white loafers. He grabs his dark-green crossbody bag, checks that everything he needs is already inside, locks his door, and leaves for the bookstore.

When he arrives at the bookstore, he sees Marinette standing outside looking down at her phone, and he can’t help but admire at how adorable she looks wearing a white oversized shirt with drop shoulder sleeves reaching down to her elbows and tucked into all-black shorts, black high cut boots, and a black bucket hat to cover her head from the bright sun. As he walks closer, he notices that she’s left her hair down this time, and the image reminds him of those times she and Juleka would practice different hairstyles on each other. Her other arm holds onto the strap of her own crossbody bag.

Luka coughs into his hand to catch her attention, to which she responds and he’s happy to see how bright her eyes are when she notices him.

“Luka, hi! You’re here!”

“Hello, Marinette.” He greets her, and the way those words leave him feels all too familiar until now. “You ready to go in?”

“I’m excited, actually. But I think knowing you’re spending the day with me makes it even more exciting.”

Unsure whether the weather is getting warmer or not, he clears his throat and opens the door for her. “So am I, actually. After you.”

The day goes well - even better than yesterday - and they spend it like good old friends who leave no time for awkwardness. They touch each other by the arm or by the shoulder, something similar to what they used to do, and yet they’re also more than that. Each touch is warmer and lingers longer than the last, and Luka can only hope that Marinette feels it, too. He thinks she does with how she turns around quickly after they brush their fingers against each other while reaching for the same book. His mind is stuck with the image of what he can only assume was a blush on her face, unable to respond to her squeaking out, “I’ll check the next aisle!”

He only stares at her back, initially scared that she’ll disappear again and never to see him again for 15 more years, but he calms himself and ponders on the tingling that tickles him from inside out. And for the rest of the day, they peek through corners of bookshelves and vacant spaces in-between books, smiling and laughing as they share their finds and decide on what to buy.

They leave the store to eat lunch at a nearby café, doing some more catching up with each other. They talk and talk and talk the entire day away, going from one place to another without a care in the world besides from knowing that finally, finally they’ve found each other again, and it’s like they don’t want to let go of each other again.

The next few days, unfortunately, do not cater to their sudden need for each other’s company, because of their own personal responsibilities. Luka and practicing with his band, writing and composing songs, and visiting his mother and sister while letting them know that he’s seen Marinette again. Marinette, on the other hand, finds herself busy with multiple card orders from her clients, helping out at her parents’ bakery, and definitely letting them know that she’s seen Luka again.

It’s not until a week and a half later that they get to see each other again in person for a picnic. Although they spend the previous nights texting and calling each other, there’s just something about seeing someone special to you without the physical limitations from their phones. Even when it’s summer, the days and nights they spent apart after reuniting could only make them feel like it’s winter.

The picnic was to take place on a field outside of the city, a place recommended to him by one of his bandmates (after some well-deserved teasing when they found out the reason for his asking). Because it was a bit far, Luka volunteered to drive them both there with his car. The lack of the typical urban noises they’ve grown accustomed to only serves as a plus, considering they were both the type to prefer a calm ambience.

Marinette had brought some home-made pastries for them to eat, as well as some water and juice to drink. She also brought with her a sketchbook and some pencils in case inspiration were to strike her and use it for any future cards to make. Asides from those, she also made sure to bring two small bed tray tables for them to place some of the food on. She also decided to wear a light blue V-neck dress just brushing against the top of her knees with circular cap sleeves extending down just before her elbows, and white sandals. Once again, her hair is left down to spread across her back.

Luka, on the other hand, was quite adamant to take responsibility for bringing the picnic blankets that could fit an entire class and more when they first planned the outing. Asides from those, he also brought some foldable chairs for them to sit on if the ground started feeling too stiff for their bottoms, and his guitar to pass the idle time by playing some music for both of them. As for his clothes, this time he went with a light blue button-up shirt with the first two buttons left open, paired with black shorts, and sand-yellow loafers.

After arriving at the field for their picnic, they choose to sit close to a small cluster of trees that would give them more than enough shade to protect them from the sun. They were taking out all of their picnic essentials from Luka’s car while also admiring the scenery in front of them, when Marinette said something.

“This is wonderful, Luka. Please thank your friend for recommending this place, and I really think we should start doing this more.”

“For sure, Marinette. And not that I don’t like it, but aren’t you a bit too early to say that?” He turns around from where he’s busy placing their food basket down, “What if you ended up hating the picnic?”

“Wha - no! As if!” Marinette looks over her shoulder quickly and he sees her eyes going wide, her hands clenching onto the blanket she was supposedly fixing, “Why would I even think that? Why would you think that? This place is perfect, the weather is perfect, the food is perfect, and - ”

“And the company is perfect?” Luka’s question was a gamble on his part, and he hopes that Marinette doesn’t notice the trembling of his voice.

“Yes!”

He also wasn’t sure that she’d even say something back, but he watches as her eyes slowly widen even more, the flush in her cheeks rapidly gaining territory of her entire face, and her mouth shaping into a large ‘O’ until -

‘Yup, there it is.’ He thinks to himself, unsure whether he’s referring to the lovely shade of red on her face or the fact that his childhood friend finally realizes what she’s said.

“I-I mean – it’s because – I wasn’t thinking properly when you – but that doesn’t mean that I think you’re – but you know what I – ” Marinette quickly turns her back on him, her shoulders tense and hunching, and just as Luka’s about to reach out and touch her shoulder for comfort, he’s startled when he hears her muffled scream.

“H-hey…Marinette, come on. It’s okay.” His hand finally makes contact with her shoulder and pats it gently. “I understand, so don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?”

He sits closer to her and gives her a side hug, rubbing her arm to try and console his easily flustered friend. It seems to work when her face finally surfaces from the safety of her hands, face still a little red, her brows scrunched up in worry and her eyes glossy from unshed tears.

“Hey, hey…” he coos at her, leaning even closer to her to the point that their shoulders are practically touching, “It’s alright. I get it. You know you don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of me. And besides, I am the perfect company after all.”

“Lukaaaaaaa!” she whines and hits him not too hard on the chest, inducing a hearty laugh from him.

“Alright, alright! Easy there, Marinette. How about we forget about this and go right ahead with eating. Sounds good?”

“Mhm.”

“Good. Why don’t you get some of your stuff that’s still in the car, and I’ll set the food?” He gives her the car keys, implying that she can lock the car afterwards. Just as Marinette takes the keys, turns around, and walks away, Luka quickly turns his back towards her to hide his face that’s now rapidly gaining a new shade of red.

‘Magnolia and cherry blossom;’ he thinks to himself, referring to the smell from his friend, ‘like a walk at Champ de Mars.’

Before getting caught, he goes right back to taking the food out from the basket and sets everything down onto the blanket with shaky hands.

After eating and admiring the view, they eventually find themselves leaning onto each other’s back. They make no other noise asides from Luka strumming his guitar and the occasional scratch of charcoal against paper on Marinette’s end. After the slightly awkward chattering from earlier, it worries Luka that there had been little talk between them since then. And even when Marinette would keep on assuring him that everything’s alright, it worries him that perhaps after being separated for 15 long years, not everything goes back to the way it used to be.

Perhaps he is expecting too much, thinking of what ifs and could have beens, and he’s left clueless on how to keep their strange relationship afloat if the day ends on a sour note. Perhaps he should’ve kept his mouth shut, and maybe Marinette wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable anymore and -

A muffled thud rouses him from his deep thoughts, curious to know what could’ve dropped onto the blanket. Just as he turns back to ask Marinette what it was (if she would even answer him at all), he sees something flash from her small and soft hands.

There, sitting perfectly from Marinette’s hand, is what looks like an open pocket watch with its outside the colour of champagne. But as he looks closer, he realizes it’s actually a compass with a sundial instead of a watch with gold-coloured rims. Marinette notices him looking at what she’s holding, and before she can say a word, he beats her to it by asking,

“You still have that? After all these years?”

“Of course. It’s one of the few things I can never let go.”

Instead of saying something back, Luka immediately starts patting his shirt and shorts, before finally putting his hand in one of his pockets to grab something and pull out the same necklace chain he had found in the small box hiding in his room, and holds it out to her.

“This is its chain for it, right? The compass, I mean.”

“Y-yeah. You told me I could have the compass while you keep the chain, so we’d know there’s always a chance for us to see each other again.”

The words ‘and we did’ are left unsaid, but they still knew what it meant for them. What it means for them. No longer able to stop himself, he cups both her cheeks and leans his forehead against hers, close enough to smell the flowers on her again. Close enough to brush his nose against hers. Close enough to just kiss her.

But he doesn’t and she doesn’t. And frankly, they’re alright with what they have right now.

They end their picnic in the late afternoon, with the sun still up and hinting a shade of orange in its yellows. They pack everything back inside Luka’s car in silence, but the kind where they are comfortable and content without the words. They spend the rest of the drive back to the city basking in a new kind of understanding, one that they’ve chosen to keep among themselves, hands bashfully brushing against each other every now and then, and eyes sneaking glances at one another.

They don’t talk again until Luka drops Marinette off, helps her put all her stuff back in her apartment, and stands outside of her door.

“Thank you again for the picnic, Luka.”

“And thank you for the company, Marinette.” Instead of getting flustered at the reminder of what happened earlier, she only offers him a small smile.

“You know you can stay a little longer if you want,” she offers, “surely you must be tired from driving.”

She wraps her hands across herself, her fingers playing with the fabric of her dress. Her hair is now tied into a loose side ponytail, her sandals replaced with soft home slippers in light pink.

Luka scratches his right cheek with a finger, his eyes telling her without words that he is more than ready to accept her invitation. His left hand is hiding within the confines of his pocket, fidgeting as much as possible with his phone.

But just as Luka opens his mouth to verbally accept her offer, they hear something buzz. Luka immediately takes his phone out, sees his mother’s name and excuses himself, walking a few steps away from Marinette. He notices her glancing away, giving him some privacy.

His head is filled with today’s events, even as he listens to his mother’s words through the phone. He can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, they’re not just childhood friends anymore. That maybe, just maybe, these feelings between them can grow just as they have. But as soon as he comes to that conclusion, his heart drops at what his mother tells him.

He hangs up after bidding her goodbye, puts his phone back in his pocket, and walks back to Marinette. For every step he takes, he dreads of the disappointment he’ll see on her face as soon as he tells her,

“Sorry, but I can’t stay.”

The guilt eats at him as he watches her smile drop, her bright blue eyes looking from up at him to down at her shoes, her brows a little furrowed from -

‘Disappointment. She’s disappointed I can’t stay.’

“So, uh…” he clears his throat, “I really want to stay, but Ma called me to – ”

“It’s okay, I understand.” Marinette finally looks up, and Luka’s glad that there aren’t any tears. “Just tell her and Juleka I said hi.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

He remains standing in front of her, still not ready to leave her in fear that it’ll be the last he sees of her. They remain standing in front of each other in silence, the gaiety from today slowly slipping away until it leaves them with a cold hug. All of a sudden, it feels like winter during a summer night. It doesn’t make sense; not in the slightest, and Luka hates it.

“I guess I’ll just call you when I get home?” He asks her, his arms opening up to invite her for a hug.

“Yeah, of course.” She walks into his embrace, and he’s not even ashamed of letting out a sigh of relief when he feels her hands wrap around him. “Let me know when you’re back home.”

He hums in agreement, even when bites his tongue to not say ‘I am home. With you.’

They separate after a few more seconds, but only enough that they’re still wrapped around each other, Luka looking down at Marinette’s face. He looks into her eyes, and he sees the same blue sky that often smiled upon them when they used to be children, and he wishes to see the same sky now that they’re no longer that young. He looks at the small blush that finds itself spreading onto her cheeks like the picnic blankets they used, and he sees the sunset that used to smile down on them whenever they bid farewell and went back home; before the last goodbye turned into years instead of a night and day.

And suddenly, he has an idea.

He has an idea, and it’s a very bold one. He has an idea that has been whispering suggestively at him from the very corner of his mind, persisting to catch his attention and never going away. He has an idea that persists on calling out to him, screaming at him, telling him to just –

He leans down slowly, his eyes looking into hers before falling down onto her lips. He looks into those lips that he keeps thinking whether they taste just as sweet as the pastries she bakes.

Instead, he gently presses his own lips onto hers, and all he tastes are blueberries and lemon. He thinks he’s kissing pure bliss, but perhaps it’s happiness.

He feels her hand cup his cheek, slightly putting pressure onto the skin and pushing him closer to her, and suddenly happiness turns into elation. Marinette is responding and it’s utterly delightful. Luka doesn’t want to let her go anymore – because he’s finally telling her what’s been gnawing at him – but he pulls away, nonetheless.

He hears her whine in disappointment, and he mentally berates himself for making the habit of disappointing her.

“I have to go now.” He whispers to her, but with where he’s looking, neither knows if he’s telling Marinette, herself, or her pair of lips.

After gaining the confidence to look into her eyes again, Luka believes his knees are going weak.

“I really have to go now.” He tells her, and he leans onto her hand when her fingers start caressing his cheek.

“I know.”

He finally lets her go and steps away, unwilling to turn his back around; afraid that he’ll lose sight of her and never see her again for years. Or ever at all.

“I’ll call you later?”

Marinette can only smile at the boy she once knew 15 years ago, tucking stray hands of her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll wait for you.”

He smiles back at her before walking away,

only to quickly turn back around to kiss her like sunlight with the flowers on fresh, spring morning.

#lbscexchange2021 #lukanette #luka couffaine #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette #pure and utter fluff #childhood friends #happy valentine's day #mwah mwah #choop choop

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Note

I really really love that your one chapter fic became a two chapters fic and that maybe it could turn into a three chapters one. I also love you are taking prompts. So one, what about Benny and Beth being themselves while Benny prepares to face Borgov and he actually wins this time? Ofc just an idea...

Copenhagen Revisited

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 3165

Summary: Two years after Beth beat Borgov, it's Benny's turn to face him. They make Cleo's West Berlin apartment their headquarters as Beth prepares Benny for the match.

Benny travels like Van Helsing—staring out the window of the plane with an expression of feverish determination. The fact that he’s compared Borgov to Dracula more than once may be what’s leading Beth to her own character association. Mostly, she’s just watching him and wishing he’d taken the aisle seat. He’s blocking the view.

“I can practically feel him breathing down my neck,” he complains, shifting in his seat and drawing his jacket closed protectively across his chest.

Beth rolls her eyes and sips their Coke through her straw.

“He’s never even beaten you that badly,” she remarks, passing the drink to Benny, who sucks absently at his own straw.

“But he could.”

She scoffs.

“How? You’re better than you were the last time you played him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” she says firmly, “you’ve played me a couple hundred times since then. Borgov’s not as tough to beat as I am. I proved that in Moscow two years ago.”

“Oh, did you? I hadn’t heard.”

Narrowing her eyes at him for his snark, she takes the Coke back and sets it on her lowered tray.

“You weren’t this nervous in New York.”

“We weren’t flying towards him in New York.” Benny tugs his jacket again. “And I’m not nervous.”

“Right. Well,” Beth reminds him, “you’ll have time to acclimate. That’s why we’re going early. And it’s not like Borgov’s going to be nearby. I don’t think being a celebrated chess player is enough to balance out his nationality in the eyes of West Berlin. Not exactly warm feelings towards Russians.”

“Is this a good idea?”

She looks at him carefully. He doesn’t usually ask her questions unless they’re rhetorical, teasing, or both.

“Yes,” she says decisively. “It was a good idea for Cleo to offer her apartment and it’s a good idea to go early. When we fly to Copenhagen in three weeks, you’ll be ready to give Borgov the same treatment you gave Najdorf.”

“You know journalists still ask me about that game?” Benny says, finally swiveling his face away from the window to meet her eye. “I was eight. I don’t even remember it. All I ever say about it is something I remember saying before. It’s just me quoting me quoting me—” He makes a rolling gesturing with his hand. “—all the way back to something I can only assume is the truth.”

Beth makes a dismissive noise.

“They print what they want anyway.”

“It’s lousy.”

“What is?”

“Feeling like a pawn. Can never move backward,” he mumbles.

“I’ve never chaperoned you to a tournament before,” she observes. “I didn’t realize the anticipation would make you so dramatic.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. Maybe you’re not irreversibly out of touch with your eight-year-old self.”

He stares sulkily out the window.

“I get airsick,” he finally admits in a low voice.

“That’s what’s wrong?” Beth laughs. “No wonder you drive to all the domestic opens.” Taking pity, she passes him the Coke again. “Here, the carbonation will help.”

Benny drinks, then rests his head back against the seat with a sigh, closing his eyes.

“Vampire bastard,” he groans.

Beth holds the bottle for a minute, then places her cold hand against his forehead.

“It’s his slicked-back hair, isn’t it?” she guesses.

“Could be.”

—

Cleo isn’t at her Berlin apartment. She’s not in Berlin. She was planning to be, when she volunteered her place as Benny’s training ground, so Beth and Benny are doubly stupefied to hear that she left three days earlier for a job in Milan. Cleo’s neighbour tells them this—another model, Beth would guess, based on her arty haircut and the smudge of hazy blue eyeshadow around glazed eyes. She’s higher than they were when they flew over the Atlantic, but thankfully functional enough to press Cleo’s key into Benny’s hand. Her stoned, accented English stomps the ear like a heavy tread, then grinds the words like a cigarette beneath a boot heel. She also invites them to a party at her apartment later. They don’t make it; jetlag strikes and they collapse on Cleo’s bed, dragging the scrappy, colourful assortment of decorative shawls serving as blankets over themselves and falling asleep.

Unlike when Benny trained Beth in his underground apartment in New York, they can’t count on ’round the clock silence here. It’s a loud building, boisterous and bohemian, and the parties of Cleo’s neighbour seem to occur nightly. Beth confronts a startlingly hungover teenage girl tottering up the stairs one morning as she’s going down. She jumps. The girl is a reflection. The girl is a ghost. The girl is possibly swearing at Beth for staring, judging by the scowl accompanying the words that come grating from her dry throat.

Fortunately, nightly parties also mean that the place is quiet most of the day as people sleep off whatever they drank, smoked, injected, or otherwise ingested the previous evening. Quiet is good. Quiet is perfect. She and Benny take slugs of strong German coffee (Benny is especially pleased, though he only hums softly to show it) and play match after match until noon at the small table under Cleo’s kitchen window. With the window propped open, they listen to the rush of traffic below. Beth breathes deeply and watches Benny chew his lip as he contemplates his moves. Their focus is the endgame—Borgov’s specialty.

When she promises they won’t get up to anything like the neighbours next door, Beth’s able to coax Benny out some evenings. They take in the culture; she does it for the memory of Alma and suspects that Benny does it for her.

She scrunches her eyebrows together in confusion as they prepare to depart on a Friday and he’s not wearing his hat.

“You’re not forgetting your head,” she says carefully, “but it’s almost as serious.”

“I don’t want it getting in the way.”

Beth stares at him, waiting for clarification.

“Come on, kid. I’m taking you dancing.”

An hour later, in his arms, she says, “As your trainer, it should’ve been me forcing you to take a break.”

“Ah, it might not be your tournament, but you’re just as intense. You love to study.”

“Maybe I would’ve studied less if I knew that you knew how to dance.”

“Yeah, I’m sensational. Just don’t look at my feet.”

They laugh their way through it and, though she can’t actually hear them laughing over the volume of the band at the hole in the wall Benny dragged her into, she’ll recall the way his eyes squinted and his teeth showed and fill in the laughter after the fact. Their hands clasp and release and their fingers misalign in a haphazard grip and she laughs. She sways against him, clutching his half-unbuttoned black shirt, and feels his shudder. They hurry back to Cleo’s apartment and have sweaty, desperate sex against the wall just inside the door. Beth rakes her fingers through Benny’s uncovered hair, gasping. When they’re done, they receive a muffled cheer from the neighbouring apartment. She drops her forehead to his shoulder with a smile.

The time flies and, at Benny’s behest, their play becomes more disciplined. They only replicate Russian matches to reenforce the coldblooded style he’ll meet when he sits down across from Borgov. They begin to use a clock; up to this point, their exchanges were untimed, to allow for contemplation and debate following each move, if necessary. They even—finally—get fed up with the neighbours. Benny walks out of the apartment for fresh air and comes back with a bloody nose and reddened knuckles that are beginning to swell because, apparently, some hazy partygoer staggered into him in the hallway and they got into it for no good reason. Thank god he didn’t pull his knife. Beth’s witnessed enough nasty little fistfights behind Mrs. Deardorff’s back at the orphanage to assess that Benny’s nose isn’t broken, though the skin under his left eye very quickly begins to purple. Great. He’ll face Borgov looking like a pugilist. She prepares him a nice bundle of ice and accidentally drops it onto his hand to communicate her contempt for his stupidity. Reckless asshole.

“You could’ve at least told me you were really going out to pick a fight.”

“What would you have done?” Benny wonders, shifting the ice from his knuckles to his face with a wince. “Taken a couple swings yourself?”

Beth puffs up, straightening her spine.

“Of course.”

“Nah, honey, your nose is too pretty to chance it.”

She can’t decide: it’s either the endearment she doesn’t know what to do with or the implication that she’d be witless enough to stand there and take a jab to the center of her face that makes Beth rise and kick the leg of the chair Benny’s sitting right on the edge of. He looks mad enough when his backside hits the floor, but he sighs and glances up at her.

“You want a game?”

She smiles.

“I’ll play black.”

The night before they fly to Copenhagen, she sees it’ll take more than fresh air, yet another chess match, or a bop on the nose to calm him. He’s pacing, pointing, and lecturing—each habit sufficiently annoying on its own, but in conjunction? He’ll drive them both crazy if she lets him carry on.

“Come on, kid,” she says, and makes him sit on the edge of the bed instead of the chair.

Beth’s efficient at undoing buttons, even from behind, and has her back-buttoning blouse stripped off before Benny’s redirected his thoughts from the game they left set up on the board in the other room to what’s happening in front of him. When she starts unzipping her skirt, he catches her hands and takes over. She sits on his lap and rubs him through his jeans until he rolls her onto her back. Breathless and fumbling at his belt, Beth tells herself Cleo had to know they wouldn’t just be using her apartment to play chess. If there’s one language Cleo speaks more fluently than the others, it’s sex. Feeling absolved, Beth hooks her legs up around Benny’s hips.

—

“Well, well, well, look who’s still famous,” he mutters to her after jerking open the door of the venue to the sudden flutter of flashbulbs.

“I’m sorry,” Beth offers with a smirk. “I wore sunglasses and everything. I was trying to be inconspicuous.”

Benny grins back because that was never going to happen. She hasn’t exactly kept her head down for the last two years, steadily working her way through American Masters, felling them. It’s kind of a hobby. Still, she’s chosen an active chess career in the States over the spectacle of European tournaments, so for the international press, Beth’s appearance today is quite an occasion. But it doesn’t trouble Benny. He’s never struggled with monopolizing the spotlight.

“I’ll answer five questions before my first match,” he announces, arm around Beth’s waist. “Who’s first?”

“Mr. Watts, what’s it like to be back in Copenhagen?”

“Great. It’s been a while. The flight was quick with no turbulence, exactly how I like it.”

“Your eye—have you been in a fight?”

“Chess is a rough sport.”

“How are you feeling going into your first match?”

“Prepared.”

“Do you plan to meet Borgov in the final on Saturday?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“What is your relationship with Miss Harmon?”

Benny glances sideways at her. Above her sunglasses, Beth raises an eyebrow. Some people might be thrown by the abrupt switch in subject matter, but the moment of hesitation as he parts his lips to answer is mischievous.

“Waiting for her to make an honest man outta me. That’s five, boys,” he points out, lifting a hand that does double duty as an acknowledgement and a brushing aside motion; it parts the small crowd and he guides Beth through.

“Well now they definitely won’t print anything about you.”

“Sure they will. My name right alongside yours: ‘Watts and Harmon.’ Maybe ‘Harmon and Watts’—sounds a little better. Anyway, they’ve got enough to suggest that we’ve been working together and that’s the edge that’ll get to Borgov.”

“If he picks up a paper between tomorrow and Saturday,” Beth clarifies.

“He will. Or somebody’ll do it for him. One of his KGB babysitters, probably. They seem like they’d be gossips. But Borgov’ll hear about it and the mention of your name will put the fear of god into him.”

“Oh, it will, will it?”

“No question.” He halts and looks at her seriously. “You mind if we find someplace quiet to sit down for a minute?”

She checks her watch, the cracked glass face long ago replaced.

“Yeah, you’ve got a few minutes, but wouldn’t you prefer to go in and, how did you put it? Breathe down the neck of your competitors?”

“Cute, but I’m a little worried I’d be sick down the neck of my competitors.” He squeezes his eyes shut momentarily. “Ugh, that plane ride.”

“But there wasn’t any turbulence!”

“Beth, please. Don’t even say the word.”

He plays two games that day, with enough turnaround time in between that they go for a walk and she takes a few non-press photographs of him in front of attractive backdrops. Behaving like real tourists seems to distract him. Benny even allows Beth to charm him into surrendering the end of his sandwich so she can use the bread to feed the little birds in a park they walk through.

The following day, the schedule tightens up. Lesser players are vanquished and Benny is presented with more people to beat, each one smug from their recent win until Benny shuffles things around on the board with exchanges so swiftly conceived and executed that it might be sleight of hand, one complex magic trick until—ta da!—he’s hemmed their king. He’s fucking brilliant, Beth thinks as she observes him, occasionally shaking her head in amazement. Her pulses races each time he sits down across from someone with a look on his face like, I hope you’ve made peace with your god. They screened too many movies of a biblical bent at Methuen. Prayer and faith certainly never lifted her high, but watching Benny does.

The next day is the second to last and Benny plays once, in the morning, with adjournments and the deciding of third and fourth place of the tournament in the afternoon. Winning his game isn’t anything special to him; he was always looking ahead, intending to square off against Borgov. In Benny’s style, Beth considers, it’d be a gunslinger draw at high noon. In Borgov’s (via Benny’s perception of him), Van Helsing advancing on a crypt with a garland of garlic bulbs and a raised crucifix.

She sits patiently with him in their hotel room. Unlike the night before they departed from Germany, he isn’t stressed. He’s calm. Beth asks if he’d rather stretch his legs, go find some of his friends that played at this tournament (and lost) and talk to them, work the room in a way that simultaneously captivates her and makes her roll her eyes. No. He prefers to stay with her. They sprawl on the bed and play out a couple of his slickest games, then the last twenty moves of the ‘68 Moscow final: Borgov v. Harmon.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he says softly, when she’s dozing with her head on her arm. He’s been staring at the board in silence for a long time.

“Are you sure?” Beth yawns before continuing, “I could order up some coffee?”

Benny’s already gathering the pieces and folding the board.

“You can’t do any more for me than you’ve done, and I can’t learn any more tonight than I have.”

“You’re prepared,” she agrees. That might not be quite what he meant, but she figures even Benny Watts needs a little reassurance.

“For most things he could do.”

Beth pulls her pajamas out from under the pillow on her side of the bed.

“You know how he plays. It’s clean. You just have to keep your eyes open. Borgov isn’t the sort of player to pull something creative out of nowhere.”

“You say that, but once, I had an opponent threaten to kick me in the crotch.”

“Mm, well, that’s not Borgov. Like I said, no creativity.” She watches for a minute as Benny strips his shirt off and flings it onto the chair. “By the way, it wasn’t a threat, it was posed as a question—rhetorical, even philosophical—and only because that opponent felt she wasn’t being taken seriously.”

Benny smiles and walks around the end of the bed. He cradles the back of her head and gives her a slow kiss.

“Will you kick Borgov in the crotch for me if I lose?”

“Now you want me to fight your battles for you? Where was this attitude in Berlin?” She grabs Benny’s butt as he walks back to trade his jeans for pajamas. He turns to look at her inquiringly. “I won’t have to.”

He spends all the next morning proving her right, not succumbing to how Borgov’s pieces shoulder their way across the board. They knock Benny’s aside some, but he hangs in and they adjourn in the afternoon for an after-dinner resumption. Though the reprieve is nearly three hours, they don’t go back to their room. There’s no international call to wait for—every bit of encouragement from their friends was given before they left New York. Benny has a drink with dinner and when that doesn’t loosen him up enough, Beth gets a little fresh under the table as she’s adjusting the napkin in his lap, just until she’s sure he’s in a new mindset.

At seven o’clock, the jacket, the hat, and the man are back in position opposite Borgov. Benny makes the move he sealed earlier, then leans forward by his shoulders. In that gesture, Beth knows Benny’s got him. He confirms it sixteen moves later and Borgov concedes the match in a gracious bow of his head. Benny dawdled a little, not dropping the guillotine blade the way she did with her swift Ohio victory over him, but he’s a different player. An admirer of historic matches, a showman with quick fingers and no better place to be than in front of a chessboard. That’s what she’s always guessed his mentality to be. Where she loves to win, he loves to play.

He rises from the table to a roomful of applause. His eyes find hers and she whistles with her fingers in her mouth, the way he taught her one night in his apartment. The sound is shrill enough over the rest of the noise that the photographer beside her turns to glare and tell her to shut the hell up. He begins to apologize when he recognizes her, but Beth shakes her head impatiently and points past him.

“Don’t look at me,” she says. “Look at him.”

#thanks for the prompt!#my writing #The Queen's Gambit #Beth Harmon #Benny Watts #beth x benny

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

Text

Gratitude

A/N When we last saw Jamie and Claire, they’d crashed, burned (somewhat literally) and declared their mutual interest in each other in their individual ways. Whither now, our pair?

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Big Red Machine (another guest artist!) that inspired the title is here.

June 1, 2018, Costa Coffee, Whitechapel, London, England

“It feels like ye might be avoiding me, Sassenach.”

It occurred to her that Jamie knew her schedule and habits to an uncomfortable degree for him to be at her favourite coffee shop at exactly the point in her shift when she could no longer resist the siren call of caffeine.

Since the fire in their building and Jamie’s subsequent profession of love, they’d been living under separate roofs. Claire was sleeping on the couch at the home of one of her fellow medical students, and Jamie was bunking down with his uncle. Their flat had escaped the flames, suffering only smoke damage, but it would be at least eight weeks before the building was declared structurally sound and they could move back in.

Heading to the counter, Claire purchased her usual extra-large oat milk cortado with a fruited teacake, then added a flat black with raw sugar for Jamie. Settling across from him, she slid his coffee across the tiny table before splitting her teacake and balancing half on his saucer. He nodded his thanks, but was otherwise silent, waiting her out.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she began, surprising them both with the frankness of her opening salvo. It helped, she found, to be paying undue attention to stirring her coffee as she spoke.

“That doesna sound like ye, mo nighean donn. Why don’t ye tell me what part is vexin’ ye, an’ we can see if we canna bash our brains t’gether til we come up wi’ a plan, aye?”

She knew what he was doing. Cleverly depersonalizing their situation so that she could approach it like any other problem. Part of her resented his easy manipulation, grounded as it was in how well he knew her. But there was a secret part of her that thrilled at the emotional intimacy. To be seen, truly seen, in all her messy complexity, was a novel experience. Jamie knew the architecture of her heart, all its dark corners and blind hallways. He must have recognized something worthy, to be willing to so patiently coax her away from her solitude.

Plus, she’d spent the last year training him to leave the toilet seat down. That wasn’t the sort of work you just walked away from.

“It’s... god, where do I start? It’s having no idea what it means to be in a healthy adult relationship. And the crippling fear that if I fuck this up, it’ll ruin our friendship, which is so important to me, Jamie. I don’t think you have any idea... Plus our living situation...”

“We arenna livin’ t’gether for the moment, Sassenach,” Jamie interrupted. He had leaned forward across the table as she stammered through her recitation, and his curls had flopped across his brow in that boyish way they had. Her chest tightened, torn between affection and blind terror.

“No. That’s true.”

“With yer permission, I’d like tae make a suggestion.” At her cautious nod, Jamie continued. “For the next two months, we willna be roommates. I’d like tae... court ye...”

“Court me?!” Claire blurted out. “What, like in a Jane Austen novel?” She couldn’t help but smile at Jamie as he blushed, but he continued undeterred.

“Aye, like that. Ye’re used tae havin’ all the answers, Sassenach, but this isna one of yer wee tests tha’ ye can study for. We’re gonna have tae wing it, and see where it takes us. But I promise ye, I willna play ye false and I willna walk away. Will ye at least give this thing between us a chance? If it doesna work, we can go back tae livin’ t’gether as friends, no questions asked.”

At some point during his speech, their hands had met across the table. She could feel Jamie’s trembling through his fingertips. He was scared too, but he was being brave because he felt it was worth the risk. How could she dare to do otherwise?

“Alright,” she conceded, and his smile warmed her face like sunshine. “What do you propose, then? Shall I don my best parlour gown and set out the petit fours, Master Fraser?”

“Och, I dinna mean tae be makin’ me call me master quite yet, Sassenach,” he teased, delighting in her blush. “I’ll be at yer door t’morrow. Three sharp. Wear somethin’ comfortable an’ bring a jumper for after dark.”

Finishing his teacake in three large bites, Jamie hopped up from his seat and brushed the crumbs from his jeans. With a mischievous grin and a cock-eyed wink, he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“Until tomorrow then, milady.”

Jesus Christ, what had she just done?

***

To her relief, Jamie showed up at Joe’s front door in his usual jeans and Henley, not a frock coat and jodhpurs He wasn’t even carrying flowers. Joe tried to buttonhole him with talk of the previous night’s football match, but after a few minutes of polite chitchat Jamie ushered Claire out the door, joking that he’d have her home before curfew.

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his behaviour. The Jamie she knew had always been charming, when he wasn’t busy putting his foot in his mouth. Now she marveled at his apparent ease as they descended the steps into the Tube.

Heading west on the District Line, thoughts continued to assail her. Was he always this self-confident on a date? How often did he go out with other women, anyway? She’d assumed she knew everything there was to know about Jamie, but maybe she was wrong. Before Frank, her last date had been back in nursing school, and a VHS player and copious cheap beer had been involved. Despite the over-zealous air conditioning in their train, her palms began to sweat.

“Ye needn’t be afraid of me, Claire,” Jamie’s soft burr interrupted her quiet panic attack. “I’m no’ going tae suddenly turn into some man ye dinna recognize, just because I’m tryin’ tae romance ye a wee bit.”

Once again, with only a few words Jamie had peeled away her layers of confusion and doubt to strike at the core of what was bothering her. She forced herself to take a deep breath and immediately recognized Jamie’s scent; a blend of laundry detergent, his vetiver bar soap, and a touch of chlorine left over from the morning’s swim. It set her at ease. He hadn’t worn cologne. His left boot had a frayed lace that had needed changing since March. His cuticles were as inexplicably perfectly formed as always. He was her Jamie, and she could trust him to behave in accordance with what she already knew of him, even in this uncharted territory.

“So, where exactly are we going?” she asked after the crackling announcement for St. James Park had died away.

“Would it ease yer mind a wee bit, tae ken?”

“Maybe a wee bit,” she confessed.

“Well, then, how can I refuse? Have ye e’er been tae the Chelsea Physic Garden, Sassenach?”

***

As it turned out, by some grievous oversight she hadn’t. Wedged between a high brick wall and the Thames was a three hundred and fifty year old urban oasis, filled with plants that could either treat your ailments or kill you. Naturally, she was enchanted. Jamie followed her between the beds and down the shaded lanes of pea gravel, a soft smile held between his lips.

When the garden closed, they walked along the Embankment and over the Thames at Chelsea Bridge, stopping to watch the sun set over the murky water. A food truck beckoned with its aroma of chips and burgers, which they ate on a nearby bench, going back for extra napkins when their choice in toppings proved especially messy.

It was the least romantic meal she’d ever eaten, and she was soothed and smitten in equal measure.

Washing grease from his hands in a drinking fountain, Jamie turned to her in the half-light.

“Now, I have a verra important question of ye, Sassenach, and how ye answer will determine the future course of our evening t’gether.”

Here it was, she balked. The hook at the end of the line. The sour amongst so much sweetness. She shouldn’t have expected...

“Are ye,” Jamie continued, unaware of her inner monologue, “afraid of heights?”

... no different than any other man, with his...

“Am I what?” she blurted, once her brain caught up with her ears.

“Afraid of heights? An’ a bit of a scamper up some scaffolding?”

Jamie was pointing over her shoulder. She peered into the night, but all she could make out was the hulking shadow of the derelict Battersea Power Station.

***

It was a convoluted story, but the outline went something like this: the massive coal-fired station, with its four spire-like chimneys, was slated for redevelopment. Jamie had taken part in an onsite review of the location by the London Fire Service, and had befriended a representative of the developer. Somehow, this friend had granted Jamie access to the site, which is how Claire now found herself over fifty metres above the ground, climbing a seemingly endless series of metal steps, with her curls trying to escape the confines of a workman’s hard hat.

“You really know how to show a girl a good time, Jamie Fraser,” she grumbled as they came to a landing made out of scaffolding. Above them, a white chimney ascended into the dome of the sky.

“Ye canna say I dinna take yer breath away, Sassenach,” he teased.

She was about to retort when they stepped around the base of the chimney tower, and all words failed her.

Rolled out far below their feet, the Thames was a black carpet reflecting millions of pinpoint gems skyward, broken by belts of light where it was traversed by a bridge. Beyond the eastern bend in the river, the City glowed with its eternal hum. The colossal space taken up by the station was a palpable presence behind their backs.

“It reminds me of yer Uncle Lamb’s saying, about makin’ our present out of the bones of our past. Twasn’t the original plan, but here she stands, still vital and strong, being remade anew. An’ a beautiful vision fer all tha’.”

She wasn’t convinced that Jamie was talking about the power station.

A cool breeze blew off the river, and she shivered. A jacket still warm with body heat immediately covered her shoulders. They stood side by side in silence, just taking in the view.

When their hands bumped, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to thread her fingers with his own.

“You’ve set the bar impossibly high for any future dates, you know,” she commented eventually.

“Ye’re only sayin’ that because ye dinna ken what I have planned next.” His grin was impossibly smug, and she fought the urge to kiss it right off his beautiful mouth. He must have read the impulse in her eyes, because his face was slowly approaching her own, eyes a volatile mix of hope and trepidation.

Her own eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. Just as their lips should have been meeting, their was a ductile crunch, and their heads bounced apart with comedic timing. Their hard helmets had collided. Jamie swore softly beneath his breath, but Claire couldn’t stop giggling.

“Oh, thank god. It is you. I was beginning to wonder.”

***

It was late when they finally exited the Tube, but Jamie insisted on accompanying Claire all the way to the Abernathy’s front door. She handed him back his leather jacket, feeling suddenly awkward in the brightly lit hall. The date had been magical, far beyond her wildest expectations, and it felt strange to return to the prosaic reality of their lives.

“Thank you for a wonderful time, Jamie.”

“Twas my pleasure, Sassenach. I’ve missed ye, these past few weeks. And I really hope... well, you’ll tell me if you want to do somethin’ like this again, aye?” His hand went to the back of his neck in a gesture she knew well. Bless the man, he had no idea the effect he had on her. It was well past time to let him know.

“I’d love that. Truly. I’ve got final exams to study for, but maybe sometime next week?”

"Well then,” he replied, clearly delighted with her response. “I should let ye get some sleep. Good luck on yer exams, Sassenach. And thank ye, fer bein’ willing tae give this a chance. Twas a day I’ll ne’er forget.”

He began to walk away.

“Jamie!” He turned around.

“Aye?”

Walking forward to the beat of her pounding heart, she halted when their bellies were practically touching. Lifting up on tiptoe, she pressed into his mouth. Time slowed to a syrupy drip as their lips met for the first time. His rough exhale was the only sound in the cocoon of sensation that enveloped them. It felt like she was falling through an endless cloud. Too soon, she had to pull away to capture her breath, and the spell was broken. Judging by his moonstruck expression, Jamie had been equally affected. She smiled when she realized his arms were still held aloft, like he was trying to hold on to the memory of their kiss.

“Goodnight, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser,” she purred before she disappeared from his sight.

#my writing #outlander

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greatsagestonemonkey · 3 years

Text

A Game of Cat and Monkey (Part 1)

So @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off, @neonross, and @purble-turble... this is mostly all your faults.

I was taking a nap a few days ago while suffering from a bad migraine, and I had a dream about the Monkie Kid Pirate AU that’s been going on for awhile here that was a sort of crossover with my mainstream pirate OC and it was... honestly too epic to not write down and throw out there, so here it is! (the first part of it, anyway.)

It was supposed to be easy, not get complicated in a matter of five minutes or less. In and out. Not in, run around, then out with a spray of musket balls in his wake.

Wukong had sent him in the Monkey King get-up to fetch an astrolabe that was supposed to be magic, or enchanted, or something. Whatever. It did something special and he was supposed to get it. And it was supposed to be easy.

Breaking into the mansion of the collector was easy enough, most everyone had gone to bed and what guards there were seemed confident that no one would dare to try to break in that they were easy to slip past.

It wasn’t until MK reached the study, where the astrolabe was supposed to be, that the evening went hard about faster than a sloop catching a good wind.

He stopped dead in his tracks only seconds after closing the large doors behind him at the sight of a silhouette against the large, double-paned windows. He was half ready to relax after going tense at seeing it, expecting it to be a decorative suit of armor, or statue, or something, but that feeling never came as the glimmer of very real, deep, sea blue eyes glinted in surprise at his presence in the moonlight.

They tensed, crouched almost at seeing him as if hoping to shrink back into the shadows unnoticed, and MK reached for the rapier on his belt, drawing it out only maybe a quarter of an inch, just in case. His eyes traveled down the figure’s form, landing and locking onto the astrolabe clutched tightly in their fingers like the claws of an oriental dragon around a pearl. Even with his mask on, he gave his best, charming smile and raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that the figure could likely see his expression with the moonlight pouring into the room.

“Don’t suppose I can just ask you to hand that over nicely, can I?” he asked.

WHOOSSSSHH-CRACK!

He barely--barely--had time to register that something long, fluid in its motion, and metal from the way it was glinting, was flying straight at his head; like a blue serpent gliding through the air at lightning speed. He leaned back instinctively to dodge, back and neck arching back at a practically impossible angle to spare him the blow. His breath caught in his throat as the long object snagged the fabric of his mask, hearing it tear very near to the arch his nose made beneath it. He whipped out his sword, using the blade to smack the object away as it continued to stretch outwards in his direction dangerously and rolled back to safety, free hand flying to his mask to check just how much of it had been torn; and sighed discreetly in relief at feeling only a slight rip in the material while his eyes followed the object as it flew back to its owner.

A whip. It was a whip! As if the sound of the crack ringing through his ears wasn’t telling enough he had to nearly get his nose snapped off by it!

“Hey!” he protested, louder than he had intended. Not that it mattered, since the sound of that whip alone was enough to wake the dead! He was still so stunned by the brazen act that he couldn’t even think of something witty and whip related to say! Nor would he have the time to after completely recovering, either.

The owner of the whip reared it back again, cracking it a second time; but not at him. At the window behind them. The odd, blue metal shattered the glass like a heavy and well aimed club swing, sending it showering over the room and the courtyard below. To anyone who hadn’t seen the action itself, it might have seemed like the window just exploded! MK held up an arm to cover himself as some of the glass showered a little too close, then watched in astonishment as the figure lept right through the now apparent gap in the window ledge. He let out a choked sound of surprise and darted to the edge to watch their fall, flinching as he heard the whip crack again, and was just able to catch sight of it catching on the limb of a tree in the courtyard below, allowing the owner to swing--with almost supernatural ease--up onto the outside wall of the mansion.

MK could only blink and continue to watch in awe as they briefly glanced back at him before disappearing over the wall and vanishing from sight.

“Um… okay then…?” he murmured to himself, taking a moment to move his hat aside just enough to scratch his head in confusion.

He only had that moment though; the sound of running footfalls in the hall outside the room he was in snapped him back into reality and sent him out the window himself. Nice of that stranger to at least give him an escape route after stealing his mark right out from under him!

Now he just had to get back to the ship.

And explain everything to Wukong and the others.

Great…

~~~

Back at the Flowerfruit, MK couldn’t help but feel like a bug under a magnifying glass when he first climbed aboard, empty handed. It was only when he was taking off the Monkey King outfit that he was able to get enough of a word in as the crew bombarded him with questions on how it went, and all that. It stung having to explain when he didn’t know quite how to explain it himself, since he was still largely processing the situation, but he did his best.

“And they used a whip!” he exclaimed, pacing back and forth in the galley as the others sat and listened, watching him walk. “But it wasn’t like a cat o’ ninetails kind of whip, it was like a legit, long whip! Made of metal!”

“A metal whip?” Wukong asked, voice sounding skeptical as he raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” MK snatched up his mask and held it out for the others to see. “Look what it did to my mask!”

Tang took the cloth from MK before Wukong could, adjusting his glasses and squinting at the tear with a great deal of scrutiny.

“Hm… He’s right. This is a clean cut. A rawhide whip would have left more jagged tearing,” he said, finally passing the cloth to Wukong. “It had to have been made of metal. Sharp metal.”

“Sharp and strong enough to shatter glass even…” Wukong mused, sighing as he put the mask aside and crossed his arms. “And they got the astrolabe…?”

MK frowned, gaze falling to the floor. “I’m sorry…”

A weight on his shoulder made him look up at Wukong, who shrugged and was smiling at him.

“Relax, it’s not like we’ve lost it for good,” he said. “Chances are, whoever this character is, they’re still on the island somewhere. If it was me, I sure wouldn’t risk skipping port right away. I’d lay low, wait until the heat dies down and until the local constabulary isn’t searching everyone’s person for an astrolabe.”

“Yeah, something like that sticks out way too much to just pass off as usual luggage.” Mei said with a nod. “Like who even uses those anymore…?”

“Point is, we still have a chance of getting it back.” Wukong said, hand slipping off a now smiling MK’s shoulder. “We’ll sweep the town and ask around for a pirate who uses a whip. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“Yeah!” MK nodded, fists pumping towards his chest excitedly.

“In the meantime, let’s get some shut eye. It’s only a few hours until sunrise, and we’ll start our search then.”

~~~

Morning couldn’t come soon enough. He was able to get a few winks at least, but he was itching to get back out there and find this mysterious whip wielding pirate.

It was kind of fun having a new player in the game; new blood to run up against, and he was eager to test his metal against them.

Even if the first time didn’t pan out so well… but that was only because he had been caught off guard! He could do better the next time around! He would do better.

They split up around the port, some of them on their own, some in pairs, to cover more ground. There wouldn’t be much need to go to the richer, or more high end districts in town, since it wasn’t very likely that the noblemen and their ilk would pay too much attention to a seaman wearing a whip. Or to a seaman in general. Taverns and boarding houses would be their best bet.

That didn’t mean it would be easy though. Wukong had been right; soldiers were searching the outgoing ships and any passengers on them. If they weren’t careful they’d likely be recognized, but thankfully their line of questioning wouldn’t likely tie in with the theft of the astrolabe. Even so, part of him was very tempted to just ask one of the soldiers what they knew at least to make this go faster…

He kept going over the previous night in his head. From the moment he entered the study to the moment he had to jump through the window to get away.

He tried to remember everything he could about the figure he encountered; not just the whip they held. Their stance, the way they tried to shrink into the shadows like that. They obviously knew how to sneak around, if they got into the mansion, so finding them might not be all that easy. But then there were the eyes. Blue eyes. Not all that common around these parts. At least not the shade he caught a brief glimpse of. Someone would have had to notice a blue eyes, whip-toting pirate around here at some point… or at least that’s what he would think.

MK snapped out of his thoughts long enough to look up and jog over to Pigsy as he saw him round a corner ahead of him.

“Anything?” he asked, somewhat hopeful sounding.

“Nada.” Pigsy shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. “Either they haven’t seen anything period or won’t say whether or not they have.”

MK sighed. “Maybe they really did skip port already,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Maybe…” Pigsy said with a shrug.

A sound pierced the air that made MK practically jump. Pierced… no, cracked.

The same sound he heard last night.

Followed by a loud crash and a shout.

MK and Pigsy both turned around to see what was causing the commotion, as did a small crowd that gathered outside what looked like the back entrance to an inn. From what they could see, a large, bulky pirate had been thrown hard into a few supply crates and barrels, their contents now scattered over and around him as he laid dazed in a pile of splinters; but what caught MK’s attention completely was the sight of a long, blue, metal whip-like cord being coiled back up into the hands of its owner, and from where he was he could just barely see the same glint of sea blue eyes from last night.

“Maybe that’ll teach ya t’ keep your hands to yourself,” the voice, thick with an Irish accent, and that of a woman’s. “Especially when you’ve already been told t’ do so once, ya scut!”

She turned on her heel and marched off, kicking a broken plank out of her path, and attaching the strange weapon back to a holster on her sash-like belt as she went. Pigsy let out a whistle, which in turn snapped MK out of his state of shock.

“She’s got some gumption!” Pigsy said with a chuckle, grunting loudly in shock as MK grabbed and turned him so they were facing each other.

“Pigsy, that’s them! Her! The whip! It’s the same one! I’d swear on it!” MK blurted out, head turning rapidly between Pigsy and the direction the woman was headed off in.

Pigsy tore MK’s hands off him. “Okay, okay, I get it! So now what?”

“Uh…” MK shook his head, scratching his head a few times before looking back at the other. “You get back to the others and tell them we found her, and I’ll follow her and find out where she’s going!”

MK took off without another word, despite protest from Pigsy. He had to push through the crowd a little bit in order to follow the woman down the same road without losing her, his fear of doing so almost making him miss a deep, red gash on the chest of the poor soul who had angered her earlier. He grimaced a bit, mind flashing back to the night before and how that could have been his face… not that he was afraid of a good scar, he already had a handful of them, but still… just… Ouch.

He shook it off and continued to follow her, making sure to keep enough distance between the two of them that he could. She didn’t seem to be too concerned about being followed though, and with that whip of hers he could definitely understand why at least in some respect. Still, he couldn’t believe how easy this was turning out; and if his luck held he might be able to get the astrolabe back himself and redeem himself for last night.

She was heading for the jungle that surrounded the port town. A bit odd. There was nothing out here except… well, jungle. Maybe she had a camp out here someplace? Or was planning to meet someone out here? It didn’t really matter, either way he’d have to make sure to leave a trail for the rest of the crew to follow if they came along to try and find him. He kept the distance between himself and the pirate woman, making sure to duck behind trees and bushes large enough to hide him from her sight, snapping a few small branches in the direction they were heading; and stopping only occasionally to use his knife to leave relevant markings on a tree or two.

MK ducked behind a tree, holding his breath as she came to a sudden stop and turned back. He stayed stock still, only breathing again once he was sure he could avoid gasping from the initial startle, and only dared to peek around the tree he hid behind when he heard the foliage ahead of them rustle. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that her moving on meant she didn’t see him, which meant he just had to keep following--

He froze at seeing that she had disappeared entirely.

“What the…?” he looked around, even behind him, to see where she had gone. But there was no sign, nor trace, not even in the dirt where she’d been standing. The tracks just stopped! So where did she…?

Another crack that made him jump, the feeling of something tightening sharply around his ankle, followed by a sharp yank, one that sent him crashing to the ground before pulling him upwards into the air by that same ankle. He yelped aloud, unable to keep the sound from erupting from his mouth as he was hoisted into the air and left swinging like a pinata by one leg.

“Hey!” MK yelped arms flailing out around him before reaching up and attempting to free his leg from the whip coiled around it.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

MK froze again temporarily when he felt cold steel stretch across his throat, letting himself fall backward enough to look at the woman; who stood, whip tight in one hand to hold him up and a blade in the other, glaring at him. MK glared back, unable to keep from making an aggravated, almost pouting sound at her.

“Seriously?! You use a metal whip and a knife?! Oh come on, that’s just cheating!” he whined.

“All’s fair when you’re a pirate, lad,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, we make our own rules, the code is more guidelines, all that stuff…” MK said with a roll of his eyes.

She let out a sigh. “How about we skip past the banter and get to the point; who are you and why are you following me?”

Shoot. MK had to think fast. Typically he had at least one of three go-to answers to a question like this… they usually worked really well on Red, but this wasn’t Red. This was someone with a blade at his throat and a crazy looking blue, metal whip around his leg, hanging him from a tree. He would have to come up with something else to save his neck… literally.

“I, uh… I-It’s nothing, really! I saw the way you handled yourself in the town back there and I… well, it was really cool! I wanted to ask if you could… you know, teach me how you… did that thing you did!” MK said, putting on as genuine a smile as he could.

“Oh really? Which thing was that?” she asked, lowering the blade only so she could crouch down and look at him at the same level. MK began to sweat. “For someone who wanted to learn a simple wrist flick, you sure were intent on not being seen back there…”

“...Okay, okay!” MK sighed, letting himself sag in the hold of the whip. “It was my friend who was watching you, he thought you were cute, but he’s pants at talking to girls so he asked me to do it for him! Happy!?”

She choked down what was undoubtedly a laugh. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not, but he was willing to take what he got.

“Can you let me down now? All my blood is rushing to my head!” he whined. Unbeknownst to her, he had one last trick up his sleeve, but it all relied on her letting him down, and hopefully she bought his second excuse so he could pull it.

After a pause, she spoke again, and he felt slack on his ankle. “Fine.”

“Thanks, I--” his expression of gratitude was cut off by a painful grunt as he fell to the ground beneath him with a hard thud. He rolled himself over and onto his knees as she stood back to full height, coiling up the whip again.

Go time.

“Ouch! Did you really have to just drop me!?” he asked, starting to stand, only to bite back a cry of pain and fall backwards again, this time clutching his leg where the whip had been coiled around it. “Oh come on!”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, an annoyed, but surprised tone in her voice.

MK grumbled to make it sound like he was swearing under his breath. “Your whip must have dislocated something…” he growled at her.

She sighed, rolling her eyes and reaching down to offer him a hand up, the same hand that should have been resting on her whip.

Just what he was waiting for.

MK took her hand firmly, typical of someone preparing to hoist themselves up with another’s aid, but instead he pulled as hard as he could, prankly yanking on her arm while his “injured” leg shot out forward at hers, knocking her feet out from under her. She fell with a startled cry, MK using her initial shock from the fall to twist and roll the both of them so that she was pinned beneath him; arm above her head so that she couldn’t reach for her whip again. He reached behind him and pulled out the small dagger he kept with him, intending to put it to her throat only as a means to keep her still, but to his surprise it was met with her own before he could set it in place. He’d been so focused on the whip, and just keeping her from using it again that he forgot about the knife entirely. But with how they were locked together now, it wasn’t like it was that big of a problem.

“You little sneak…!” she hissed, accent flaring with the anger in her voice.

“Easy, I don’t want to hurt you! I just want the astrolabe you stole!” MK hissed back, arm straining to hold her down as she struggled. “Hand it over and I’ll let you alone!”

“Pirate’s honor?”

“Of course!”

“Then no deal!” she growled, giving one hard, last effort shove to push him off of her. But MK was ready for it; all his training with Wukong hadn’t been for naught, after all.

He leaned back, using his weight to drag her up and off balance, still keeping his grip on her wrist so she couldn’t go for the whip. He briefly tucked the knife he held into his teeth, using the sudden momentum from their roll to flip her up and over him in a way that he had complete control of her movement. With another twist of his arm, and making sure to sweep his legs the right way, he flipped her onto her stomach, with her arm twisted behind her and him now sitting on her back. He heard her swear in what he assumed was Irish Gaelic repeatedly as he took the knife out of his teeth again.

“Phew! Good thing Wukong’s training paid off,” he said to himself, before pressing the blade to her cheek to still her as she struggled. “Look, I really don’t want to hurt you! If I did, I would have by now, so just, let me have the astrolabe and we can both just walk away without any bad feelings, alright?”

He paused as she arched her head to look at him with a skeptical look, and he felt himself blush a bit sheepishly.

“...Okay, maybe some bad feelings, but hey, give me credit, I’m trying here!” he said.

She sighed heavily and with agitation lacing her voice, letting her head flop forward slightly into the dirt and grass beneath them. “I don’t have it.”

“What?”

“I said I don’t have it!” she snapped back at him. “Do you really think I’d be dense enough to have it one me with soldiers searching almost everyone in town?!”

“Well then what did you do with it?” MK asked, pulling the blade of the knife back just enough to avoid cutting into her cheek. She grumbled under her breath and he sighed, pressing it back to her cheek with just the slightest bit more pressure. “Come on, I meant it when I said I don’t want to hurt you…”

“There’s a mile long beach south of here that’s right littered with rocky crags and tidal pools. That’s where I stashed it.”

“Hm… that’s actually pretty smart.” MK said, though he couldn’t deny the annoyance he felt. “It just means I’m gonna have to have you lead me to it yourself, rather than letting you go right away like I was hoping to.”

“So it would seem,” the woman hissed up at him.

MK sighed, briefly looking over his shoulder, half hoping someone from the crew would show up by now, thanks to the trail he left, but he couldn’t count on Pigsy finding them right away and filling them all in. He was probably on his own for now. Not that he couldn’t handle it… just so long as he kept his wits about him with this one.

“Okay, I’m going to let you up, and you’re going to lead me to the astrolabe,” he said, sheathing the knife but keeping his grip on her arm and staying on top of her. “But!” he added, using his now free hand to detach the whip from the holster on her belt. “I’m going to be keeping this with me so you can’t use it!”

With that, he got up off of her, quickly, and stepped back to let her up. He kept his hands tightly around the whip, examining it carefully and briefly as she pulled herself up onto her feet again and brushed the dirt off her vest.

It was like nothing he’d ever seen before; a light metal that felt way less durable than it probably was, segmented to allow the whip itself to stretch when swung the right way, and probably allowing it to cut all the more cleanly too. But what struck him the most was the color of the metal. It was a deep, blue-green color, veined with lighter colors that almost glowed and flashed like the surface of water under direct sunlight. He couldn’t help but whistle at the unique object before turning his attention back to the woman as she faced him, a scowl plastered onto her face.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure that you get some sort of reward to compensate, alright?”

“Keep talking like that and people will think you’re too soft to be a real pirate, lad. Now are we gonna move on or do you intend to make me chat with you for the rest of the afternoon?” she asked.

“Fine.” MK said with a sigh, gesturing her forward with his free hand. “Let’s go.”

He followed her through the jungle, keeping a tight grip on the whip in hand, an eye on her, and another eye behind them as they walked. He was still making sure to leave a trail so his crew could find them, but the fact that they hadn’t yet was really making him nervous. He tried not to show it, though. He tried his best to make it look like he was doing his best to memorize their surroundings, or something, just in case she pulled any tricks.

He glanced down at the whip in his hand again curiously, then back at her, clearing his throat a bit.

“So… what crew are you from?” he asked, the extended, awkward silence making him even more nervous, so he decided to try and break it. She wasn’t cooperating though, remaining silent. “Or do you work alone? Solo pirate, or just the treasure hunter type?”

He heard her sigh and could swear by the way her head tilted back slightly that she just rolled her eyes at him. He huffed in annoyance, rolling his own eyes for a moment before propping his arms behind his head casually.

“You’re from Ireland, right?” he asked, deciding to change tactics. “I can tell from your accent. From what part?”

“...My kin originally hailed from Louth, but my grandfather was born in Galway,” she finally replied, causing MK to perk up a little.

“Ah, I’ve heard of Galway, but not Louth… where’s that?”

“Further East. It was once known as Ulster...” she said, then clicked her tongue and looked back at him. “Is there a point to these questions of yours?”

MK shrugged. “Not really… just curious,” he replied. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re an odd fish, you know that?”

MK shrugged again, continuing to follow her. “And you’re not? I mean… don’t take it the wrong way but I’ve never heard of a pirate using a whip before,” he said, glancing at the whip in his hands again briefly. “And what the heck is it made of? I’ve never seen metal like this before...”

“That’s what makes it so advantageous,” she said, looking back at him with a proud smirk. “No one who knows as much as they think they do about pirates would ever see it coming.”

“Can’t really argue with that…” MK said quietly, mind flashing back to the previous night, when she first caught him off guard, then looking at her again. “But you didn’t answer my last question.”

“And I don’t intend to. It wouldn’t be professional if I gave away all my trade secrets,” she said, smirking at him again and tapping a finger to her nose.

“Fair enough… but if you won’t tell me what it’s made of, then will you at least tell me where you got it?” he asked.

She shrugged, stopping to turn and face him, eyes falling on the whip itself. “I stole it from another pirate on my first venture as one, a long, long time ago. It’s got plenty of sentimental value for me…”

MK squinted at her and clutched the whip tightly. “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “You’re not getting this back until I have the astrolabe!”

“Worth a try,” she said with a defeated sigh, starting to turn back around, when she stopped, looking beyond MK and scowling slightly.

“What?”

“Your friends found us at last, it seems,” she said.

MK tightened his grip on the whip, making sure she wouldn’t make a grab for it as he turned around to look and see for himself. It was about time that they caught up! He had this well in hand, but he sure could use the extra help if he needed it…

A shadow darted behind a tree, and another behind a large stone, a bit too slow for him to not notice them, and to not ascertain that they were not members of his crew.

But he unfortunately did know who they were.

“Down!” he whispered loudly, turning and tackling the woman to the ground as gently as he could, while still trying to keep the whip out of her reach.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re--?!” she almost snapped aloud, if not for MK slapping his free hand over her mouth.

“Sssh!” he whispered harshly, looking over his shoulder briefly before crawling off her enough to drag her behind a tree. “Those buccaneers are no friends of mine!” he whispered again, then looked at her, letting go of her mouth. “Unless they’re yours?”

She shook her head, a surprising look of alarm crossing her features. “But if they’re not yours, then whose are they?” she asked, voice hushed now.

“It’s a long story.” MK said, swallowing. “But basically their captain is… and old “friend” of my captain’s, and they…” he paused and sighed. “They know I’m important to him… so they’re likely here for me.”

“Well, if I’d known I was being held hostage by a celebrity I would have been more polite,” she actually joked, craning her neck to peer around the tree they were hidden behind.

MK bit his lip and chewed nervously, fist clenching around the whip in his hand, also craning his neck to look around the tree and watch as what looked like nearly a dozen different shapes and shadows seemed to be lurking just a cable’s length away. It wasn’t hard to imagine what would happen if they caught up with them, and that was where his brain did that thing where he started to think up all the different scenarios that he didn’t like to think about…

Firstly, he wasn’t sure if he could trust this woman to fight by his side if they were caught. For all he knew, she was actually part of Macaque’s crew and was leading him into a trap all along… but then again she didn’t seem the type. And another thing that bothered him was that if she wasn’t part of Macaque’s crew, he would be convinced she was with him, and there would be absolutely no way he’d be able to convince Macaque to spare her or just let her go. And if she wasn’t really part of this then he didn’t want to get her involved… even if she was his only key to getting the astrolabe back.

Stupid conscience…

He shoved the whip back into her hands quietly, crouching in a way that prepared him to jump up and run in another second. He watched her eyes go wide in confusion at his action, looking at him in further confusion as he took this stance.

“What are you…?”

“Look, they’re after me, not you.” MK said, past bared teeth. “So I’ll draw them off, and you make a run for it.”

“Don’t be foolish there’s at least a dozen of them!” she whispered back, but made no move to stop him. MK shrugged with what--to her shock--appeared to be a genuine smile.

“Heh, being foolish is kind of one of my better qualities!” he said, taking off before she could protest on his behalf again.

He didn’t really think as to which direction he was running in, just so long as he was gaining as much distance as he could. He didn’t really have a plan at this point, but he knew the coast was nearby. If he could make it there he had a good chance of being able to double back towards town and either losing his pursuers in the crowds or getting the attention of his crewmates. But of course, he had to actually make it without getting caught first… Pigsy was right, he should have probably waited for the others, but there was no time to worry about that now; he had to keep moving!

A shot rang out and he heard a branch he ducked beneath snap as he ran. He bit back a yelp and changed direction, sliding down a ditch in his path before continuing to run. That was way too close for comfort! But he liked to imagine that Macaque wanted him alive for whatever reason and was now either scolding the pirate whose shot came too close or cutting him down in some way…

And then the thought of actually being taken alive by one of Wukong’s greatest enemies made his stomach lurch. As did the thought of whatever the outcome of being captured alive would eventually be! That thought alone spurred him onward, pumping him with adrenaline that gave him a burst of speed that was just enough for his pursuers to lose sight of him…

But at a cost that he realized only too late.

It wasn’t until he was tumbling off the edge of the cliff that he even realized that it was there. The fall itself wasn’t fatal, just by the distance, but he hit the rocky ground beneath hard. Hard enough for something in his bones to crack, painfully. He cried out loudly and abruptly in pain, though manage to strangle the remaining sound by slapping his hand over his mouth, body curling on itself as his free hand shot to his now--quite clearly broken--leg.

No. No, no, no, not like this!

With some difficulty and still strangling any pain filled screams that tried to escape his vocal cords, he managed to sit himself up and drag himself to the base of the cliff. Tears of agony and frustration stung the corners of his eyes as he pressed himself against the rock, looking up and praying to whatever god was listening that none of his pursuers saw or heard him fall. Especially now that he couldn’t run anymore. Not with a freshly busted leg!

He chanced a glance away from the top of the cliff above to look at the leg, grimacing a bit at seeing it twisted in a way it… really shouldn’t have been. He’d had broken bones before… but usually from stupid stuff. Stupid mistakes or antics on his part, things he could laugh about later with his friends, or even be scolded by them for, but this was different. Serious. His friends weren’t here to help him set this, or to help him limp to safety, he was on his own.

On his own with a least half a dozen pirates led by one who would probably use him to get to his friends now that he was an easy capture with this stupid, broken leg!

A shadow briefly graced the top of the cliff, vanishing before he could get a good look, or hide himself against the rock better, and he felt his heart stop.

They’d seen him.

They would be down here any second.

This was it…

MK hesitantly reached for the dagger he had with him, hands still shaking from the pain in his leg. He wasn’t going to possibly meet his maker and say he didn’t go down without a fight, even if it was going to be a brief one…

“That looks bad, lad.”

The way she had snuck up on him was so quiet he began to wonder if she wasn’t some sort of ghost. He gasped aloud, catching his breath so he didn’t scream from surprise, his own held silence further helped by her placing a hand gently over his mouth, two fingers over her own with a whisper of “shush”, to him. MK set down the dagger as she pulled her hand away, sniffling and choking back a pained sob as the woman with the whip knelt beside him.

“Wh-What… are you doing here…?” he asked, wincing as she--as tenderly as possible--examined his leg.

“Irish stubbornness,” she replied. “I wouldn’t be a good daughter of Eireann if I just let you face such odds on your own.”

MK couldn’t fight a smile and a single, happy sob that escaped him. “H-Heh… thanks…” he said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, pulling one of his arms over her shoulders to help him up. “Now let’s get under some cover and take care of that leg…”

The way the high tides had beaten the shore in past years left the cliff face jagged, full of holes and crags, plenty of places to hide, if you could get to them easily. Which, without help, there was no way he could have. The woman managed to help him under a ledge that would be just enough to hide them both, laying him out flat carefully, so as not to agitate his leg further. Once he was set down as comfortably as possible, she left his side briefly to pick up some pieces of driftwood they had passed on their way there. After that, she returned to his side, sitting in front of him, hands hovering over his leg.

“I have to set this,” she said seriously. “Brace yourself.”

MK nodded, bracing himself as instructed, fists clenching at his sides and gritting his teeth together. She nodded back, carefully taking him by his injured leg, and twisting it abruptly with a “snap” that he felt shoot up his whole body. He didn’t scream, though. He didn’t make a peep. It wasn’t the first time he’d broken something, after all. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, of course. It hurt a lot! He had to squeeze his eyes shut to fight a few tears that threatened to leak out, but he kept quiet, fists finally unclenching as the pain subsided to a more bearable level.

“You’re a brave one,” the woman said, an impressed tone to her voice as she undid the sash around her waist, tearing some of it off, which she then wrapped around his leg.

“Thought I was foolish?” MK asked, voice a bit cracked, but still managing a smile.

“Aye, that too. Still, not bad.”

MK chuckled softly as he watched her use the pieces of driftwood she’d gathered, and the torn parts of her sash to make a sturdy splint for his leg. He felt a few twinges of pain as she tightened the knots, making sure they would hold, but he was grateful that the worst was over at least. She seemed to be too as she sighed and brushed her hands together.

“There, that’ll hold for a while,” she said matter of factly.

“Thank you,” said MK, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m… sorry, about earlier. With the whole… taking you hostage, thing...”

She shrugged. “Eh, pirate’s life.” MK managed a chuckle.

“Fair enough,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But seriously, thank you for the help… um... I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Matilda,” she said, extending her hand to him. “But my friends call me Sea Cat.”

“Xiaotian.” MK replied as he took her hand and shook it. “But my friends just call me MK.”

“Cute.” Sea Cat said with a chuckle as they released hands. MK coughed down a blush he felt coming on.

“So, um… now what? I won’t be able to run with his leg…”

“Best thing to do is to just lie low until it starts to get dark.” Sea Cat said, settling herself down opposite MK. “Easier to slip past them that way.”

“Not if they find us before then.” MK said.

“Who said anything about finding us?” Sea Cat asked with a shrug, making him tilt his head in confusion at her. “Once I’m done catching my breath, I’m headed back up the cliffs.”

“You’re just going to leave me here?” MK asked, a bit horrified.

“With that leg? Don’t insult my honor!” Sea Cat said, winking at him. “What I’m going to do is try to leave a false trail for them to follow so they don’t find this little hideaway. Once it’s clear again, I’ll come back for you and help you back into town.”

MK sighed a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he had been holding in. “Oh,” he said.

“You’ll have to stay put until I get back though. And stay quiet.”

“Don’t worry, I will. But…” MK paused as she started to get up, crawling past him carefully so as to not accidentally jossle his leg. “What if your plan doesn’t work?”

She turned back to look at him. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she said, giving him a smile and another wink before vanishing from sight simply by stepping round the bend. MK opened his mouth to shout after her in protest, but decided against it, instead sighing loudly and leaning against the side of the small alcove.

“Bloody Irish she-pirate…” he murmured to himself.

End of Part 1

#hope you enjoy #my writing #crossover story?#monkie kid pirate au #my OC #@purble-turble i got inspired by your design/backstory for macaque #hope that's ok #@ninja-knox-ur-sox-off #@neonross #more to come!

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cpd5021 · 4 years

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What’s Life Without a Little Risk? (8)

Because there’s simply never enough Upstead smut....

“I hate this uniform,” I grunted, struggling to wrangle the pant portion of my dress blues onto the ironing board. “Almost as much as I hate ironing.” I heard Jay chuckle behind me from his perch on my bed.

“You’re the one who agreed to this stupid charity dinner!” Jay teased, coming to stand next to me.

“I didn’t agree! The whole unit has to go!” I exclaimed with huff.

“I know, I know...I’m just messing with ya.” Jay moved to stand behind me, settling his hands on to my hips and pulling me into him.

“Careful, it’s hot.” I said, nodding towards the iron set haphazardly on the ironing board.

“You’re hot.” Jay’s nose trailed up my neck, leaving a trail of hot breath in it’s wake.

“Jay...” I warned, we definitely didn’t have time for any of his antics. We were already running late as it was.

“Yeah yeah.” He groaned and stepped away from me, going to situate his own set of dress blues.

Once we were both donned in Chicago Police Departments very finest attire, we made our way to his truck. Luckily the drive to the hall were this dinner was being held was short because the only thing more uncomfortable than wearing this uniform was being crammed into a vehicle with it on. We headed up the steps of the newly renovated building and met our team members just inside the door. I grinned when I saw just how uncomfortable Kevin and Adam looked, sharing a smile with Kim before meeting eyes with Voight, who was the only one seemingly unfazed by the rough woolen material. I heard Jay chuckle behind me and tipped my head up to see him under the stupid hat that topped off the outfit. Luckily I would be able to take it off as soon as we were seated so that became my next mission. Making our way into the hall, we stopped to feign interest in the posters plastered all over the room, displaying all the positive attributes CPD apparently held. Finally, we were settled around the round table in the far corner of the room. Jay sat on one side of me, while Adam flanked the other. I held back a chuckle as the irony of being sat between a past and a present love interest hit me. Jay glanced over at me, sending a quizzical look at my smirk, but I just shook my head and blew it off. The first half of the evening dragged on as speaker after speaker took the stand. All of them some unsung war hero of the department. I’m sure they all had something interesting to say, but I was finding it increasingly harder to focus as Jay’s hand was resting on my thigh under the table, his fingers dancing up and down the seem leading directly to my core. I made the mistake of sending him a glare at one point, but that only seemed to spur him on. I took a sip of water as I watched his eyes turn from mildly amused to mischievous in one blink. His fingers gently tapped their way higher up my thigh, his eyes now glued to the next speaker. I struggled to keep my hands clasped in front of me on the table when his fingers found to exact spot they were looking for. My breath hitched when he applied just enough pressure to elicit a reaction, his eyes darting to mine before shifting away quickly. I would pay to wipe that smug smirk off his face right now. His fingers pressed in again, harder this time, and my one hand flew to his wrist in a vice grip. He raised an eyebrow at me, challenging me to make a scene, and all I could do was silently mouth the word “don’t”.

His teasing continued for an ungodly amount of time, from his fingers trailing up and down my thigh to him placing pressure against my core just long enough to leave me throbbing. This dinner wasn’t going to end soon enough. I must have been controlling my reactions better than he liked because after a while, Jay decided to up the anti. I couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped my mouth when suddenly Jay’s hand cupped me underneath the table, his fingers pressing the hardest yet into my aching core while his palm rubbed against my throbbing bundle of nerves. My hand flew to my mouth as Adam turned to give me a concerned look.

“You okay?” He asked quietly, trying not to draw the attention of the others, who had somehow not noticed.

“Yeah.” I nodded quickly, hating how husky my voice sounded. “Just hit my leg on the table.” I gave him a fake smile, praying that he wouldn’t see through my fib or recognize the arousal in my voice. I shifted my head to glare at Jay, both threatening and pleading with him to stop. He gave me another smug smirk, but withdrew his hand. Finally we were given a brief intermission from the speakers, with the promise of our meals arriving shortly. Jay excused himself to the bathroom and I took the moment to regroup myself mentally from his onslaught of teasing. I was just striking up a conversation with Kim when my phone rang in my pocket. I gave the table a sheepish grin as I stood, telling them it was a CI as I briskly walked away from them. I was in the entry hall before I answered my phone, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot.

“You’re dead.” I seethed into the phone, eyes searching for the man on the other end.

“If you kill me, then I can’t finish what I started.” Jay challenged smugly.

“Where are you?” I questioned, having completed a full circle around the room and coming up empty handed.

“In the truck.” I could hear the smirk in his voice.

“What?” I exclaimed in confusion. “The food is going to be out soon. What are you doing in the truck?”

“You if you get out here fast enough.” Jay hung up before I could reply, leaving me stammering in the middle of the entryway. I glanced back into the dining room before jogging out the door. Jay had parked in the back corner of the lot in a dimly lit area, something I had internally questioned when we arrived but didn’t actually voice. Now I see he had alternator motives all along. I made it to the truck, standing on tip toes to peak into the seemingly empty vehicle when I felt him come up behind me, gripping my waist and spinning me around. I didn’t have time to protest before he made me step back and pressed me into the truck for a kiss. My hands went to his chest, rubbing against all the metal pins that covered his pockets, before pushing him back.

“Are you insane?” I asked through gritted teeth, my eyes darting around to make sure no one could see us.

“Maybe.” He smirked for the millionth time tonight. “Get in.” He instructed, pulling open the backseat door behind me.

“We don’t have time for this.” I meekly protested as I watched him shrug out of the uniforms coat before quickly unfastening mine. He pulled open the front passenger door and tossed both coats inside before slamming it shut and nodded towards the bench seat that was his back seat.

“In.” He repeated himself, stepping closer to me with a hungry look in his eyes.

“Jay...” I protested again, losing steam quickly the longer I stared into his eyes. He didn’t say another word, but instead lifted me into the truck effortlessly, pushing me to lay back as his body laid into mine. His mouth found my neck, trailing hot kisses just below my ear lobe despite the fact that the door was still wide open. I moaned as he nipped at my neck, motioning for him to shut the door as I scooted back. He climbed in and quickly started tugging at my pants.

“Off.” He said, tugging at my belt. A man of few words tonight apparently. I glared at him incredulously as I made quick work of the buckle and slid them down. I went to unfasten my tie but his hands halted mine, a devilish look on his face. I watched as he tugged his pants just low enough that his rock hard member sprung free and then his hand was gripping at my thigh for me to move closer. I shifted my weight so that I was straddling him, moaning when his tip rubbed against my core. Jay’s hands gripped my waist, moving me to grind up and down his length and his mouth came to mine, pressing a hot and heavy kiss onto my lips. I moaned when his teeth grazed my lower lip, pulling it into his mouth and gently biting down and then again when his hands lifted my hips just enough that he could line himself up with my center. Our eyes met as I pressed my forehead into him and with one quick snap of his hips, he was inside me. He stilled for a moment, allowing me to adjust to his length before he set about a quick rhythm. With one hand still firmly gripping my hip, holding me in place, his other hand came to pull on my tie, pulling me down into his mouth and eliciting another moan from my lips. My hands gripped at the back of his neck, pulling at his short hair as I could already feel myself nearing the edge. His hips thrust up into mine as I ground down onto him, searching for more friction.

“Jay...please..” I panted against his mouth. He knew what I was asking for and I felt his hand release my tie and make it’s way between us. His thumb rubbed circles where I needed it most and my walls trembled around him. He moaned when I clenched against him, nearly there. His teeth grazed my neck, nipping the sweet spot he knew would finish me and my body arched against him as the waves of my orgasm crashed into me. I felt him chasing his own high as my body tingled from the release. My breathing was ragged as I came back down, chuckling at the thought of what we had just done. There is no way we were going to get away with this and we both knew it. Jay lifted me gently and pulled himself out. I shifted my weight to sit beside him, heart still racing as I fought to control my breathing. We cleaned ourselves up to the best of our ability and then pulled our clothes back on. Jay stepped out of the truck first, glancing around the empty lot before motioning for me to follow. Deciding there was no way to feign innocence, we didn’t bother walking back into the dining room separately. Luckily, we timed it right and the wait staff was delivering everyone’s food, allowing us just enough distraction to slip in mostly unnoticed. The conversation flowed between the table and we were able to work our way into the discussion easily. If anyone noticed our mysterious disappearance or disheveled appearance they didn’t mention it. I thanked the waitress filling my glass with water and lifted it to take a drink, thinking that maybe, just maybe, we had managed to get away with it. My eyes traveled about the room, taking in the tables around me for the first time tonight. I landed on one of the tables that sat the patrol Sargent’s and spit my sip of water out when I locked eyes with Platt. With water dripping down my chin, I panicked as the look on her face told me she knew exactly what we had been up too. Her eyes narrowed, holding my stare for an uncomfortable amount of time before she finally looked away to rejoin her tables conversation. I gave Jay a swift kick under the table, hiding my smirk when he cried out in pain. He gave me a questioning look and then followed my nod towards Platt’s table, his face going pale when he realized what I was silently communicating. There’s no way she was going to let us get away with it this time.

#chicago pd #chicago pd fanfiction #halstead and upton #jay halstead #hailey upton #halstead #jay x hailey #upstead #upton

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dontshootmespence · 4 years

Text

Cherry Red

Summary: Ness says they can’t do anything about Chronos until the morning, so what should Dean do all night in 1944?

Pairing: 1944 Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,900+

Warnings: Spanking, p in v, girl on top, come, arousal from pain.

A/N: For those of you 18 and over! This fulfills my @spnkinkbingo square for spanking. Gonna tag @impala-dreamer because I’m proud of this one.

“Kid, we got nothing to kill the bastard and we can’t get it till mornin’, so why not go get some sleep?” Ness asks, deftly flipping his hat onto his head with the flick of his fingers.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

He bids Ness goodnight with strict instructions to be back at 5 AM. Even though he feels like he’s in The Untouchables, he needs to get back to Sam as soon as possible. That being said, there’s no way in hell he was going to sleep his way through his free time in 1944. Something tells him there’s some good strong whiskey and a beautiful dame out there somewhere.

As he saunters down the block (he’d say he wasn’t sauntering, but the 1940s garb had him feeling some kind of way), he grabs the brim of his hat and tips it in the direction of anyone and everyone he comes across. He’s so outta place but he plans to play it up for as long as he’s here.

Under his feet, water splashes from freshly fallen rain. The streets around him smell of rain with tinges of cigar smoke, which happens to be coming from a bar named Cahoots.

Opening the door, the bell above it rings, alerting everyone in the bar to the out of place “cop” that just walked in. Deep brown wood is bathed in low light, bottles glistening on the simple shelf before the fellow patrons.

Dean starts to pull up a seat, seeing mostly men around him, but through the fog of cigar smoke he sees her. She scowls at every man who comes near, though most of them are acting like they’d never seen a woman before, coming on too strong thinking they were meat or not coming on strong enough. Sure, Dean had gone to bed with his fair share of women, but he was big on willingness. Their willingness was pretty sexy.

He strides over and gently pushes through the throng of men, ordering a whiskey neat before turning his attention to the woman at his side. “So what’s a beautiful dame like you doing at this bar all alone? Are you rationed?” He asks, feeling every inch Humphrey Bogart.

“How d’ya know I’m alone, g-man?”

Her hair is pinned in waves, perfectly framing her doe eyes - not innocent ones though, they held much more than most would think he’s sure. She’s decked in cherry red, a black belt cinching her waist and matching black heels showing every inch of her beautiful calves. He’s used to seeing more skin on a woman, at least one in a dress, but something about the way she’s dressed intrigues him. He wants to know more. Maybe Sammy had the right idea going after the classy girls.

Dean smirks and glances around at the other men in the bar; they’ve started to dissipate after realizing that the g-man had her attention. “Well, you aren’t wearin’ a wedding ring, so you’re not hitched and in the two minutes I’ve been here, I’ve seen you wave on about five others who’ve been desperately trying to make a pass at the doll in the pretty red dress.”

She blushes and glances down at her glass. “You got me, g-man, I am here alone. I’ve recently lost 180 pounds. I’m here to celebrate.”

He cocks his eyebrow, a little confused.

“Just dumped the cheatin’ bastard,” she laughs.

Dean extends his hand and introduces himself, learns her name is Y/N. Apparently, she’d only been going steady with the guy for a few months. “He seemed a decent guy, you know. A real dreamboat, but then I caught him in bed with another woman so I got rid of his ass. What about you, Casanova? What brings you here?”

Loaded question.

“A little time off before I meet up with partner to finish this case we’re working on,” he says. Technically true, but way off the mark. As per usual in his life. “Can I buy ya another drink?”

“With a face like that, why not,” she replies with a smile. It’s the kind of smile that can ruin a man like Dean.

But what a way to go. “Well, excuse me for a bein’ a little doll dizzy, but would you wanna take this somewhere else?”

“You take me for a charity girl?”

He assumes that means an easy woman, so he chooses his words wisely. “Definitely not. But maybe one who’s looking for a good time.”

“And you think you can show me that?”

Dean bites his lip and slips his hand over hers. “Absolutely.”

Placing money on the counter to cover both their tabs, he escorts her out of the bar and into the cool night air. “My motel is just done the block. Kinda here from outta town.”

“Well, as long as you can show me a good time anywhere, I’m good to go, dreamboat.”

He could get used to her calling him that. But he shakes that thought away and picks up the pace. Though there aren’t many people on the street, those that walk by seem impressed with the woman on his arm. As they approach the motel room, she leans into him, her eyes swirling with mischief. “How do you feel about a lady takin’ charge?” She asks, her cherry red lips forming a smirk that makes him feel things he definitely shouldn’t be feeling. “Lemme show you a good time.”

The key fumbles in the lock, but he manages and when they cross the threshold, she pins him to the wall, peeling the pinstripe suit jacket away from his shoulders. “Oh, the gun holster does things for me Dean.”

“Take a picture in that pretty little head of yours, because I need to take it off to do what I want to do. Need free range of motion.”

His hands skim up the backs of her thighs, gathering the material of her dress so that he can grab what he really wants. “I might be taking off this dress, but that doesn’t mean something else can’t be cherry red.”

Dean kisses her hard and starts to unbutton her dress, pushing it down to reveal the era’s lingerie. He had to admit that modern era lingerie had his approval over this, but if anyone could pull this off it was her.

Hungrily, they cover each other in love bites and kitten licks as they remove the remainder of their clothing. “Alright, doll, get on your hands and knees on the bed and I’ll give you what you need.”

She giggles as she crawls onto the bed, wiggling what is quite possibly one of the perfect asses he’s ever seen. When he rakes his fingers up the right side of her ass, she shivers and leans into the bed. “Trust me?” He whispers.

For some reason, she does. “Spank me, Dean.”

A guttural grunt gets caught in his throat, his cock straining against the boxers he’s still wearing. His hand comes down on her ass, the resounding sound of the smack making him even harder. She whimpers and looks back at him. “Harder.”

He does as she asks, a faint imprint of his hand forming on her soft skin before he moves to the other side. “Have to make sure they match.”

She snickers, crawling backwards and standing bare before him. “Sit,” she says quietly. He stares up with rapt attention, watching the curve of her body as she places herself over his knee; he’s pretty sure he’s died and gone to heaven, but he’s been to heaven before and it ain’t this fun.

A peace falls over, his mind going blank once she sinks into him, her body pliable and ready for whatever he touch he intends to give. He runs his pinky over her slit, she’s already wet. “Already?”

She senses the teasing note in his voice. “Absolutely. I can never seem to find a guy who’ll do this with me.”

Dean’s in awe and then he remembers when he is. “Everyone insist on treating you like a proper lady?”

“And I am,” she says. “I just like it rough.” She gasps the last of her thoughts when his hand comes down on her again. “Fuck.” Each successive slap brings warmth to her already heated skin. Her nerves are alight, the contrast of sharp smacks and his soft touches sending her body into overdrive.

With each hit, she moans, squirming against his clothed cock. “Dean, more, please.”

“Count them. Five each.”

“One, two, three, four,” she counts out in quick succession. “Oh fuck.”

He’s entranced by how wet she is, her juices slipping down the side of her leg. He has six more hits to go but all he can think of is being buried inside her. After one more hit on her right side, he switches to the left, giving her two before stopping himself, allowing her to stew in her own anticipation.

During the in between beats, he watches how her body reacts, goosebumps prickling her soft skin, arousal dripping, muscles shaking. With the final slaps, she slips to the floor, her body pooling at his feet. She reaches up and pulls his boxers down, allowing his cock to spring free, already dripping with pre-cum.

When her mouth slips over the tip of his cock, he moans, but even her mouth isn’t enough right now. He crawls backward onto the bed, silently inviting her up to join him.

The bed dips under her weight, her tongue running up the length of his cock before she straddles him, her legs on either side of his hips. “Want this pretty pussy?”

“Doll, you have no idea.”

She sinks down onto his cock and whines at the stretch. She’s only been with a couple guys, but none have felt like him, velvet soft and insistently hard. The way his mouth drops open makes her smile; she’s never had this kind of power over a man before, and it’s intoxicating.

Reaching up, Dean grabs her by the back of the neck and brings her body flush against him. “Right here, doll. Move that ass for me.”

She moans into his neck, crying out when he grabs the flesh of her ass, the sting from his hands blooming anew.

Dean moans. “Fuck me.”

Her body moves of its own volition, the pain of his grasp spurring her on. It’s frenetic and driven. And she starts to lose control. He steadies her hips above him and commands her not to move. He wants to watch as he pumps in and out of her. “Look.” He needs her to see it too.

As his cock thrusts upward into her, her breasts bounce with the force. He can’t take it. She’s completely blissed out and it’s all him. Keeping her steady with one hand, he moves the other to her pussy, massaging her clit with his thumb. “Oh hell, Dean. I’m gonna-”

She can’t complete her thought. Her head drops back, mouth agape as she cries out and her walls constrict around him and he’s not far behind.

Pushing her back, he pulls out and pumps himself roughly, her body still shaking when he comes on her stomach. “Doll, you have no idea what you do to a guy.”

She dips her finger into his release and sucks it off, moaning at the taste. “I have some clue, sugar.”

#spnkinkbingo #spnkinkbingo2020 #dean winchester #1944 dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n

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