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pickingupmymercedes · 6 months ago

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Let's get out of here - Lewis Hamilton

Part 2 to Get me out of here

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: Angst, Lewis to Ferrari, Toto being an ass.

wordcount: +2k

a/n: Another gp weekend, another angsty. Again, thanks for the anon that sent the request in the first place.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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Weeks morphed into a tense purgatory. Contact with Toto was reduced to terse, impersonal emails about meetings and business matters, each one a fresh stab of betrayal. Inside, you were a battlefield. The dream job you'd meticulously carved out felt poisoned. Disappearing into thin air held a morbid allure, but the media frenzy that followed every fleeting glimpse of you in London mocked that escape route. The rumor mill churned like a deranged engine, fueled by your forced seclusion.

Lewis, ever the optimist, became a whirlwind of distractions. Romantic getaways felt like empty gestures, movie nights a pale imitation of your usual comfortable silences. He understood, his unwavering gaze holding a silent question you couldn't answer. He knew you bore the weight of the accusation, a shield for someone who didn't deserve it.

The first Grand Prix in Qatar became a crucible. Fans, poisoned by internet speculation, mobbed you outside the circuit, their questions laced with accusation. You forced a pained smile, the words of denial a lump in your throat.

The harassment continued inside the hallowed grounds of the garage. A senior Mercedes director, his face a mask of grim disapproval, cornered you. "Why?" he asked, his voice devoid of warmth. "Why betray the team like that?"

"It wasn't me," you blurted, the denial instinctive. But the truth, a tangled web, wouldn't unravel without ensnaring Toto. Seeing your hesitation, the director scoffed, leaving you mid-sentence with a dismissive shake of his head.

Fury welled within you, choked back by the ever-present weight of your secret. Lewis, having witnessed the exchange, rushed to your side, his face a mask of thunder. He didn't waste time confronting the dismissive director. Instead, he grabbed your arm gently but firmly, his grip conveying a silent message of support.

"Come on," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Let's get out of here."

Without another word, he led you away from the accusatory stares and hushed whispers that seemed to cling to you like a second skin. You found yourselves in the familiar haven of his driver's room, the door shutting out the noise and tension of the garage.

Lewis turned to you, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and concern. He reached out, cupping your face in his warm hands. "Y/n" he began, his voice thick with emotion, "we can't keep doing this. You can't keep taking the blame for something that isn't your fault."

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You leaned into his touch, finding solace in his unwavering belief.

"I know," you choked out, your voice strained. "But what else can I do? If I expose Toto, it will tear the team apart."

Lewis sighed, his frustration evident. "He shouldn't have put you in this position in the first place. This whole thing is unfair to you. You deserve better."

He looked at you intensely, his eyes searching yours. "There has to be another way" he said, his voice firm. "We just need to find it."

You clung to that sliver of hope. Lewis was right. There had to be a way out of this labyrinth of lies and betrayal. But what was it? You felt lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Noticing your despair, Lewis softened his tone. "Let's not make any rash decisions right now" his voice gentle. "We'll figure this out, together. You're not going through this alone."

A single tear escaped your eye and traced a warm path down your cheek. You nodded, a silent thank you for his unwavering support. Lewis was right. You weren't alone. And somewhere, buried beneath the fear and anger, a flicker of determination ignited. You wouldn't let this break you.

The following days were a whirlwind of forced smiles and practiced indifference. The media camped outside your hotel, their cameras flashing like hungry eyes in the night. Evenings were spent with Lewis, his presence a comfort, but the unspoken question in his eyes gnawed at your conscience.

Two weeks later, the Australian Grand Prix loomed. The oppressive Melbourne heat felt almost suffocating compared to the media storm that had followed you all the way from Qatar. Every interaction felt laced with suspicion, every headline a fresh jab of accusation.

You knew you couldn't keep going like this. The anger towards Toto simmered beneath the surface, a constant reminder of his betrayal. But the thought of exposing him, of fracturing the team that felt like a second family, was equally agonizing.

Lewis, ever the pillar of support, sensed your internal turmoil. "You can't stay silent forever." he kept saying to you, his brow always furrowed in concern.

His words rang true. You couldn't. But confronting Toto directly felt like a declaration of war.

“I know, but simply denying won’t do it” you’d tell him over and over.

A desperate idea flickered to life on the media sessions of Thursday. Susie. Maybe, just maybe, she could be the bridge you needed.

Ignoring the knot of apprehension in your stomach, unknowingly to Lewis, you made your way to her hotel room. Surprised but welcoming, she ushered you in. With a shaky breath, you poured out your heart, the accusations and the weight of the lie that threatened to crush you.

"I can't do this anymore, Susie," you finished, your voice tight with emotion. "I can't keep taking the blame for something I didn't do. Something has to change."

Susie listened intently, her face a mask of understanding. She'd seen the relentless media reports, the accusatory whispers that swirled around you. You weren't the first woman in Formula One to be unfairly targeted, and Susie knew that sting all too well.

"I can only imagine how hard this has been for you" she said softly, placing a comforting hand on yours. "Being a woman in this sport, you learn to navigate a constant storm of doubt. But this…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

A sliver of hope flickered in your chest. Maybe she could reason with Toto, maybe she could make him understand the damage he'd caused.

"Can you talk to him?" you pleaded. "Make him see what he's doing? I can't stay if this continues."

Susie's gaze softened, filled with empathy but also a flicker of helplessness. "I wish it were that simple, love" she said. "You know Toto. He's stubborn, fiercely loyal to Mercedes. Interfering in something like this… it wouldn't be helpful."

Disappointment washed over you, heavy and cold. You had clung to a fragile hope, only to have it dashed.

Susie squeezed your hand. "This isn't over" she said firmly. "We'll figure something out. But you can't leave Mercedes out of impulse. You've built a career here, a reputation. Leaving now, under these circumstances, might just play into the narrative everyone's already creating."

Her words were a bitter pill to swallow, but they held a truth you couldn't deny. You couldn't let the rumors win, not completely. But staying meant navigating a minefield, waiting for the right opportunity to clear your name.

You tried clinging to a semblance of normalcy within the familiar routine of practice sessions and driver briefings the following days. Lewis tried to keep the outside world at bay, but the tension crackled in the air between you.

On Sunday morning, just as dawn was painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange, Lewis woke you with a frantic shake. "Babe, there's something in the news" he said, his voice hoarse from sleep.

He fumbled with his phone; his brow furrowed as he scanned the article. You sat up, dread settling in your stomach like a lead weight.

"A source close to Mercedes " Lewis started, his voice catching, "came forward to a British newspaper." He took a deep breath before continuing, "The leak… it was Toto."

The anger flared, hot and sharp. "Do you want to call him?" Lewis offered, his hand hovering over his phone, but you stopped him.

A strangled gasp escaped your lips. Relief, anger, and disbelief warred within you. The truth, finally, but at what cost?

"They say he didn't intend for you to take the blame," Lewis continued, his voice low and grim. "But he didn't exactly try to correct it either."

"No" your voice surprisingly steady. "Not now. Let him stew in his mess for a while."

The race that day was a chaotic spectacle. Both Mercedes cars, Lewis' included, DNFed. The silence that descended on the pit wall was deafening, broken only by the crackle of engineers scrambling for answers. You watched it all unfold with a detached numbness. The disappointment and the bewilderment of the entire team, felt like distant echoes compared to the storm raging within you.

News of Toto's betrayal had sent shockwaves through the paddock. Reporters swarmed the Mercedes hospitality area, a feeding frenzy of speculation and accusations. The team, caught completely off guard, retreated behind a wall of stoic silence.

As the post-race celebrations erupted for the other teams, you found yourself isolated. The jubilant atmosphere felt mocking, a stark contrast to the turmoil within you. The media, starved of official statements, descended on you like a swarm of angry hornets.

"Did you already know it had been Toto?” one reporter shouted, shoving a microphone in your face.

"Do you believe he should face repercussions?" another chimed in, his voice laced with a hostile edge.

You held their gaze, your voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in your hands. "I have no comment on Mr. Wolff's actions," you said, your words ringing with a newfound resolve. "But, I'm here to stay. My future in Formula One is mine to write."

The words hung heavy in the air, a challenge and a declaration. You wouldn't be a victim. You wouldn't let Toto, or anyone else, control your narrative. A strange mix of emotions churned within you – relief, anger, and a simmering resentment that threatened to boil over. You knew you couldn't let it fester. You needed closure, not just for yourself, but for your future.

With a steely resolve, you knocked at Toto's open door, the familiar space now tainted by a sense of betrayal. He looked up, surprise flickering across his face before morphing into a mask of guarded indifference, although his jaw remained clenched. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

"Why, Toto?" You finally asked, your voice laced with a quiet fury. "Why did you throw me under the bus?"

He sighed, a flicker of regret crossing his eyes for a fleeting moment. "It was never meant to be you," he mumbled, more to himself than to you.

"But it was," you shot back, your voice rising slightly. "The media frenzy, the accusations, the looks in the paddock… it was all me, taking the blame for your mistake."

Shame flickered across Toto's face, quickly replaced by a defensiveness that grated on your nerves. "It was a calculated risk," he said, his voice regaining its usual authority. "A risk that ultimately backfired."

"A risk that nearly destroyed my career," you corrected him, your voice firm. "Do you have any idea what these past weeks have been like?"

"I deserve the truth, Toto," you continued "Why did you do it?"

He hesitated, then spoke, his voice low, his eyes unable to meet your gaze. "There were… external pressures. Sponsors, the board… they were unhappy with the results, and then losing Lewis. We needed a scapegoat."

"So, you chose me" you stated.

He remained silent, his shame a palpable presence in the room. You didn't need his answer. It was clear. You had been expendable, a pawn sacrificed in the high-stakes game of F1.

Taking a deep breath, you forced down the pain. There was no point in a screaming match. You needed a clean break, a chance to rebuild your career on your own terms, your time at Mercedes was over. The betrayal had severed the trust, leaving behind a cliff that no apology could bridge.

"Consider this my resignation." you said, your voice ringing with finality. "I won't be a pawn in your games."

His eyes widened in surprise, but there was something else there too – a grudging respect, perhaps, for your strength.

"You're making a mistake," he said, his voice softer now.

You shook your head. "No. I'm finally making the right decision."

You turned to leave, the weight of the past weeks lifting from your shoulders with each step. There would be challenges ahead, the uncertainty of finding a new team, the whispers that would likely follow you. But you were free. Free from the stifling loyalty to someone that didn't value you.

Later that evening, back at the hotel, you finally found Lewis in a tense silence. The weight of the day, the double-edged sword of vindication and betrayal, pressed down on you both. You offered him a tired smile. "There's a lot to unpack," you said, your voice raspy.

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his warmth a comforting presence. You leaned into him, the familiar scent of his cologne grounding you. In that moment, surrounded by the chaos, Lewis' unwavering support was the only thing that felt certain.

Realization dawned on Lewis' face. "You think Susie had something to do with it."

Taking a deep breath, you started "A couple of days ago, I talked to Susie."

Lewis listened intently, surprised by what you had just said "I thought maybe, just maybe, she could talk to Toto, reason with him."

You shrugged, a hint of a sly smile playing on your lips. "Maybe. I don't know for sure. But one thing's clear," you met Lewis' gaze, your eyes filled with newfound resolve, "Being at Mercedes today felt tainted.” You breathed out “I resigned. It’s time for me to find my own home."

Lewis' face softened, a proud smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He squeezed your hand. "Wherever you go," he said, his voice filled with unwavering support, "I'll be with you."

You looked at him, his gaze a promise and a comfort. You smiled, a genuine one this time. You would rebuild your reputation, stronger and more resilient than before. The leak might have been Toto's fault, but your comeback, that would be a story entirely of your own making.

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TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1

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pedropascallme · 1 year ago

Note

u said u are always looking for a reason to write jim smut so let me deliver bc i’m actually so fixated on this movie it’s CRAZYYY!!!!! anyways i would like like a build up to a confession kind of? like there’s so so much romantic and sexual tension and it just like breaks and yeah😭😭 idk if that makes any sense but yk!! ok thank u so much!!! you are amazing dude

In Our Perfect Present Tense

Pairing: Jim x f!Reader

Summary: "And where had this sudden, deep infatuation with Jim come into play? Was it sudden?"

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), p in v, fingering, praise kink, Jim can be soft!dom if I say so!! Allusions to canon typical violence, I know Cillian Murphy is 5'8 but Jim is 6'2 in my mind, if I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: Max you make my heart go badumbadumbadumbadum (good) I hope this is to your liking <3 Also continuing to cross tag my Cillian fics because my Jim fics rarely gain traction so we are trying some METHODS.

The cottage was so quiet.

You could hear Hannah shift under the blanket and sigh in her sleep, and though seeing her so peaceful made you feel a pang of protectiveness, watching her chest rise and fall, your mind was elsewhere. Maybe you were still in London, or Manchester, or anywhere else; maybe this was all fake and you had died somewhere along the way. Was this Heaven? Or maybe Purgatory, given that nothing seemed to have changed much.

And where had this sudden, deep infatuation with Jim come into play? Was it sudden?

No. You closed your eyes and his face flashed across your mind; eyes you wanted to drown in and cheekbones sharp enough to make you bleed. Maybe that’s why you kept him around in the first place. You’d never had to help him, save him from the congregation that chased him down the road; never had to take him to your hideout in the underground. At first, (and you knew this for a fact, at least) it was simply because Mark…bored you. He was cheesy and had a chip on his shoulder, and you didn’t like how he looked at you—didn’t like that he seemed to expect you to fall in love with him. Jim made a good buffer. And it helped that he had such kind eyes that seemed to be full of fear and morbid curiosity, and that he was, in every sense of the word, pretty.

You hadn’t been sad when you’d had to kill Mark.

But once you had made it clear to Jim that you didn’t want to fall in love with him, either, your snap judgement fogging your mind, you thought that was the end of it. Thought maybe he would go out like Mark did. And was it really your fault that Jim assumed you didn’t care about him? You didn’t. You wanted him to think you didn’t. Wanted him to think that he was essentially on his own when you ran up the stairs to the top floor, with his head splitting in pain and your legs going as fast as they could carry you. But when he came up to you that night to apologize to you, thank you, hold out an olive branch, it was then you realized that you felt isolated. And, yes, doomsday will do that to you, but it wasn’t just that. It was that even when humanity was rearing its ugly head, Jim still had the time to recognize and respect you; he was willing to put you first in a way nobody would’ve done even if their life didn’t depend on it.

You felt so guilty that night, touching yourself under the covers with everybody else just a few rooms over.

It was one thing to be wandering around the desolate city with him as your only company, but once you had Frank and Hannah (and a car) you felt like maybe, just maybe, there was hope. There was a glimmer of something behind Jim’s eye when you were eating out on the countryside after ransacking the supermarket—and it could’ve been the way the light was hitting him, or the way he laughed with Hannah, or the fact that he was eating fruit for the first time in weeks, but you thought maybe it had something to do with you. Maybe he had figured out that you did care. About him and about the state of things and about what the hell you would do if there was any sort of relief from running away. You thought about kissing him then, and he might’ve, too. There was a certain tenderness in the way he curled up next to you that night, under the stars.

In another life, he might’ve done it for reasons other than keeping warm.

And then, of course, that all came crashing down. It had been too good to be true, and in retrospect you hated yourself for allowing any harm to come to your small posse. You got out alive, but the hope you had was minimal, at best. Was alive good enough anymore? Was alive good enough when you’d fought off every evil you could think of in the span of 12 hours?

No. It wasn’t until Jim turned around, soaking wet and bleeding, that you realized that being alive was no good if he wasn’t there with you to enjoy it. You’d wanted to wrap yourself in him, to feel the sweat and blood caked on his chest and kiss him until you lost consciousness. Instead, you crumpled to the floor in the red dress that had been forced upon you, hugging yourself to his shins and begging him to tell you he was ok. It was mortifying, only made slightly more bearable when Hannah lobbed a bottle over his head. At least you knew there was still humor to be found in the worst of situations.

Shortly thereafter, when Jim got shot, you were certain that it was all over; you might as well follow him out. Maybe you would’ve if it hadn’t been for Hannah crying silently next to you as she floored the gas and begged you to stay. To do something. For once you felt like you had people worth fighting for other than yourself. It made you dizzy.

Which brought you back to the present.

There were two rooms in the cottage; both were damp and smelled like the lint from a dryer, but having a bed was enough. You had discussed the sleeping situation the night of your arrival, and there had only been some mild bickering.

“I’ll sleep on the floor. S’ok.” Jim remained gentlemanly throughout, but it was apparent, to you, at least, that the person with the bullet hole through their stomach should be able to sleep comfortably.

“Hannah and I will take one, you’ll take the other.” You were blunt, dancing around the subject of who would end up sharing by deciding then and there to divide it based on sex.

“Wha—” Hannah began to protest before deciding to shut her mouth.

“It’s really not that big a deal,” Jim stood his ground, “I’ll find something to rest on.”

“Absolutely not.” And that’s where you ended it. Saving face, dismissing any deeper urges, leaving no time for Hannah or Jim to propose a different arrangement.

But now that you were somewhat settled, it felt wrong to be in this room. The wallpaper was a reflective pink, and it felt too bright even in the pitch-black night. You couldn’t get comfortable, and all you could do was mull over every past interaction you’d had with Jim. Every interaction, and the way his mouth moved when he spoke, and the way he smiled at you, and the way he had quite literally killed for you—nearly been killed for you.

You felt hot. Nauseous, even, to the point where you felt that you had to move around or take a walk or do anything to feel more at ease. But it just so happened that you felt the most at ease around Jim.

You tiptoed across the floor and into the hallway. You almost didn’t bother knocking on the door, but felt that you at least owed him that decency.

“C’m’in.”

You peered into the room, allowing yourself a small view of Jim’s shirtless figure splayed out on the bed. You smiled, feeling shy out of nowhere.

“Just wanted to check on you.” You excused yourself, not wanting him to think it any more odd than it already was for you to be in his doorway at midnight. “You feeling ok?”

“Better than ever.” Jim crossed his arms behind his head, sitting up against the pillows. You could see the bandage on his abdomen, and his skin covered in a ray of moonlight.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, patting the mattress to encourage you to sit with him. You closed the door behind you. “Why’re you really up?”

“Honestly?” You paused to build tension, leaning in slightly, “Hannah snores.” Jim chuckled under his breath. “And…and I don’t really feel at home in that room.”

“Would you feel more at home in this one?”

“Maybe…”

“’Cause if you’d like it, you and Hannah could have it. ‘V’always wanted pink wallpaper, anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, “No, that’s—it’s not that.”

“Then…?” Jim tilted his head slightly, and you looked down and away from him, inhaling deeply.

“Can I stay in here tonight? With—with you?” You could feel your pulse in your throat and though he responded almost immediately, you felt as though hours were passing.

“Sure, f’course.” Jim nodded; eyes wide with eager bewilderment. You swing your legs over the mattress, straightening yourself out beside him. You looked up at the ceiling, lying on your back and waiting to fall asleep.

“Closer.” Jim whispered.

“Hm?”

“Y’can come closer. If you want, I mean.”

“Oh…yeah.” You shuffled closer to him. Somehow you ended up spooning, his hand draped hesitantly over your waist. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and his breath blowing against the hairs on the back of your neck.

“Comfortable?” He was still whispering, as if he would wake the crickets if he spoke any louder.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah…” You both fell silent again, and you wondered if he could feel the tension, too, or if it was something you had just made up. You turned over to face him.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke, though his eyes were closed, and you thought maybe he had already fallen asleep.

“For what?” His eyes were still closed when he responded.

“For—you know…” You reached out to graze your fingertips over his bandages, withdrawing it just as quickly when you realized that what you were doing was so forward.

“You didn’t shoot me.”

“I didn’t stop you from getting shot.”

“Not much you could’ve done. Three of us and more of them.” He opened his eyes, “Plus, you drugged Hannah, so just the two of us, really.”

You buried your face into the pillow, “Was trying to help.”

“You did.” Jim reached out to goad you from your hiding spot. “Been nothing but helpful since I met you. Consider this me returning the favor.” You managed to peek an eye out from the pillow to look at him smiling at you. He was so gentle. How could a man who had been comatose while the world was thrown into shambles remain so empathetic?

“Didn’t want you to get hurt.” You mumbled, barely audible when the words came out through the pillow.

“Didn’t want you to get hurt, either. Think I went to all that trouble for myself?”

“No.” You brought your head up to fully look at him.

“Exactly. You would’ve done the same for me.”

“You say that with so much confidence.”

“Cause it’s true. Cocky, but it’s true.”

“It is.”

“True?”

“Cocky,” you smiled when he feigned defeat, “but also true.” You quieted again, keeping eye contact with one another. Jim’s smile faded slightly.

“Why did you help me?” He asked.

“Hm?”

“In the first place, by the gas station—why did you help me?”

You didn’t know how to answer. “I needed the company.”

“You had company.”

“I needed company I would enjoy.”

“What if I wasn’t enjoyable?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I was willing to take that risk.” You raised an eyebrow back at him, mocking his curiosity and his pushback. “And…I mean, plus, you were…I d’know. Tragic. And pretty.”

“Pretty?” His other eyebrow shot up.

“And tragic.” You giggled. “It’s not like I saw you tearing down the street screaming and thought that you only deserved help ‘cause you were good looking, it was just—it’s why I kept you around.” You rolled your eyes, trying to stop yourself from sounding too sincere, unsure if Jim was willing to recognize the attraction you had toward him. Unsure of whether or not you were willing to admit it right here, right now.

“You liked me.” Jim teased.

“I like you,” you clarified, “Present tense.” You averted your eyes from his gaze, opting instead to look down at his wound once more. He gawked at you, grinning. Placing a hand on your chin, he redirected your gaze to his face.

“How long have you been holding out on me?”

“What?”

“How long’ve you been wanting to say that? Not since day one, hm? Since we went to my parents’ house?”

“Didn’t want to say it,” you huffed, “wanted to help you stay alive.”

“C’mon, all that talk about how you didn’t care if I fell in love with you? Cared more than you let on, I knew it. Could’ve saved us so much time if you just came out with it.”

“Shush.” You tried not to dwell on his words, the realization that, this whole time, he was waiting for you.

“Say it again.” He gleamed, “say it again.”

You took his hand from your face, holding it in your own. “Jim,” you brought his hand to your chest, “I like you.”

You couldn’t take a breath before he was on you. You felt his lips first, plush against your own, and then his hands over your waist and his legs tangling with yours. For someone who had almost bled out less than a week ago, he was shockingly quick on his feet. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the release of weeks’ worth of tension that had been festering inside of you when his tongue slipped between your lips. You moaned, hands grabbing at any part of him you could reach: You felt his chest against your own and ran a trail down his spine with a finger, feeling him shiver at your touch. He ground his hips into you slightly and you reached for his arms, pulling him in as close as you possibly could.

“Knew it.” He whispered when you pulled away for air. “Knew it.” He began sucking on your neck, running his tongue over your pulse point and licking stripes down your throat. You gasped at the feeling, still trying to touch him wherever you could. You found yourself stroking his jawline while he sucked bruises onto your chest, feeling the way his cheeks hollowed when he made an especially strong mark.

“Jim—” You pleaded, trying to touch him, feel him, all around needing him. It was almost all too much.

He returned to eye level. “Mm?” He kissed your neck again, soothing over the fresh hickeys. “Tell me what you need.”

“You—need you.”

“C’mon,” his grin returned, “specifics.”

“Please,” you needed to feel everything, everywhere, “fuck me.”

“God, sounds so pretty coming out of that mouth.” He stood up from the mattress, pulling you up slightly to allow him to disrobe you. It didn’t take much effort; the threadbare clothes you were trying to pass off as pajamas had already practically disintegrated the moment you had put them on. He shucked his bottoms off before retaking his place on top of you in bed.

“So fucking beautiful,” he kissed you again, “so, so pretty. Wanted to make you feel so good f’so long.”

Feeling confident, you cupped his cheek in your palm, “touched myself thinking about this.”

“F—when? Thought about me while you touched yourself? Tell me.” It was a breathless demand, and you could feel his erection throbbing above you.

“The night in the apartment. Came on my fingers, came so hard while I thought of how good you’d fuck me—oh!” Your sexy display was cut short when you felt his fingers brush your clit.

“Yeah? Touched right here and thought of how nice I’d fuck this pussy?” You whimpered at the way he massaged you just right, and his words only added fuel to the fire. “Should’ve just asked me to take care of you, baby, would’ve helped.” God, he was wicked. Such a good man, and so, so wicked for speaking to you like this. You arched your back, and he took the opportunity to slide two fingers into your cunt. “Fuck,” he huffed, delighted by how wet you were for him, and your eyes rolled back, “get yourself this wet? Or is it just me?”

“You, fuck, Jim—it’s you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Cocky bastard.” You managed between whines and gasps.

“You love it.” He continued to push his fingers in and out of you, and a delightful squelching noise filled the bedroom. “Fucking beautiful.” He kept at it for a while longer, enjoying the noises you made for him and the way your face contorted when he hit an especially sensitive spot. When he pulled his fingers from you, you sighed, feeling the low of being empty, until he brought the wet digits to your mouth and encouraged you to clean them off for him. He let out a low groan when you began sucking, using your tongue to gather your slick off from in between them. “Yeah, good girl.”

He slotted himself between your thighs, and you could feel the drag of his cock over your stomach. You looked down, wrapping a hand around him and ogling him; so long, so beautifully outlined by thick veins. He gently grasped your wrist, pushing your hand back onto the mattress.

“Wanna make this last.” He half-joked. He kept your arm pinned under him, and you could feel his tip exploring your folds, until finally he pushed himself into you. You let out a shaky, breathless moan as he shallowly thrusted into you, working you open to take him as deep as you could. When he bottomed out, he leaned his forehead against yours, and you could feel the stickiness of sex and sweat on your skin.

“Good, yeah?” He was still being smug, though ensuring you were comfortable. You felt devious, rolling your hips against him and grinning in response, earning a choked “fuck” from him. “Dirty fucking girl.” He pulled out almost entirely before thrusting back into you, forcefully enough that you felt your back drag against the bed. Your tits bounced as he rocked his hips into you, and he took the opportunity to grab one in his hand, taking the other in his mouth.

“Jim!” You couldn’t remember your own name, could barely remember who you were or how you got here; all you could think was Jim, Jim, Jim. “Fu—uck, oh my god, Jim!”

“Gonna wake up the whole neighborhood?” He was incapable of being serious even in the most intimate of moments, knowing full well that the people in this house were the only living souls for miles. “Gonna make sure everybody knows who’s fucking you?” Your lips parted, letting out small moans and whimpers of his name with every thrust.

You could feel his fingers on your clit again, and the feeling was electric; maybe it was because you had wanted him for so long, and tried to deny it for almost as long, but you’d never felt this good—never felt this perfectly sated. The way he kneaded your swollen bud while pounding into you hard enough to make the bedframe shake, the way he whispered such filthy things into the skin of your breasts, the way he wanted you too.

“Gonna—Jim, I’m gonna cum!” You tried to move in sync with him, but it was all too much; he was everywhere, and it was going to be your undoing. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to fuck you deeper. He leaned over you, tracing his fingers down your cheek before grabbing your face in one hand.

“Cum for me, baby. So good, my perfect girl, cum on my cock like this.” You were as good as gone. You felt your legs tighten around his body at the same time as your cunt clenched around his length. You dug your nails into the skin of his arm, and he growled at the way your body responded to him. “Yeah, like that—just like that, sweetheart.”

You were trembling, dripping down his cock and unsure of how to rationalize this amount of pleasure in the midst of end times. Who cared, anyway? You felt fuzzy, barely registering Jim’s words as his strokes became messier and rushed, catching up to you with his own high.

“Want it inside,” you mumbled through your haze, “please, inside.”

“Can’t fucki—can’t say that baby, can’t risk it.”

“Please…” You knew how stupid it was, knew that he would have to say no, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try.

“When we get out of England—when we get out of England, I’ll fill you up as much as you want. Yeah?” He slammed himself into you, and his words bounced around inside of your head: “When we get out,” “as much as you want.” If you weren’t so spent, you’d cum for him again from that statement alone. “Promise I will, whenever you want it, baby.”

“Mm.” You sighed contentedly at his assurance. “Tummy.”

“Yeah, good girl, gonna paint you with my cum.” He groaned when you reached up to brush your fingers down his happy trail.

“Give it to me. Please, Jim. Needed it f’so long.” Your mouth hung open, sensitive and sore from his cock and his hands, and somehow still so needy for him, desperate to see him to completion. He buried his face in your neck, breathing in your scent and letting your moans fill his ears as his hips stuttered and he pulled out. You felt his knuckles against your stomach as he stroked himself, finally feeling the warmth of his spend land and spread across your abdomen with a long moan of your name. You stayed like that, both of you breathing heavily, Jim lying on top of you. The gluey feeling of his cum on your stomach and your own between your thighs only heightened when he sat up on his elbow, looking down at you to appreciate how pretty you looked after being fucked out, and you could see the strands of cum dripping between your bodies.

“So beautiful.” He kissed you again, and despite the passion from the last kisses still being present, he was significantly gentler with you in your bleary state.

You blinked up at him, smiling through the fog in your brain, and hugging him close to you. “Gonna have to change your bandages. Covered in your own cum.”

“But what a way to go, right?” He laughed, and you buried your face into him further. “Tomorrow,” he promised. “Need a towel?”

“Would it be gross to sleep like this?”

“Gross? No. Uncomfortable? Maybe.”

“I’ll take my chances. Too tired to wash off.”

“As long as you’re alright.” He brushed your hair away from your eyes, maneuvering himself to look down at you while you were pressed to his chest.

“Feel amazing.” You reassured him. “Should’ve said something earlier.”

“No,” Jim pet your hair, smoothing it down over the back of your head, “this was perfect timing.”

“Perfect timing.” You murmured his words back to him in agreement.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #28 days later fanfiction #jim 28 days later #28 days later #jim 28 days later x reader #28 days later jim x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut

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sigynpenniman · 4 months ago

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AIRPORT TIERLIST OF AIRPORTS I’VE BEEN THROUGH FROM SOMEONE WHO FUCKING LOVES AIRPORTS

S TIER:

- MCO Orlando. My love my queen. Platonic ideal of airports. All the other airports wanna be her.

- MSY New Orleans - I have only seen your beautiful face once but your vibes were just impeccable. I miss you beautiful

A TIER:

- LHR London Heathrow - you’re so chill and sweet to be such a major airport. Weirdly calming somehow. Sterile, but the big boy of London airports. When you’re here you’re in London. Smells like joy.

- CDG Charles DeGaulle Paris. Dripping in stunning retro futurism and has a Concorde on stands by the runway. We love her

- DCA Ronald Reagan Washington DC. So pretty. So clean. So easy to navigate. Prevented from S tier status by being one long skinny thing with no way to get quickly across it.

B TIER:

- DEN Denver Colorado. Architecture for the gods but somehow the vibes are off. I’d fly through you again happily but I don’t feel especially warm when I think of you.

- FLL Fort Lauderdale - Hollywood. You’re permanently attached to very warm memories for me because of the trip I took from you but you’re just kind of there. Vibes are off. Meh.

- ORD Chicago O’hare. Aesthetic perfection but weirdly stressful. While I had a great time on this trip I do not think warmly of the airport other than the rainbow lighting. Jules got yelled at here. -10 points.

- CLE Cleveland Ohio. Another airport that is home of warm memories due to loved ones but just really not the vibe as an airport.

C TIER:

- LGW London Gatwick. I don’t like you for no reason. Like a disappointment, you’re in London but not at Heathrow for some reason.

- PHL Philadelphia. Again, weird aimless dislike. I cannot justify.

- BNA Nashville. Meh. Fine, which may be the worst insult I can lob at an airport.

D TIER:

- LGA New York LaGaurdia. Fuck you and your tiny spirit terminal in the middle of nowhere and your hard to access rental cars and your poor road signage that sent me round and round on the New York interstate in my rented Corolla. The bigger terminals are pretty though, and anyway. New York City!

E TIER:

JAX Jacksonville. Ew.

F TIER:

BOS Boston Logan International Airport. I loathe you. Less busy numerically than ATL and yet somehow even more spread out. Signage is bad. Directions unclear. Nothing makes sense in this alternate reality. Labyrinthine building designed by the god Hades. Never again would be too soon.

UNTIERABLE:

ATL - Hartsfield Jackson Atlanta. The biggest and busiest airport in the world. When you buy a ticket on Delta a box pops up that says “by buying this ticket you agree to see the inside of Hartsfield Jackson Airport.” Not actually a real place, but a floating parallel dimensional space you enter when you walk through the doors. When you get off the Plane Train at terminal D a sign to the left points down a hallway and says “Walk to Terminal E. Time: 45 minutes.” Bigger than many cities and some European principalities. And sometimes you’ll be forced to run clear across it when your gate gets changed. Send every domestic flight that goes near it and many that don’t through it for a completely unnecessary 45 minute layover and sautée until golden brown to birth this unholy god of a space outside all time. They have CPR training machines. They have bathrooms too rarely. They have a whole other airport underneath for international transfers. Don’t die before you see it. Everyone should, at least once. 🎶Welcome Aboard the Plane Train!🎶 next stop: the 4th circle of hell. Walk to purgatory: 45 minutes. Moving sidewalk out of order.

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mccall-muffin · 8 months ago

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The Lady and the Major - Part 3/3 // John "Bucky" Egan x OC

Summary: Bucky is gone. For Liz, a world fell apart. But being the daughter of a duke, there still are responsibilities.

Warnings: Language, loss, slight depression, family duties, family fight. FLUUUUFF

A/N: And now this little story comes to an end. It was fun :) Hope you enjoyed it!

Here is my Masterlist

Tags: @liebgotts-lovergirl, @softly-writes, @mads-weasley, @brassknucklespeirs, @softguarnere, @shesgonna

London, Early 1944

The vibrant correspondence between Liz and Bucky, once a source of joy and anticipation for Liz, has fallen into a distressing silence since October 1943. Each letter she sent without receiving a reply added another layer to her growing concern and heartache. Liz's letters, once filled with playful banter and teasing affection, have grown more earnest, culminating in a confession of her deepening feelings for Bucky—a letter that, like its predecessors, remains unanswered.

The once lively spark in Liz's eyes has dimmed, noted by all who know her but most acutely by Mrs. Baxter, who has served the Cavendish family for years and has come to hold a particular fondness for Liz. It's a quiet afternoon when Mrs. Baxter finds Liz in the garden, her laughter at something in a book not quite reaching her eyes, a shadow of her usual vibrancy.

"Miss Elizabeth," Mrs. Baxter begins, her voice laced with concern, "you've been ever so down lately. It's not like you to let the world weigh on your shoulders. Is it that young American soldier? You've not mentioned him in quite some time."

Liz, caught off guard, closes her book, a sigh escaping her lips. "Yes, it's Bucky. I've not heard from him since October. I fear the worst, Mrs. Baxter. But part of me wonders... what if he's simply moved on? Or found someone else? Or worse..." Her voice is a mix of sadness and fear, the possibility of Bucky being gone forever a thought she can barely entertain.

Mrs. Baxter, wise in the ways of the heart and the harsh realities of war, shakes her head. "Miss Elizabeth, the way that boy wrote to you, I can't imagine him simply forgetting about you or finding another. It doesn't sit right. Why don't you write to his superior? Just to ask, to know for certain."

The suggestion stirs a turmoil within Liz. The thought of reaching out to Colonel Harding, of whom Bucky told her, is daunting, not only for fear of seeming desperate but also for the terrifying possibility that her worst fears might be confirmed—that Bucky is indeed lost to her, either through death or by a change of heart.

"But what if I find out he's..." Liz can't finish the sentence, the fear of Bucky's potential death choking her words.

"Miss Elizabeth," Mrs. Baxter says, taking Liz's hand in her own, "not knowing is a torment all its own. It's clear you care for him deeply and living in this limbo isn't fair to you. Writing to that Colonel might bring you the clarity you need to move forward, one way or another."

Liz contemplates Mrs. Baxter's words, the wisdom in them undeniable yet terrifying to act upon. The possibility of learning that Bucky is indeed gone is a reality she's not sure she's ready to face. Yet, the perpetual state of not knowing, of holding onto a thread of hope mixed with fear, is its own kind of purgatory.

After a moment of silent contemplation, Liz nods, a decision made. "You're right, Mrs. Baxter. I'll write to his Colonel. It's better to know than to spend my days wondering 'what if.'"

Mrs. Baxter squeezes Liz's hand reassuringly, offering a smile that's both encouraging and sympathetic. "Whatever the response, Miss Elizabeth, you won't face it alone. We're all here for you, always."

With a newfound resolve, albeit one shadowed by apprehension, Liz sets out to pen a letter to Colonel Harding, seeking the truth about Bucky's fate. It's a step fraught with the risk of heartbreak but also the only path toward peace, whether it leads to closure or rekindles a flicker of hope.

Dear Colonel Harding,

I hope this letter finds you well amidst the challenging circumstances that I know the brave men under your command face daily. I am writing to you with a heavy heart and a hopeful spirit, seeking information about Major John Egan, who I believe is (or was) under your esteemed leadership.

It has been several months since I last heard from Major Egan, and his silence is uncharacteristic and deeply concerning. We had been in regular correspondence until October of last year, after which all communication ceased abruptly. Understanding the nature of his duty and the risks involved, I am painfully aware of the potential reasons for his silence.

However, the not knowing has become a burden too heavy to bear, and so I find myself reaching out to you, Colonel, in hopes that you might be able to provide any information regarding Major Egan's status. It is my deepest hope that he is safe and well, but if that is not the case, I am prepared to face whatever truth there might be.

Major Egan spoke very highly of you and his fellow soldiers, and it is clear he holds great respect for the sacrifices and efforts of the 100th Bombardment Group. It is in this spirit of respect and concern that I reach out to you now.

Any information you can provide would be immensely appreciated, not only by me but by all who care for Major Egan.

I thank you in advance for your time and assistance in this matter and for your service to our countries. Please extend my gratitude and best wishes to the courageous men under your command.

Yours sincerely, Lady Elizabeth Cavendish of Wellington

Dear Lady Elizabeth Cavendish,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you regarding Major John Egan. First, let me express my deepest gratitude for your kind words, the respect you've shown towards our unit, and the sacrifices made by our servicemen. It is the support and thoughtfulness of individuals like yourself that bolster our spirits in these trying times.

Regarding Major Egan, I regret to inform you that his plane was shot down during a mission over Münster, Germany, on October 10th. The circumstances were such that we have been unable to ascertain his whereabouts following the incident, and as of this moment, Major Egan is classified as Missing in Action (MIA).

This news is undoubtedly difficult to receive, and it is shared with the greatest sympathy and respect for your connection to Major Egan. Please know that our efforts to learn more about his status continue unabated, and any new information will be communicated to you as soon as possible.

Major Egan is remembered among his peers for his bravery, leadership, and the indelible mark he left on all who had the privilege of knowing him. In these challenging times, we hold onto hope and the belief in the resilience of the human spirit.

Should there be any way we can be of further assistance to you during this period, please do not hesitate to reach out.

With deepest sympathies, Colonel Neil B. Harding 100th Bombardment Group United States Army Air Forces

July 1945, Hyde Park, London

The park, with its sprawling greens and tranquil ambiance, serves as a refuge for her thoughts, a place where memories of Bucky feel both painfully close and achingly distant. As she walks beside Mrs. Baxter, her mind is only half-attuned to the conversation about her impending nuptials to Lord Henry Ashcroft, a man of good standing and disposition but whom Liz regards with a sense of resigned acceptance rather than love.

Lord Henry Ashcroft, chosen by her father, was a man of considerable charm and intellect, a diplomat who had spent much of the war negotiating on behalf of Britain. While Liz could appreciate his qualities and the comfort of their companionship, her heart remained untouched, locked away with the memories of a love lost too soon.

As Mrs. Baxter prattles on, Liz's attention is stolen away by a voice, a familiar timbre that cuts through the noise of the park and straight to her soul. "Planning your grand escape, Liz? Or just hiding out from all those wedding planners your father's set on you?"

The voice, unmistakably Bucky's, sends a shockwave through her. She turns, disbelieving, to see him leaning casually against a tree, that all-too-familiar smirk playing on his lips, his arms crossed as if he's been waiting for her all this time. For a moment, Liz is frozen, her heart caught between joy and disbelief.

"Bucky?" she breathes out, her voice a whisper lost in the wind. The world around her seems to come to a standstill, the chatter of the park fading into nothingness as she takes in the sight of him. He's thinner, the signs of his ordeal evident in his eyes, but it's unmistakably him.

Bucky pushes off from the tree, taking a few steps toward her with a grin. "In the flesh," he confirms, his eyes lighting up with the warmth she remembered so well. "I must say, I've had quite the adventure. But I always knew I had to find my way back to you, Liz."

Tears well in Liz's eyes as the reality of the moment washes over her. The pain of the past two years, the resignation to a life without him, suddenly lifts, replaced by a surge of hope and love so strong it leaves her breathless.

"But how? I thought you were—" Liz starts, unable to finish, the question hanging in the air, laden with the weight of untold stories of survival and loss.

"A POW," Bucky finishes for her, his voice softening. "It was... rough. But I never stopped thinking about you, Liz. Not for a single day. It's what kept me going, knowing I had to come back to see you again."

The revelation leaves Liz reeling, the pieces of her carefully constructed resolve crumbling under the weight of her emotions. Here, before her, stands the man she believed she had lost forever, a living testament to the resilience of hope and love.

Mrs. Baxter, sensing the magnitude of the moment, discreetly withdraws with the dogs, leaving Liz and Bucky alone in their bubble of reclaimed time.

Liz steps forward, the distance between them closing with each tentative step until she's close enough to touch, to confirm that he's real and not a figment of her longing imagination. Without a word, she reaches out, her hand trembling as it meets his cheek, the contact sparking a connection that time and circumstance had failed to sever.

"Bucky, I..." Liz starts, the flood of emotions rendering her speechless.

"Shh," Bucky soothes, wrapping her in his arms, his presence a balm to the scars left by war and separation. "We have time, Liz. All the time, we thought we'd lost. We'll figure this out together."

In the embrace of the man she never stopped loving, Liz allows herself to believe in the possibility of a future she had mourned as lost. Hyde Park, once a sanctuary for her solitary reflections, now bears witness to the resurgence of a love that survived against all odds, promising a new chapter for Liz and Bucky, one where 'what if' transforms into 'what is.'

In the opulent salon of Wellington House, the tension is palpable. The Duke of Wellington, a man of formidable presence and traditional values, paces the room, his anger reaching a fever pitch. The assembled group—Liz, her fiancé Henry Ashcroft, her brother Edward, her mother, and Bucky—watches in a mix of apprehension and disbelief.

"My daughter, marrying an American? A soldier with no title, no lands, no... no nothing!" the Duke bellows, his voice echoing off the walls, laden with centuries of history and tradition. "This is not a matter of mere preference, Elizabeth! It's about duty, about the legacy of the Cavendish name. An arrangement has been made with the Ashcrofts, a union that will benefit both our families."

Liz stands her ground, her resolve steeled by the love she has for Bucky, a love that has endured the trials of war and separation. "Father, I respect our traditions, but I cannot—I will not—marry a man I do not love. Henry is a fine gentleman, but my heart belongs to Bucky. I must marry out of love, not obligation."

Her plea falls on deaf ears. The Duke, red-faced and seething, turns his ire towards Bucky. "And you!" he accuses, pointing a finger at the soldier who has unwittingly become the center of the controversy. "Do you think you can just waltz in here and claim my daughter's hand? What do you have to offer her? You are a commoner, an outsider!"

Bucky, despite the hostility, remains calm, his respect for Liz and her family evident even in the face of the Duke's wrath. "Your Grace, with all due respect, I understand your concerns. I may not have titles or lands to my name, but I love your daughter and swear to devote my life to making her happy. Isn't her happiness worth considering?"

The Duke's response is a derisive snort. "Happiness? You speak of happiness in a world where lineage and alliances dictate our very existence. You are not suitable for Elizabeth. This... this farce ends now!"

Liz's mother and brother exchange troubled glances, the family torn asunder by the clash of duty and desire. Henry, for his part, remains silent, his own feelings a mixture of resignation and relief, having sensed Liz's lack of affection towards him.

The room falls silent as the Duke delivers his ultimatum. "Elizabeth, you will marry Henry Ashcroft as planned, or you will face the consequences. You will not defy the wishes of your family or the expectations of our society. This is not just about you; it's about the Cavendish legacy."

The weight of her father's words hangs heavy in the air, a gulf widening between tradition and the yearning of the heart. Liz, caught in the throes of an impossible choice, looks to Bucky, her eyes filled with a mixture of love, defiance, and the dawning realization of the sacrifices they must both be willing to make for a chance at a life together.

As she can't take it anymore, Liz flees the salon and her father and is quickly followed by her mother.

In the quiet aftermath of Liz's hurried departure, the salon becomes a stage for silent contemplation and uneasy alliances. As Henry speaks privately with the Duke, Edward shares a moment of understanding with Bucky, and the pieces of a complex puzzle begin to shift. The choices made in the hours and days to come will redefine the futures of all involved, setting them on paths none could have anticipated.

Edward, acknowledging Bucky's resolve with a nod, breaks the silence. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Facing down the old man is no small feat," he comments, a hint of respect threading through his words.

Bucky, his determination unwavering, responds with a sincerity that speaks volumes of his experience and the depth of his feelings for Liz. "I've seen too much, lost too much, to not fight for what truly matters. Liz... she's changed everything for me. This time in captivity, it made me realize life's too short for regrets. I need to spend mine with her, no matter what."

Edward sighs, a look of understanding crossing his features. "I get it, I really do. But you must understand our world... it's governed by rules, by expectations that have bound families like ours for centuries. It's a tangled web."

Meanwhile, in Liz's room, the atmosphere is thick with desperation and the weight of impending decisions. Her mother, the Duchess, attempts to provide comfort, but Liz's turmoil runs too deep for simple reassurances. "I can't do it, Mother. I can't marry Henry knowing that Bucky is alive and the one I love. It would be a lie, a life built on pretense. I'm not like you; I can't hide my feelings or live a lie."

The Duchess, faced with her daughter's anguish, feels a pang of sorrow for the constraints their world imposes. She knows the Duke's stubbornness all too well, his unwavering commitment to duty and legacy. Yet, in her heart, she understands Liz's longing for genuine happiness. With a heavy heart, she reveals the only solution she sees.

"There is one way, Elizabeth. You must elope with Mr. Egan. It's the only path to true happiness if you're sure he's the one. Your father... he may never forgive you, but this is your life, and you must choose how to live it. But you have to know, if you decide on this, there is no coming back."

The suggestion of elopement, radical and fraught with the risk of scandal and estrangement, hangs in the air like a lifeline amidst stormy seas. It's a testament to the lengths to which love compels individuals to go, challenging the very foundations upon which their lives are built.

For Liz, the idea is both terrifying and liberating. The prospect of defying her family, of stepping outside the protective yet confining boundaries of her world, is daunting. Yet, the chance to build a life with Bucky, to embrace the love they share, is a beacon of hope in the darkness of her predicament.

As the vast expanse of the Atlantic stretches out before them, the cold ocean breeze tangles through Elizabeth's hair, a stark contrast to the warmth of Bucky's arms around her. His kiss on her cheek is a gentle reminder of the new reality they've stepped into together—a world away from the grandeur of Wellington House, a future uncertain but theirs to shape.

Bucky's voice, filled with affection, breaks the silence. "You sure you're okay with this, Lizzie? Leaving everything you've known... for me?"

Turning to face him, Liz's eyes meet his, shining with a resolve that belies any lingering doubts. "Bucky, I've never been more sure of anything in my life. With you, I have everything I need. You are my home now."

Bucky's smile in response is one of relief and love, his hand coming up to caress her cheek. "Liz, you've given up so much. I promise you, I'll spend every day making sure you never regret this decision."

Their conversation, intimate against the backdrop of the vast ocean, is a testament to the strength of their bond, a love that has transcended societal norms and the expectations of their respective worlds.

Flashback: In Liz's room, the Duchess's hands are steady as she helps pack the bags, her face a mask of resolve. "Remember, you're stronger than you think, Elizabeth. You're making a brave choice, for love. That's something I've always admired in you." As Bucky is led into Liz's room through the servants' corridors, his eyes quickly find Liz, his expression a mixture of surprise and admiration. "Lizzie, are you sure? This means leaving everything behind—your family, your title..." Liz steps close, her hands finding his. "I've never been more certain of anything, Bucky. As long as I'm with you, I'm where I belong." Her mother's voice, soft yet urgent, interrupts their moment. "You must hurry, my dears. And be careful." Handing Liz some money, she adds, "This should help you get started." She puts her arm on Bucky's. "Take care of my daughter." Bucky nods. "I will. Always." The goodbye is swift, a final embrace shared with her mother before Liz and Bucky slip out into the night, embarking on their journey towards a new life.

As Liz reaffirms her commitment, Bucky's eyes soften, the weight of her sacrifice not lost on him. "Lizzie, you're my world. I'll make sure you have all the happiness you deserve."

Their kiss, passionate and full of promise, seals their vow to each other. As they stand there, wrapped in each other's embrace, the future unfurls before them—not as a path laid out by lineage or duty, but as a journey they'll navigate together, bound by love and the shared courage to defy expectations for the chance at true happiness.

"We're in this together, every step of the way. I love you, now and forever," Bucky whispers, his words carrying the weight of an oath, a pledge of a lifetime together, against all odds.

And Liz, gazing into the horizon, her heart full, knows that no matter what challenges they may face, their love will be their guiding light. "I love you too, Bucky. Here's to our new beginning."

#Masters of the Air #MoaT #John Egan x OC #Bucky Egan x OC #John Egan x reader #Bucky Egan x reader #John Bucky Egan #BoB #Callum Turner #Sorry not sorry

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xxstraymoonchildxx · 1 year ago

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This Couple is unusual

Synopsis: You and Satan are currently hyper-fixating on the human world’s Victorian-era and True Crime. Since your birthday is coming up, you ask Barbatos for a special gift - a trip to Old London to find out the culprit behind the Jack the Ripper case. Who would have thought you’d met one Hell of a Butler? (Kuroshitsuji x Obey Me! Crossover)

Prologue

cw: none

You and Satan sat hurdled together in his room, a book in each of your hands. It was quiet, only your calm breathing and the occasional rustling of a page being turned filled the room. It was pleasant. The other brothers knew better than to bother you two when engaging in your weekly reading session, only Lucifer forced the both of you to eat when lunch or dinner was ready. The two of you were currently inhaling the Sherlock Holmes series from the human realm and after finishing the current edition you’d usually engage in various discussions. Occasionally, Simeon was part of your little book club, being a writer himself, but he was sometimes unavailable when Lord Diavolo called for meetings and such.

“Did you know that they never solved a famous murder case in England in the 1800s?” You threw the question into the room when both of you closed your editions at nearly the same time. “Huh, I think I’ve heard about them. Jack the Ripper, if I’m remembering correctly”

You hummed “Right, it’s one of the most popular serial killer cases that is still unsolved. Victims were all women, prostitutes to be exact and they were mutilated from the inside, really nasty if you ask me.”

Satan nodded curtly “Some humans are definitely up to par with our kind regarding violence and brutality.”

“True, true. Still, I am strangely fascinated by that mystery. Makes me want to travel back in time to solve it.”

A pause.

Satan’s lips curved upwards, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well, I think there could be a way. If we can manage to persuade a certain demon that is.”

“Not fair, I wanna go, too!” Mammon hollared, glaring daggers at his blond younger brother. Satan, joined by Belphegor, rolled his eyes at his antics. “Lololol, Mammon’s being desperate again” Leviathan snickered while the others decided to ignore the Avatar of Greed’s tantrum altogether. Everyone knew he was interested in swiping up valuable items from the past to sell as authentic antiques in the present and being jealous on top of that.

“Sorry Mammon,” you tried to calm him with a soothing tone “We do something together when we come back, okay? I’ll even bring souvenirs for everyone~”

“You better,” Mammon huffed and pouted, cheeks dusting pink from your cute expression.

“Don’t forget to wear the outfits I picked out for your trip!” The avatar of lust chimed in “And make lots of cute pictures!”

“Will do, Asmo.”

Satan huffed, growing agitated by the minute “We should take our leave”

“Satan,” Lucifer stepped closer, signaling his brother to step aside for a private talk while you were being encircled by the other five “I entrust that you protect her from any harm. You know how careless she can get.” Satan mentally huffed, glaring at his brother “I’m very much capable. She’s safe with me,” Lucifer nodded, unaffected by the harsh tone. “Good, come back safely”

“Don’t need to tell me that”

You left the House of Lamentation, each of you carrying a large suitcase, and headed over to the demon lord's castle, leaving a bunch of disappointed brothers behind.

On your way, you ran into Simeon and Luke who were on their way back to Purgatory Hall. They greeted you two; Luke gave you a tight hug as well. “Simeon told me you’re about to go to the past in the human world, is that true?”

“Yep, we want to do some hands-on research. We won’t be gone for long, so please don’t be worried about us”

“I’m not worried,” Luke denied with a blush (he was). “Of course you don’t have to be, I’m with her as well” Satan chimed in with a smirk. Simeon chuckled “I must admit, I am a bit jealous. It sounds like quite the adventure. I can’t wait to hear about your experience.” Luke let go of you “Uh-huh. Me too! Simeon told me the 1800s are a bit dangerous, so please accept my blessing!”

“I thought you weren’t worried, Luke,” Simeon said with a chuckle. The child’s cheeks burn brightly “S-still. Just to be safe! Better safe than sorry, right?”

“That is kind of you. I make sure to bring you a gift.”

His eyes sparkled and his smile widened. Then he closed his eyes, muttering a blessing. A colorful light engulfed you and you felt suddenly very light and warm inside.

“Stay safe you two!”

Barbatos greeted you near the entrance, standing proudly in the entrance area; looking fiendishly handsome like always.

“I was awaiting you, please follow me” He led the two of you through the majestic golden Hall down to a familiar room. You went there back in your first year when you had to prevent Belphegor from killing you (You prefer not to think about it)

“Diavolo sends his best regards but he is currently buried in work and is unable to leave his office” You don’t doubt it was thanks to Barbatos but didn’t comment on it. “We appreciate him thinking about us,” Satan stated and you nodded in agreement. “Thank you again for my early birthday gift, you’re the best” The butler smiled with closed eyes “Don’t forget the rare tea leaves for my payment. And try to not make too much of a mess” You feigned a gasp “I would never!”

“Are you ready?” Barbatos opened a portal in a mirror.

Satan met your gaze, a soft smile on his lips as he grabbed your hand.

“Let’s go!”

Alright, so what do we think?

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darkdevasofdestruction · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 - Pariah

Waking up in the Raymond Manor isn't exactly the most eventful, or even cheerful activity one can do. Katrina, of all people, would know after all. Her personal maid gets into her room, wakes her up, helps her dress - As though she's incapable of doing so herself! The audacity! - Then she is served breakfast, which consists of the same type of tea every damn day, and some bread and jam, or some scones. Nothing too much, of course, or her silhouette is going to get ruined.

Once the morning routine is over, and she's had her make up and hair done, she begins her classes. Not that she has the privilege of choosing what lessons she could do, otherwise, she'd have loved to pursue her love and passion for Science and Medicine. Ever since she's found her brother's hidden book stash, she's been obsessed with learning more. Alas, she was forced to study arts, languages and lady mannerism...

Of course, she was of the impression that each and every skill, no matter how little or insignificant, should prove useful, in one way or another; Though her parents simply wish her to appear aesthetically pleasing for her future husband. She's never going to be allowed to get a job, she's just supposed to marry her fiance soon and start popping out an endless string of heirs. Exist simply for the sake of others. Being born in a noble family where only appearances and wealth matter - A privilege for the men, a curse for the women. Lo and behold the blood purity of the Raymond family!

All day, every day, the very same, maddening things. Violin class. German class. French class. Latin class. Painting class. Manners class. Dancing class.

Katrina was at her wit's end. Her parents being unnecessarily strict wasn't helping either - They were of the belief that the sole role of a woman was to bring heirs into this world and look pleasing to her Lord Husband's eye. Katrina strongly disagrees. She had the mental capacity, the ambition and the strength to become someone worthy, someone relevant in society - And that can only be done if she manages to break free from the invisible bird cage she was locked in.

Eighteen years. It will be eighteen years in January that she's had to go through all this. Things had to stop, forever. Katrina was at her breaking point - She was dead set on escaping this endless purgatory loop and get the hell out of this place. Her mind was set. She was going to start living her life.

As the grandfather clock chimed midnight, Katrina hopped off her bed and kicked the luggage hidden behind the wardrobe; She threw inside a few comfortable dresses and all of her brother's secret science books. Once her bag was done, she took all the bed sheets and the rest of the dresses, tying them together, and to the edge of the bedpost and threw it off the window, climbing down, like in the story of Rapunzel.

The perk of living in London was that she knew exactly who she could go and ask for help - The notoriously strange Undertaker. After about two or three hours of walking though the dark, cobbled streets of this wretched city, and thankfully successfully avoiding all the strays, hobos and the drunks, she was able to find her way in front of the Undertaker's parlor. She firmly knocked on the door and trying the handle, she nonchalantly stepped inside, hearing the familiar eerie giggle echoing through the pitch black room.

All day, every day, the very same, maddening things. Violin class. German class. French class. Latin class. Painting class. Manners class. Dancing class.

"Oh dear, who do we have here? Are you not aware of the time~?" one by one, small candles started lighting up, revealing the creepy man and his large grin, standing inside a vertical coffin. "I believe it is exactly 3:15am, sir." Katrina answered, straining her eyes to read the dark clock from the parlor. "Is it not quite late for a young lady, such as yourself, to be going into creepy shops?" the Undertaker hummed in amusement. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but being 3 IN THE MORNING, I believe it is too EARLY." she put emphasis on the words, cheekily letting the luggage fall to the ground. "And with what purpose have you come here, in my humble parlor, at this early hour, much before the opening time?" the man quickly corrected himself, not without the complimentary chuckle.

"I need your help and I think you are the sole person in this disgusting, God-forsaken city, that could help me." the girl replied, slowly prowling around.

"You think, or you hope?" the man ticked her off. "A bit of both, Undertaker. A bit of both. So will you hear me out?" she couldn't help but sigh in annoyance at his antics. "I am listening... With a condition." Undertaker said. "By all means, do take a seat, my coffins are quite comfortable. I believe we have quite the interesting conversation ahead. It would be rude of me to keep a lady standing." "Why, thank you for your hospitality." as instructed, she sat opposite of him - A small table positioned between them. "You want to know why am I here, correct?" the man's grin only widened. "I am not certain you remember, but when I was young, my elder brother died of a disease and my parents allowed me to choose his coffin. Nevertheless, the day I came here, I became fascinated with... Science." as she spoke, she found herself standing up and walking around the parlor again. She noticed a skull on a shelf, and she picked it in her palm, stroking it tenderly. "After his death, I started studying my brother's books that he kept hidden under his bed. He, much like myself, was also science-orientated." "A noble woman, with all the commodities in the world, except for her freedom, thus, having nothing really at all. What a sad life to live, little bird." the Undertaker's comment made her snap a glare his way. "We are at the end of the 19th century and the role of the female gender is null. Birth-giving is not a relevant role. Looking pleasing is not a relevant role. And this is not normal at all! If the true capacity of all women that have to suppress their intelligence would be developed, then the world would have been much, much farther than it is now." Katrina exclaimed, returning to her seat on the coffin. "And you came here so that you -" the man was cut off immediately by the girl speaking. "So that I could help you with autopsies and -" but she, too, had her sentence continued. "Be able to study science at your leisure." the man seemed incredibly delighted at the story he was told. "I would be glad to welcome you as my new apprentice, then, my lady." "Katrina. Just Katrina is fine. After all, I'm not exactly a noble lady anymore. I am a simple, runaway girl. A pariah, if you will." the red head scoffed, looking away with disdain. "Any girl is a lady, my dear." the Undertaker corrected her. "Suit yourself. Just let me tag along. I require no payment. I just need to survive somehow." she cleared her throat, only to see the man waltzing to her coffin and pull her into his chest, petting her hair as though she was some kind of animal. "Worry not, child, for I will take care of you, for as long as you need." though Kat hasn't felt this awkward and uncomfortable in a long time, she had to admit, it was not a bad feeling altogether. "You have my thanks. And now... Regarding the famous Jack the Ripper case... What do you know?" Kat could feel a low rumble erupting from his throat, hauntingly resounding through the place. "What do you want me to know, little songbird?" he asked, his long nails tilting her chin up to face him. "Everything." with a creepy laugh, he lead Katrina to a back room, where different corpses were laid, and despite the late hour, they started her first official lesson in anatomy and forensics. "How greedy you are, my little songbird - I might just confuse you with a magpie." the man laughed at her.

"Either way, you would be copiously wrong. After all, Undertaker, I am a fox, not some silly bird." she harshly corrected him, not without a hint of condescence.

"You may wish to reconsider some day, my dear. The Queen is known to often indulge in fox hunts, after all; She loves her fox-fur clothes." he taunted her. "And noblemen are especially fond of pretty birds who can sing pretty melodies on command."

"You better cease with your ideas, Undertaker, unless you want me to rip your throat out and take over your business." she gripped him by the neck of his robes, roughly pulling her down to her level.

"You are so full of life, my dear lady - I can only hope that you will have plenty of years ahead of you to remain just as lively." hearing his ominous implication, Katrina bruskly pushed him away, though she eyed him suspiciously before crouching down to the farther-most coffin, waiting for the first lecture.

Until the Sun rose up on the sky, Katrina listened intently to every word that the Undertaker was speaking - Those which regarded the medical topic, at least - Though she soon found her eyes closing against her will, and it was decided that she should rest for a while, before the parlor opens and she gets to be shown how to help him business-wise also.

During her sleep, however, Kat had a flashback she never thought she'd remember again. It featured her brother, in his bed, before the night of the funeral. That night, she sat in a chair, near his bed, holding his cold hand, and weeping. It was getting colder and colder, especially since the room window was open and the winter's harsh breeze was whipping her skin.

However, when she got up to close the window, a most peculiar individual in a suit, with a gardening tool in his grasp, was in front of her, looking sternly, with piercing, glowing green eyes, of a shade much brighter than her own. They looked mystical... Otherworldly.

"Ex-Excuse me, sir... But may I ask... Who are you?" the little child gulped, trying her best to stay brave in front of the intruder. "My name is William T. Spears and I am here to collect your brother's soul." the man spoke in an impersonal, firm voice. "What do you mean? Who are you? No... WHAT are you?" she asked, peering straight into those supernatural orbs. "A Shinigami." he replied simply, taking out a small red book and rapidly flipping the pages, until he reached a certain profile. "Katrina Raymond, seven years of age, born on January 3rd." he read from the book. "You are about to witness your brother's cinematic record. Have these last memories as a divine gift." William readied the branch snapper. "Now stand aside, young one."

Scuttering behind him, William collected her brother's soul by impaling his dead body and before her very eyes, Katrina could see her brother's memories - With herself, with their parents and dog, with his friends from Weston college... And some other scenes that she couldn't quite understand.

"Remember this moment, young one. Your brother was unable to escape the grips of fate... Perhaps you may." William went to leave through the window, but just before he left, Katrina rushed to grab his waistcoat and made him turn to her. "Mr. William? Tell me the truth of my brothers death - Please! What did he die of? They said it's a disease... B-But I'm not sure how true that is; He didn't have that illness's symptoms!! I suspect foul play!" the Shinigami looked down at her tearful eyes, and something about her naive innocence, associated with the truth of her brother's death, made his heart break. He hated to admit, but children have always been a weakness of his. He looked at Katrina with pity, a pondering look on his face and said a single word, before looking away and leaping out of the room. "Disease". and thus remained the finality of her brother's epilogue.

As Katrina woke up, recalling the dream she just had, her vision still blurry; She stretched her arms - Only to see a food tray being shoved in front of her, and a grinning Undertaker, awfully jovial. "Good afternoon, little ray of sunshine~" "I didn't expect this-... But uh... Good afternoon to you too?" the girl muttered, her voice still hoarse from her sleepiness, only to straighten immediately. "Afternoon?! Is it afternoon already? Undertaker, you should NOT have allowed me to sleep in so much! I'm going to become a slob!" "Sleep is most important for a young lady like yourself to gain her strength - Surely, you know that already, don't you?" his reply only made her glare at him. "I will get ready as fast as I can and we can start working." she snatched the tray from his hands and began eating. "So diligent~! Yes, yes, we will have a most interesting day ahead! I strongly believe so!" with a melodic hum, the man waltzed out of her room, allowing her the required time to enjoy her routine.

After she finished eating and prepared for the day, Katrina dressed up in a simple, comfortable green dress; She wished she had black dresses - Alas, she owned only colours to make her look pretty, but nothing practical. As she idly started working on an autopsy, she unconsciously found herself muttering, again and again "Cyno... Matrix..." trying to relate it to something... Anything that makes sense... The memories she was shown that night...

The constant murmurs seemed to attract the man's attention, as he cocked his head to the side quizzically. "Are you saying something, dear?" "Oh, I apologise for disturbing you. I just remembered a past memory from my childhood and I'm trying to understand something that makes little sense... If, at all." she sighed softly, ruffling her hair, which was simply let down, for once. "And what would that be?" the Undertaker asked, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his hands. "Do you believe in Shinigami, Undertaker?" she abruptly turned to face him. "Like in those old stories?" he giggled lightly. "I know it sounds stupid, but I think I met one, when my brother died." Katrina sighed, annoyed with herself. "He somehow came in the room through the window... The third floor window, mind you... With a branch snapper or something... And he said he was there to collect my brother's soul." Undertaker's smirk seemed to grown "Are you sure you weren't dreaming, my dear? Might have been your young self's way of coping with the shock of losing your beloved brother~." "I don't think that's the case. He told me to remember that moment... It couldn't have been a coping defense mechanism - I have always been a rational person!" Kat exclaimed with mild frustration. "That sounds fantastic~. Anything else about this individual?" his voice almost sounded teasing. "I can't remember much... But he wore glasses and had bright green eyes... They looked as if they were glowing... Nothing humanly... And when he impaled my brother, I saw his memories! Yes, that's right - I was in his memories too! It had to be right. He said it was a... Um... Cyno... Matrix record? Cynomatrix... Is that even a word?" she tried to explain, though the puzzle pieces weren't fitting together. "Or perhaps... A Cinematic record~?" Kat's eyes widened comically at the sound of the key word. "Cine... Matic... Cinematic re- YES! You are correct! It was a Cinematic Record! Now the word makes much more sense!" she exclaimed in shock. "The story sounds stunning, but how are you going to prove it is true?" the man giggled at her, waltzing from behind the bar, and to her spot. "I can only try and pursue it somehow, correct?" she spoke firmly. "Dreams do come true, if you pursue them and fight for them." he answered enigmatically. "Do you know what else I've been dreaming of; Though, I think that finding a Shinigami would be far easier to accomplish than this one..." she muttered softly, only to earn a hum to continue. "You must have heard of Weston College, haven't you? The best College in the country?" "Oh yes, I see where you're going with this. You wish to attend this College, which would help greatly with your career, am I correct?" her cheeks warmed up slightly, serving as a positive answer. "I will see what I can do, dearie~." before Kat could answer him, the sound of the door bell softly chiming was heard, indicating the arrival of customers. "Do join us, my dear! Let me make my entrance though - Follow right behind!" "... Of bloody course..." like a child, he hid in a coffin, his eccentric, creepy giggle resounding through the whole parlor.

Sighing, and with her hands soaked in blood, Katrina kicked the door to the front of the house open, glaring at her boss. "Glad you joined us, dearie~!" he chirped, only to see his little apprentice march up in front of him and use his grey robes to wipe away the blood. "You are a menace, Undertaker." she scoffed, leaning back on the counter, her arms crossed. "Manners, my dear. This is Earl Phantomhive, I believe you know him by now." Katrina immediately snapped her head to look at the young, frowning boy with an eyepatch. "Phantomhive? Are you, really? Queen's Chihuahua and all that?" she found herself asking. "It is EARL Phantomhive for you." the young boy snapped at her like a brat. "Undertaker, since when did you employ such uncouth workers?" "Little Earl, Little Earl, don't insult my little fox, she might bite your nose in your sleep!" the man cackled in amusement. "That's right, Ciel - Didn't you know, Noble Women are not allowed to work, therefore, I'm just a simple apprentice." Katrina smirked down at him. "Who in the world are you?" Ciel asked perplex. "Don't you remember Katrina, Ciel? Daughter of the High Court Judge, Duke Nicholas Raymond - You used to play together when she was courted by Edward, right?" the Earl's aunt hummed in amusement. "Angelina, you have no idea how great it is to be seeing you again." Kat offered her a smile before pulling her into a familial embrace. "I am surprised they let you out of the house. How did you manage?" Madame Red smirked down at the girl. "I ran away, of course. I wanted to pursue a medical career, much like you. There are only so many paintings one can do before they go crazy." she chuckled casually. Whenever they would all meet up, Angelina was always the one she loved spending time with - Her, Rachel and Vincent, of course. "You should have come over to stay at mine. A funeral parlor is no place for a beautiful young lady like yourself to be at." Angelina whined playfully. "It's quite alright - I actually think it's a great place for me. I'm enjoying my stay here." the girl smiled back. "No wonder the Queen's letter mentioned a certain fox. That was you. I had no idea you became one one Her Majesty's companions." Ciel grunted in response. "Actually, I'm quite sure I was a fox before you become a puppy." Kat smirked down at him. "Now, I believe you should be introducing your companions. I don't recall you parading yourself with a young butler - Unless Tanaka somehow found the Fountain of Youth."

"Tanaka is home, with the other servants. This is Sebastian." Ciel threw a dismissive hand towards the butler.

Sebastian bowed at the lady, holding her hand and placing a kiss on it. "It is an honor, my lady."

"Likewise." as the man rose his head, Katrina noticed the magenta flash of his cat-like eyes, glowing for just a split second. "Lovely eyes." she found herself sharply looking in his eyes - He, also, though there was this hidden glint of mischief that seemed to be taunting her.

"And this is Lau, of the KunLun trading company." Ciel pointed towards his Chinese companion.

"Nǐ hǎo, wǒ měilì de húdié." the man smiled enigmatically at her, bowing slightly at the waist, though with some hint of royal vibes.

"I'm not sure what you said, but I hope you called me beautiful." Kat chuckled lightly, doing a little courtesy for him, before addressing the whole group. "You are here because of the Ripper thing, right?"

"Precisely~. Everyone's been scared because of the disturbance. But this isn't the first time I've handled this kind of thing." Undertaker hummed, as though he was high on opium.

"Not the first time? And what do you mean by that?" Madame Red found herself inquiring.

"It happened before. A case where prostitutes were killed. In fact, the way they were killed was similar too." Undertaker allowed his words to linger like dripping poison.

"The police didn't fuss about it much. Quite ignorant, if you ask me. Speaks volumes about how safe we are, as a society." Katrina scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"But the murdered prostitutes had all something in common." the parlor owner continued speaking.

"Something in common...?" Ciel found himself repeating in a voice barely above a murmur.

"What is it?" the butler asked in his master's stead.

"Well now, I wonder what. I wonder what it is indeed. Is it bothering you?" as Undertaker dragged his sentences, Kat couldn't help but pinch the bridge of her nose, remembering that he also asked for a price for her staying over, and though it was seemingly paid, she wasn't sure how exactly she managed to entertain him. She was going to have a blast.

"I see, so that's how it is. You're very good at business, Undertaker. So? How much money do you want?" Lau was the first to hum, realising the hidden meaning behind those words.

"Oh, no, no money here, I assure you. This buffoon isn't shallow enough to beg for this capitalistic kind of currency." the master of the place found himself laughing, throwing his arms up into the sky before draping them around his little apprentice's petite body, forcefully pulling her into his chest and petting her hair as though she was some kind of house cat.

"You've only just arrived, and you know me so well! I might as well cry!" he giggled, swinging the poor, dizzy girl back and forth. "You see, young Earl, I have no interest in the Queen's money! Instead, there is something, a single requirement that I have -" the man threw Kat back towards the coffin; though he might have miscalculated how hazy her vision was, as she got the heel of her boot caught in the corner of the coffin they were sitting on, and the lady unceremoniously found herself falling to the ground with a little squeal. "A FIRST RATE LAUGH!" the Undertaker was absolutely flying with euphoria, whilst his poor apprentice was dexterously caught in the rescuing arms of her black butler knight.

"That is no way to treat a lady, Undertaker. I will have to ask you to be more attentive when it comes to Miss Raymond's well-being." Sebastian mildly scolded the parlor owner, though he was in a completely other world. Despite all this, Kat didn't quite mind being held by the butler - In fact, the way his baritone voice spoke so close to her ear almost sent a shiver down her spine.

"That is quite alright, I suppose I have to get used to his antics, sooner rather than later. Thank you for the rescue, Sebastian... And do call me by my name, if you will." with a little help, the red head was able to sit back on the coffin, though keeping the safe distance from the madman.

"As you wish, my lady." the raven haired man nodded at her with a simple smile.

"Well then, if entertainment is needed, let me handle this. The sleeping Tiger of the Shanghai's New Year party, also referred to as my soul! This should satisfy you! Do you like it?" all the people inside of the parlor blinked in complete confusion at his attempt at... Whatever he wanted to say. It failed tragically either way. "It looks like he still won't talk, Lau. It can't be helped then. I, Madam Red, a Beauty of High Society, shall make my appearance now! If I ask him, he'll be sure to tell us!" though Madame Red boasted about her social butterfly status and proceeded to spew around all the gossips and dirty jokes that she knew, for at least an hour... Her attempt ended also in complete failure, and Undertaker was compelled to plaster both their mouths shut. "That was tragic." Katrina sighed, shaking her head in disdain. "Honestly, you will have to do much better than that if you want to get a laugh out of a man who serenades every cadaver he meets" "Come on, Earl, I've helped you many times in the past, can't you be nice to me just this once?" Undertaker whined, his fingers wiggling as long nails almost scraped as his soft cheeks. "It can't be helped." Sebastian spoke firmly, raising the sleeves of his coat. "S-Sebastian?!" gasped out his butler's name in shock. "It's the butler's turn now?" Undertaker hummed, a grin on his face. "Everyone, please step outside for a moment." the raven haired man instructed his companions. "You must absolutely NOT peek inside." "Entertain us, O, the saving grace of the little, helpless puppy." Katrina smirked provoking at him, crossing a leg over the other and leaning forward, unmoving from the coffin she was sitting on. The butler cleared his throat, and with a straight face, he spoke out his joke. "The strangest kind of table is the onion." said he, in that mild, alluring voice of his. "...The onion... A table? Are you high on opium, Mr. Butler? That simply cannot be." Katrina scoffed at him, rather amused at his attempted. "Oh, but yes it is, my lady. It is a vegetable." using the right emphasis to show off the validity of his previous claim, Undertaker found himself falling off the counter and laughing so hard that the whole parlor shook. Katrina, also, couldn't help but look away and hide her shocked laugh - How could a joke so bad make one laugh so good? "... I am appalled and impressed at the same time. You have my respect, Sebastian." the man bowed deeply in front of the lady, though she didn't miss the split second smirk and yet another flash of those bewitching eyes of his. "I am most honoured, My Lady."

As Sebastian gracefully invited everyone back to the parlor, Katrina had to get up and attempt to calm down the mortician, albeit, with the use of some dog biscuits, as she started telling them the story of the Jack the Ripper victims.

"Based on that laughter, I can only assume Undertaker was satisfied with the payment, therefore, it is safe for me to disclose the research I've done." Kat cleared her throat, a somber serenity taking over her. "All of the victims were female prostitutes and all of them had a missing, representative organ. If you haven't guessed by now, it's the uterus. It's been carefully taken away. In fact, I would say, it was accurately, surgically removed." "That is correct, my dear. Recently, this kind of 'guests' have been rapidly increasing. Their whole bodies dripping with blood, it's made me very busy. I am, however, thankful to my little apprentice." Undertaker hummed euphorically.

"The pleasure is all mine, by all means. If I may continue on this report and add up to the last fact of being 'carefully' taken away, one might conclude that, despite being few people on the streets at night, the culprit has at least the minimum anatomical knowledge, to perform such a clean and specific organ removal, in the pitch black of the back-alleys they were found in." the apprentice continued on.

"Very well, little fox, you did your homework well~. Young Earl, if he had to act on such a short time, he should slit the throat first and proceed to cut the stomach. It's easier to succeed this way. He will keep committing crimes, unless someone stops him. Can you stop him? The Notorious Noble - Earl of Phantomhive." the mortician taunted the little earl.

"The world of darkness has the world of darkness' rules. He wouldn't murder random people for no reason." Ciel concluded simply.

"A serial killer always follows a certain pattern. Should be easy enough to catch him." Kat nodded her head in solemn agreement.

"Then, want to join in the fun of one of the Queen's underground pet? I doubt you've done any legwork your entire life." the chihuahua smirked at the surprised little fox.

"Oh, you want me to join?" with the silent excitement and joy of a child, her sparkling green eyes shifted towards the Undertaker, awaiting for his approval.

"Take care of my little fox, Earl. Bring her home safe. I wouldn't want to see her becoming some ugly noble lady's fur scarf." the comment only made the girl glare at him and get to her feet, turning her back to the man.

"Foxes have rabies, Undertaker. We live together now - I would sleep with both eyes open from now on, if I were you." despite her threats, the man found himself laughing copiously once again.

"Sorry for intruding, Undertaker. Let's go."

With Ciel bidding farewell to the mortician, Katrina was guided to the carriage, where the group discussed the issue of the 'Season' that just barely begun, and how most people were perfectly arrived in the capital. Doctors, medical students, physicians and all kinds of aristocrats were included in the list. The butler affirmed he will be doing a report on all potential suspects. "Are you going to suspect me also, butler~?" the red head smirked challengingly at him. "If you do, I shall be awaiting for an alibi-search soon." Sebastian merely hummed, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, and with a nod of acknowledgement, he... Jumped out of the carriage. Though everyone was concerned for the butler's life, Ciel simply smirked, shrugging him off. Clearly, this butler was nothing human - He couldn't be, could he?

And exactly as she suspected, by the time they arrived home, Sebastian had both prepared tea and managed to write out an endless list of all the suspects and had their alibis verified. Oh, Ciel, what have you gotten yourself into, Katrina wondered, raising a quizzical, suspicious eyebrow at the disconcerting eyebrow at the man. All the ignorant idiots were fooled by his charm - Yet none was taking into account that nothing he was doing fell into the realm of the human power. "I'm just one HELL of a butler." he said, alluding a rather bizarre emphasis. Hell. Demons were from Hell. Could he, also? Certainly, if her dream of Reapers had any kind of validity, perhaps, angels and demons existed also, and roamed their earth, disguised as humans. A true wolf in sheep's clothing.

Serving their afternoon tea and snacks, Sebastian pointed out the only possible suspect on the list, none other than the Viscount of Druitt. Hearing that familiar name, Katrina found herself choking on a piece of scone. "Now that you mention it, I do recall he's been into black magic recently." Madame Red recalled some rumours. "Black magic? People actually believe in that rubbish?" Kat seemed genuinely surprised. "Still, he is suspected of carrying out some sort of ceremony at that "Secret party" . And to use those prostitutes as altar sacrifices?" Lau asked. "Sacrifices don't require you to be careless with the body, do they?" the girl asked, before stealing a glance at the butler. "Is he trying to summon a demon or what? Don't they like virgins?" just as expected - Or, perhaps, it was intended - Sebastian stole a glance at her as soon as she mentioned the demons, yet he remained silent. "Don't be absurd." Ciel reproached her. "At the nineteenth hour today, Viscount Druitt will be hosting a party. The seasonal period will be ending soon. I believe tonight will be the best time to investigate." Sebastian explained to them. "And I know just how to get everyone inside." Katrina's mischievous smirk seemed to cheer everyone up.

Thanks to the resourcefulness of not only Ciel, but Madam Red also, Katrina was able to get dressed in a beautiful green dress of a similar shade as her eyes; Her make up was light and feminine, though the eyeshadow and red lips were enough to bring out the subtle sultriness of her graceful features. In spite of all the uncomfortableness she had to endure, as she was never one for social gatherings and parties to begin with, there was little she could do to stop her laughter once she got to see Ciel being laced up in a corset by his butler and suffering the same agony women do daily. Not only that, but that pretty pink dress was rather adorable on him, and that wig went perfect with his eyes also. The poor boy could only glare and snap at his once friend for her pointed comments, though he was unable to retaliate much.

It was rather unfortunate for him, really, and Katrina wouldn't have quite minded being the bait herself - Alas, the Viscount's own nephew was her fiance, so of course he knows her well enough as it is. By the time they reached Druitt's mansion, she could only let out an amused breath, as old memories, all of them good, resurfaced. Her fiance was a good man, and out of every possible suitor, she was glad he was chosen... Especially as Edward was rather boring and too shy for his own good.

Undertaker would have received a life-payment watching poor Ciel struggling with the dress though, and it would be just as fun once she returns home and narrates the whole ordeal.

With Katrina in the lead, informing the guard of who she was, and the retinue she brought along, there was little room for questioning. She flashed a mischievous smirk towards her companions before stepping inside the manor and subtly looking around for the fair haired noble man.

Alas, as Madame Red and Lau dispersed themselves to blend within the crowd, the trio was left to fend for themselves once they heard the familiar squeal of delight that Lizzie, Ciel's fiancee, let out as she was gazing in awe and gushing about everyone, and unfortunately, discovered them, getting excited about their pretty outfits.

Evidently, if she were to get too close to Ciel, she'd recognise him, disguise or not, thus, Kat had to stand behind and distract her. With a nod acknowledgement towards the two, she sighed and walked towards the blonde girl, entertaining her a bit.

"Ah, Kat, your dress is so cute! And you look sooo pretty! I'm so glad to see you again!" Lizzie squealed, barely able to contain herself in one place. "Thank you, Lizzie, I'm happy to see you as well. It's been a while, hasn't it?" she hummed in agreement. "Too long!" the girl pouted adorably. "Soon, we should definitely meet again! I miss our short fencing spars!" she exclaimed happily. "And the tea parties!" the red head said. "Yes, definitely! It would be like old times!" Lizzie's sunshine happiness was contagious. "Certainly! If only Ciel and Edward would join us. Then again, neither can refuse a cute girl like you~." she winked at the blonde. "Oh, I'm looking forward to it! I'm sure my brother will be so happy to see you again, too!" Lizzie squealed in absolute delight. "So do I! Now, excuse me, dear, but I just saw someone I know and I'll go greet them. Enjoy the party~!" the two did their pretty courtesies to each other before taking off in different directions.

Picking up the pace, Katrina gracefully got behind the Viscount, tapped him on the shoulder and did a pretty courtesy to greet his relative by alliance. Once he turned to see what gorgeous lady was desperately seeking for his charming attention, he flashed a dazzling smile and did a courtesy back, picking her hand and placing a kiss on her fingers.

"Ah, young Kitten, you look gorgeous today! How lovely it is to see you!" Aleister's enigmatic smile was ever plastered on his face. "The pleasure is all mine, Viscount. You see, I came here with my dear friend who is not from around, and she really wanted to meet you. She is, if I might say, quite the lovely dove. I am sure you are going to love her company." Kat retorted a similar fake smile. "Oh~?" the blond smirked. "A young little bird, so eager to meet me? I am flattered! And where is she~?" his excitement sounded on the border of lechery. "Right there. The one dancing with her tutor." Kat purposely glued herself to the man, guiding his chin in the direction of Ciel, who was trying so hard to blend in and dance with Sebastian; Even potentially stop himself from puking from disgust. "Yes, quite lovely indeed, and so very graceful. Will you do me the honor of introducing us, my dear?" the low rumble of a satisfied hum generated the success of their mission. "Oh, of course, by all means." as if he could feel the boring eyes into the back of his head, Ciel turned his head, making contact with the red head, who gestured a wave for them to approach.

The Viscount, of course, being the charmer that he is, kissed Ciel's hand and complimented 'her'. "Quite fascinating. A lovely dancer, just like a robin." Katrina had to keep her smirk strongly out of control, and the tutor could see the way she was struggling to keep composed. It was quite endearing for one so supposedly sly to so easily break her vixen-like composure. "G-Good evening." Ciel tried his best impression of a girl's voice, though he found himself stuttering as he posed. "Please excuse her, she is quite shy." Kat placed her hand on the Viscount's shoulder. "Don't you mind it too much, though... I'm certain she's going to relax around you, once she gets to know you better." the emphasis on such well-chosen words were enough to make the Viscount smirk, dark plans already at the ready. "I shall thank you for bringing her along, you lovely Kitten." though there was something endearing about having such an adorable nickname based on her name, Katrina absolutely abhorred it when he was the one calling her so. "I believe you will both find each other's company quite... Intriguing. Adieu~!" with a giggle hidden behind the fan, the red head stepped away, allowing the two their much needed intimate, private moments, yet not without a wink addressed to the poor cross-dressing boy left behind in the hands of a lecherous pervert.

The plan was unfolding rather smoothly and Katrina watched, leaning back on the refreshments' table, as the Viscount dragged Ciel away to some other room, away from the banquet, all whilst she was savouring a rather expensive champagne. Alas, there was no water.

Like a silent phantasm, the butler made his way by her side, accompanying her. It would be rude manners to leave a lady unattended, and that went against his code of conduit. "Enjoying the evening, my lady?" "Hardly." Katrina scoffed at him. "Quite a pity, wouldn't you say?" the man slurred his words like a venomous snake. "At least someone is enjoying it." she found herself smirking. "Are you talking about the Young Master, or about his aunt?" Katrina had to shift her gaze to watch as Madame Red became to utmost center of attention and everyone was flocking around her like moths to the flame. "Both." she found herself chuckling. "Definitely both Young Mistresses." Seeing as there was little one could do at a formal ball, except for conversing and dancing, Sebastian bent his waist to courtesy her, extending a hand her way. "While we are waiting for the Young Mistress to return, shall we dance, my lady?"

Katrina looked down at his hand, them at his seducing visage, and she huffed in disdain. "How come a demon such as yourself finds the idea of mundane entertainment to be amusing?" "You make a valid point, my dear lady. However, it would, of course, prove most unfitting for someone of my dutiful position to appear to suggest, Heavens-forbid, any signs of disdain for what I believe is regarded as social etiquette on these fine occasions." the butler retorted immediately, yet not without using words that would combat her use of a devilish persona.

"Social etiquette? Surely you must be joking. Such repetitive displays are hardly 'social etiquette' so much as a dreary protocol. I, for one, tire greatly of it. No fool in his right mind could possibly consider this to be enjoyable." as to further prove her point, she unfolded her fan and flapped it lethargically, as though she was mocking Angelina herself.

The butler, however, couldn't help but smirk at the poison dripping from every word of dread she affiliated with the event. "Now now, I must advise that you pay attention to that sharp tone of yours. It's most unbecoming of a lady." "Says whom? This wretched social protocol again?" she let out a theatrically exaggerated sigh.

"Not at all. I simply fear that the Young Mistress may be expressing just enough surly, unladylike behaviour for the two of you. We are at a ball, after all." the man retorted with just as much content grace as before.

"As my current escort of sorts, I believe that the duty of keeping your lady happy and entertained is all yours. Surely social protocol has to work at least somewhat in my benefit." Katrina shifted her gaze deep into his empty, void-like eyes; There was nothing that she could see, let alone a soul.

"Oh my, you're rather a tricky one, aren't you?" a cunning smile was plastered on his face, ever so charming.

"If you truly are the model butler you claim to be, I don't believe it should present a problem to you." she, too, retaliated with a similar kind of provoking expression.

"A problem? Oh, good heavens, no. A challenge, perhaps. And my, how I do like a challenge." Katrina couldn't help but let out an empty half-laugh.

"For a demon, you jump quickly at preaching about benevolence and heaven's grace, when you're nothing but an evil wretch. How very amusing of one of your dreary position, having to pretend to be a human, when you're anything but. A slave, doing every bidding of a child and his obnoxious whims." she chuckled, her words though sounding like honeyed mead, were frozen and cutting.

"I believe I have already warned you not to unleash that cheeky tongue of yours, my lady. One never knows what they are up against." the man's face leaned closer to her own, breathing in her bewitching scent, teasing himself with just the lingering caress of the ghost of her soul.

"And if I do? Are you going to punish me, Sebastian? Bite my tongue and make me cry?" she approached him boldly, to the point that, if only she knew, she could sense the sweet perfume of death surrounding him. If only she knew how close to the truth she was, as her lips were brushing his own at almost an atomic level, so close, yet so far away, teasingly far away. "My, how I do like a challenge." and mimicking his own words, Katrina abruptly turned on her heel and walked out of the mansion, missing the way his magenta eyes flashed demonically, or that lascivious, thirsty smile that played on those tempting lips.

"Little kitten wants to play, how very endearing." he found himself musing. "As my lady wishes."

Katrina left the party before finding out the epilogue of the mighty quest they had embarked on, yet the journey back home was silent, save for the sound of hooves against the cobbled stone streets of London, and the wheels turnings painfully harsh, all the way back to Undertaker's parlor, where she was greeted with the usual grin. She hasn't even greeted him with words, save for a simple nod of acknowledgement, as she rushed up the stairs to change into something practical and wash away the make up that no doubt was going to cake soon on her skin. There was one thing alone that she loved more than anything, and that was the practical work she was doing with the mortician, alongside studying her science books. It was, by far, the only thing that could still get her excited... Although, the additional arrival of a certain enigmatic butler that may or may not fall in the realm of the supernatural was, without a doubt, receiving an honorable mention, if he was capable of getting her pulse rise and entertain her as well as he performed at the ball.

Once she was finally dressed in her comfortable nightgown, she returned to the autopsy room, only to notice a new victim on the table. "Enjoyed the night, dear?" She could only glare at him. "Hardly... Parties are just dull. Here is where I truly belong. True bliss comes from learning, not from exchanging sugar coated words behind a fan, wearing a corset so tight that you risk fainting." "The night is still young, my dear~." the Undertaker giggled at her, informing her that this, indeed, was another victim of Jack the Ripper, and they had a lot of work to do.

That night, as they did the autopsy on the new victim, discussed different theories and discovered her new passion for Astronomy and Ophthalmology - She told him about the newest discovery, from a Parisian scientist who created glass membranes that were placed on the eyes, serving not only an aesthetic role, but replacing the ugly glasses that people had to wear. Still, it couldn't be comfortable, wearing such large glass contacts on your eyes, and Katrina wanted to revolutionise this idea and create contact lenses from a softer material, perhaps more watery, like silicone; something that wouldn't inconvenience or hurt people, but also aid their sight. It was, however, in the middle of the autopsy, when Katrina looked up at the mortician and voiced a rather disconcerting truth. "This victim only proves my theory that the Viscount wasn't the real culprit. I warned Ciel before we left, but there was none better fitting - Or so they said. Surely, nobody wants the prime suspect to be their own aunt and last living relative, would they?"

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#demon standards #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x oc #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji imagine #black butler #black butler x oc #black butler x reader #black butler imagine #sebastian michaelis x oc #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis imagine #sebastian michaelis x katrina raymond #sebastian michaelis

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