#i am still weeping over her death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lustfulslxt · 4 months

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Hellbent - Chris Sturniolo

summary : y/n and chris, so incredibly in love with one another, yet ruined by self sabotage.

warnings : angst, swearing, fluff, smutty, heartbreak, self-harm (if you squint)

a/n : this is the one :)) regular italics are flashbacks.

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so who do i call now? i'd give it all now, just to be fighting in the kitchen and hearing the crash of broken dishes. thought it was bad then, this heartache is hellbent.

“Why are you pushing me away?!” She shouts, tears brimming in her eyes as the ache in her chest grows.

The two of them were everything and nothing at the same time. So head over heels for each other, but almost doomed from the start. Chris; scared to take things to the next step. Y/N; wanting nothing more than to take it further.

They were both in love with each other, but Chris couldn’t voice his concerns, instead, opted for trying to make her hate him. It was unconventional, yet it made the most sense to him. He loved her with every fiber of his being, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. However, the thought of furthering their relationship, making it real, scared him to death. There were so many factors in which caused him to pull back. Though, things would have been better off if he had just explained his worries, he chose to make things harder than they needed to be.

Y/N loved Chris more than any and everything in her life. She loved everything about him, and she wanted to be with him, more than what she had. She didn’t just want sex and casual conversation, she wanted love and passion. She could feel it between them, the most amazing love and deepest passion, but there was still a barrier between them. It was easy for her to read Chris, well usually, but their recent encounters had thrown her for a loop. She could feel the love from him, yet the unexplainable distance he put between them and the impenetrable walls he put up only made her head spin.

“Chris.” She half sobs, after receiving no answer from him.

He can’t bring himself to look at her. He knows the sight of her torn apart will break his heart, especially because he’s the cause of their wreckage.

“Look at me.” She begs, “Please, Chris.”

He deeply inhales, his eyes frantically darting around, unable to lift his head. His heart feels heavy. He knows he has no right to be sad, considering this is all his fault, but he can’t help but feel melancholy.

The sound of loud sobs spring through the air, and the sight of Y/N falling to her knees in his peripheral causes his head to snap over in her direction. There she sat, her body shaking with every weep that left her mouth. Her rosy cheeks glisten with a tremendous amount of tears, and her lips pull into the deepest frown he’s ever seen on her. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her eyes clenched shut.

Chris can feel the lump forming in his throat as he takes in her appearance, utterly heartbroken. Knowing he’s the reason she’s so distraught brings tears to his eyes. Hurting her is the last thing he ever wanted to do. His mind is racing; he’s unsure of what to do. He wants to take her in his arms and hold her close, profusely apologizing and taking it all back. Yet, part of him feels it’ll only make it worse. Without another thought, he joins her on the floor, his arms wrapping around her as he tries to console her.

Her cries only worsen as she fights to push him away, “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, repeatedly, like a mantra.

Her reluctance to accept his embrace continues, only for him to try harder. Tears inevitably slip from his eyes, he hates the predicament he put them in. He can feel her struggling die down as the energy diminishes from her body. Her body still shakes with sobs, but she can no longer put up a fight against him. There they sat, her body slump against his as his arms wrap around her.

“I am so sorry, Y/N.” He mutters, his voice croaking.

A few moments go by before she responds, “I just don’t understand. Things were going so well between us, and you can’t say that you don’t feel something deep for me. I know you, Chris. We’ve spent almost every day together for the last year, I know you inside and out. But what I don’t know, is why the sudden change? Why are you pulling back?”

Again, he doesn’t answer, which only infuriates Y/N. She harshly pulls herself from his hold, turning around to face him. His face is ridden with sorrow as he looks at her with sad eyes.

“You’re giving me absolutely nothing! You’re leaving me in the dark about it, I do not deserve that. I’ve been nothing but good to you despite how you’ve been the last couple of weeks. The least you can do is tell me what changed.”

He sighs, struggling to find the right words to say. He can’t bring himself to tell her the truth, and he knows whatever he says won’t matter. She’s going to be hurt regardless. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back.

“I don’t feel anything for you.” He lies through his teeth.

“Bullshit.” She snaps.

Even though she knows he’s lying, his words still hurt. She doesn’t understand why he can’t just be straightforward with her. He’s never lied to her before, why now?

“I don’t feel anything for you.” He repeats, his eyes now staring into hers, looking void of emotion.

Her heart feels like it’s shattering all over again. She’s never had to deal with this type of hurt before. She’s never felt the way she feels for him for anyone else. Despite never being in a relationship before, she knows she’s in love with him.

“Get out.”

“What?” He asks, unsure if he misheard her.

“Get out.” She repeats through gritted teeth. “Get out! Go! You don’t feel anything for me? You want to push me away? You want to call it quits? You want to leave? Then leave! Just leave, Christopher.”

He doesn’t want any of that, it’s the last thing he wants. And knowing that once he walks out the door, she’s going to spiral, makes him want to stay even more. But the whole point in him pulling back is to make her hate him, because he knows he won’t be able to leave her. He needs her to leave him.

Without a word, he gets up from the ground and makes his exit. She watches him leave, the door shutting behind him. She hopes and hopes that he’ll turn back around and apologize for everything. She hopes he’ll finally admit to her that he loves her and that he wants to be with her, but she knows it’s won’t happen. It’s done. It’s over. They’re over.

It’s been a week since Y/N and Chris have spoken. A week since he left. The hole in her chest only grows bigger with every passing second. She misses him so deeply. Part of her just wishes she could just go back to their last moment together. It was hard and it hurt, but she’d rather have that than nothing at all.

Going from seeing each other all the time to not having any type of communication was more difficult than she anticipated. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but God, did her heart hurt.

Chris was in the same boat; distraught from the loss of her. He was stuck grieving their relationship and the guilt he felt was tremendous. He knew that the downfall of them was his fault, he accepted responsibility. There was nothing more that he wanted, than to go to her house and apologize, and tell her how he really feels about her. He loves her more than anything. He’s not sure he could ever not love her. Everything about her just calls out to him, he finds perfection in the simplest attributes of her being.

Leaving her behind caused him physical pain, but he couldn’t bring himself to give in. He was scared of fully committing, taking the next step with her and making it real. Although, it felt real, there was just something about giving all of himself to her that struck him with fear. Maybe it was the fact that he knew how his fans would react. They would chew into Y/N like they were starved animals and the only thing to satisfy their hunger was to eat her alive. He didn’t want to put any kind of negativity on her.

So, there both of them lay, alone in bed. Eyes glued to the ceiling, cheeks stained with tears, lumps in their throats, anxiety brewing in their stomachs, and heavy chests. Two different homes, yet exactly the same all at once. Eerie silence, so loud they can feel the echo of their painful heartbeats in their ears. The more they think back on all of their time together, and what came of them, the more frequent and louder their sobs got.

Chris and Y/N both lay on the couch, their legs entangled together while she rests atop of him. Their fingers are intertwined as she has her face buried in the crook of his neck. Every so often, she would deeply inhale the scent of him, feeling intoxicated by the way he smells. She can never get enough of it.

"Are you smelling me?" Chris asks with a chuckle, his chest subtly shaking with the vibrations from his laugh.

Y/N playfully rolls her eyes, moving to look up at him. "Yes, what about it?"

"Nothing." He smirks, shaking his head. "You're just odd."

"Hey!" She gasps, defensively. "You smell good. Is it a crime to enjoy it?"

He laughs once more, "A crime? No, but it's definitely odd."

"Shut up. Don't think I haven't caught you doing the same thing to me. You're not slick, Christopher."

His cheeks darken with a rosy color, warming up in slight embarrassment for being caught without him realizing it.

"You've seen me smelling you?" He asks, his voice timid.

"Please. You practically breathe me in." She teases, enjoying the state of him being flustered.

"How come you never said anything?!" Chris questions, his jaw dropped.

She shrugs, resting her head on his chest, listening to the rapid beating of his heart. "It was never that deep. We like the way each other smell, so what?"

He doesn't reply, instead, flips the two over, so that he's now on top of her. She looks up at him with wide eyes before he smashes his lips against hers, taking her in a deep kiss. Their lips move together as if it's the easiest thing they'd ever done. In reality, it probably is.

One of his hands softly grips her jaw, the other resting on the bare skin of her waist. Her hands cup his face, deepening the kiss, until he pulls away. His lips trail down her cheeks, meeting her neck with soft kisses. His nose grazes her skin, brushing over it as he takes a deep breath through it. Her sweet scent fills his nostrils, rushing him with dopamine.

"You're such a weirdo!" She laughs, pushing his face away from her.

"Hey! You said it's not that deep!" He defends.

She giggles, shaking her head, "Come here, you dork."

Her fingers softly grasp his dangling chain, pulling him into her for another loving kiss that the two of them both melt into.

Y/N's pillow was drenched with her tears. With every happy memory surfacing, came a thousand more tears. She was incredibly distraught. She didn't know what to do, she felt so lost. Never in a million years did she think she would lose Chris. It never even crossed her mind.

Her house was dark and quiet, the only sounds being her cries. Her fingers gripped the roots of her hair, tugging in frustration. The burning sensation couldn’t compare to the aching in her chest. Maybe on the outside, people would assume she's being dramatic and should get over herself, as well as the boy she's so bent over. But on the inside, she truly felt so utterly heartbroken. She hadn't spoken a word aloud since she told Chris to leave. It's been seven whole days since she uttered a single word.

She had no one in her life aside from Chris, his brothers, and their friends. No one has reached out to her, but she couldn't blame them because she hadn't tried reaching out to anyone either. She simply turned her phone off, attempting to shield herself from the world.

She didn't know how to cope with the loss she was feeling. She knew it wasn't good to stay in bed and shelter herself from any and everything, but she couldn't bring herself to get out of bed. All she wanted was Chris. She wanted to rewind time to go back and have him again. Unfortunately, she'd rather have their messy situation than have nothing of him at all.

Tear-stained papers were scattered throughout her sheets, handwritten notes from Chris. She reread everything he's ever wrote to her over and over again, wishing for him to say the words out loud to her. She could tell from his letters alone; he did love her. She could tell from his actions and how the way he treated her, he did love her.

So, why on earth could he not just voice it?

Why, instead of telling her he loves her, would he push her away and make her feel like none of it mattered to him to lose?

“Chris!” Y/N’s yells, her laughter filling the atmosphere as she runs from said boy.

The two have giant smiles on their faces, joyous sounds emitting from both of their mouths as they run around the house. A can of silly string rests in his hand, determined to empty it on her.

“I swear it’s all gone, look!” Chris fronts, attempting to sway her just to cover her in it again.

“You’re lying!” She laughs, running around the counter.

Chris catches her on the opposite side, causing her to shriek in fear. His free hand wraps around her waist, holding her close while his other hand sprays the silly string all over her. At that point, she accepts defeat and pouts at him.

“Chris.” She whines, feeling the substance coating her head. “My hair!”

The grin never leaves his face as he pulls her flush against him, one hand on the small of her back, the other hand softly grasping her chin. His eyes stare down at her in adoration, love swelling in his heart as he takes her in.

“I’ll wash it for you.” He offers, closing the gap between them.

Their lips meet, soft and tender together. She melts into the kiss, savoring the way they mold together so perfectly. Her hands trail from his biceps to around his neck, her fingers, instinctively, playing with the loose strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

Y/N pulls away, only to be met with a frown on Chris’ lips. She breathily laughs, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the direction of the bathroom.

“What are we doing?” Chris asks, following in suit.

“We aren’t doing anything. YOU, are washing my hair like you oh so kindly offered.” She grins, locking the door behind them.

He chuckles in response, immediately accepting with no hesitation. He turns the faucet on, adjusting the temperature just how he knows she likes it. While they wait for the water to heat up, he grasps the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head, tossing it in the hamper.

The innocent look in her eyes as she stares up at him with love ridden on her face makes him feel like putty. He can’t help but capture her lips in a sweet kiss once more.

They continue to undress, discarding their dirty clothes with the rest of them. Chris helps her into the shower, joining her seconds after. He held her close, the hot water drenching both of them equally as they stood in each other’s embrace.

“I love this.” He mutters into her hair, his hands gently caressing her body.

“You love what?” She asks, looking up at him.

His beautiful blue eyes fill with admiration as he gazes back at her. His wet hair slick against his forehead and his lips a soft pink. He smiles at her, brushing the soaking hair out of her face. His touch against her incredibly tender and sweet, full of love and passion.

"Being here, like this, with you." He whispers, his voice soft and delicate, almost as if he is worried of scaring her away.

Y/N's lips pull into a rather large smile, her stomach fluttering with butterflies. His statement was so simple, yet it has her weak in the knees. She doesn't say a word, only clasps her hands around his neck and pulls his face into hers. Their lips meet in a longing kiss, both of them savoring the deep connection between the two. Chris' hands wrap tightly around her waist, tugging her against him, desperate to feel all of her.

After a moment, they pull away, breathless. She smiles up at him and lays her head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat echoing in her ears. His cheek meets her hair, enjoying the feeling of her embrace. His hands run through her hair, massaging her scalp as he does so.

Suddenly, she pulls back and looks him in the eyes, "I love you."

He smiles, "I love you too."

She shakes her head, biting her inner cheek. "No, Chris. I love you. I'm in love with you."

He feels as though time stops, everything frozen around them. The running water muffles, and all he can hear is the sound of his erratic heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he stares down at her, his voice caught in his throat. He wasn't expecting this. Though, looking back, he should've realized it would be happening soon.

Her lips started falling, curving into a frown, before quickly pulling them back up in a tight-lipped smile. "It's okay."

He opens his mouth so say something, yet nothing comes out. She softly shakes her head, her fake smile growing in an attempt to reassure him, even though her heart is slowly breaking at the thought of him not loving her back. Not loving her the way she wants to be loved, the way she loves him.

"You don't have to say anything."

And so, he doesn't. He clears his throat, proceeding to wash her hair like he intended. The silence between them is loud, awkwardness filling the air. Y/N can't help but feel regret for saying those words. Although, they were nothing but true, she now feels as though she messed things up.

That was the beginning of their destruction. Everything changed the moment Y/N said those five little words. Chris pulled back and put his guard up. Y/N was so lost and confused, unknowing of why things changed. Using her head, she knew it was because she admitted her feelings, but her heart ached every time she attempted to understand why it changed. It was obvious to everyone that knew the two, Chris was undoubtedly in love with her. Why wouldn't he just say that?

The next couple of weeks after Y/N's confession were looming with uncertainty and inevitable ruination. Chris was snappy and seemingly far away, trying to put as much distance into them as possible. He could see what it was doing to her, and it made his chest tighten in agony. She wasn't the same happy girl she usually was. At times she would try to hide it, but he could read her through and through. She was sad.

No matter how many times Y/N tried to address the elephant in the room, Chris would always be extremely dismissive and standoffish. She could barely even get two sentences out before he was either interrupting her, or simply walking away. The pain she felt was excruciating. Every time he just left her there, she felt like he was taking her lungs with him, because she suddenly found it hard to breathe.

Chris was her person. Without him, she had no one to turn to. She couldn't reach out to anyone for advice, simply because there was no one else. She was stuck enduring the heartache he was causing, unaware of the fact that he was going through the same feeling. He didn't want to be cold towards her, he didn't want to leave her drowning in a pool of unwanted emotions, but it's what he felt he had to do.

Ever since their last communication, the skies were dark. It was as if the universe was following in suit of the two of them. The world seemed gloomy around them. Either that, or their overwhelming negative emotions clouded everything good in the world.

"Chris, bro, you have got to leave your room!" Matt's voice was heard from the other side of the locked door.

Chris doesn't respond, only continues to look off into the distance, reminiscing about the girl he loved and hurt all at the same time. His bedroom door shakes with the pounding from his brothers, both of them desperate to reach him. Suddenly, the furious knocks stop, leaving just a moment of silence before the lock clicks and the door flies open.

Chris turns his head, his dead eyes meeting Nick and Matt. The two of them look back at Chris, their faces morphing into sadness and confusion. They have no idea what's causing Chris to be so detrimental to his own health.

"What's going on, Chris?" Nick asks, "You have to talk to us. We're your brothers."

Chris can't even find the words to respond. Just by his features, Nick and Matt can see that he's absolutely devastated. However, they have no idea why. When he doesn't answer, Matt walks forward and sits beside him on the bed, engulfing him in a comforting hug. That seems to have an effect, because Chris bursts into tears, his entire body shaking as he silently cries. Nick gasps and rushes over to the other side of Chris, joining in on the embrace, desperate to help soothe the pain of his brother.

"Shh." Nick coos, "It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

Chris violently trembles, as his sobs grow louder, "I fucked up. I fucked up so bad."

"Chris, tell us what happened. We can help you fix it." Matt says.

He shakes his head, "It's too late."

Nick and Matt share looks of concern, completely bewildered by the state of their brother. He had never ever been like this before, and quite frankly, they were unsure how to handle it. They just continue to console him to the best of their ability.

“Is this about Y/N?” Nick asks, sharing another look with Matt.

“We’ve noticed she hasn’t been around this last week.” Matt adds.

Chris doesn’t say anything, so Nick continues, “Did something happen between you two? It’s not like you guys to go so long without speaking to each other.”

Chris’ cries only seem to get louder, indicating the two of them made correct assumptions. Matt rubs Chris’ back in another effort to comfort him.

“Chris, if you want to talk about it, you know we’re always here for you. No judgement, no criticism. Just here to listen, and if you want advice.” Matt softly states.

Slowly, but surely, Chris’ finally gets himself together enough to stop sobbing, however, the tears remain a steady flow. He lifts his head up, looking back and forth between his brothers with a frown on his lips.

“I told her I didn’t feel anything for her.” Chris finally admits.

“Why would you lie?” Nick questions, receiving an elbow from Matt, pulling a groan from his mouth.

“Go on.” Matt insists.

Chris sighs, tossing his head back in frustration with himself. “She told me she was in love with me the other day. I didn’t say it back.”

Nick and Matt look at one another, realization dawning upon them.

“I don’t know why, I just couldn’t say it. The words wouldn’t come out.” Chris adds.

“But you do feel the same, right?” Nick asks.

Chris nods, “I love her more than anything. I’m so in love with her, it hurts. But I’m such a fucking idiot. I pushed her away, I made her hate me.”

He lets out another sob, Matt quickly jumping in, “I’m sure she doesn’t hate you. It’s Y/N, she could never hate you.”

“You weren’t there.” Chris shakes his head, several tears falling from his eyes. “I looked her in her face and told her I don’t feel anything for her. I watched her fall apart. I could see it in her face, what my words did to her. I’ve never seen her so sad before. She told me to leave, and we haven’t spoken since.”

“Oh, Chris.” Nick sighs. “You’ve gotta fix this.”

“Dude!” Matt counters, nudging him again.

“No!” Nick cuts, “I know we said we’d listen, but come on. Chris it’s so obvious you love her. Look at the way you’ve been distraught over this! You haven’t left your room in a week. We’ve had to use old unposted videos just to give our fans content because you’ve been sulking. I get you’re upset, I understand that. What’s stopping you from telling her the truth?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know, you’re just lying to yourself.” Nick snaps. “Accept it, Chris. Just say the words out loud.”

“I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?” Matt encourages.

“I’m scared of fully committing. I’m scared of giving her all of me and not being good enough!” Chris shouts, feeling exasperated.

Nick sighs, “Kid, look back on all these years. She’s been head over heels for you for as long as I can remember.”

“Plus,” Matt starts, holding a finger up. “You’re still committing to not being with her. So, therefore, it’s not commitment you’re afraid of.”

Chris shakes his head, a small chuckle leaving his mouth. “It’s not just that. What if after everything, she doesn’t love me like she thinks? And our fans would go insane.”

“Fuck our fans!” Nick exclaims, receiving a pointed look from Matt. “Okay, that sounded harsh. But seriously, if our fans can’t be happy that you found someone that makes you happy, then they’re not real fans.”

“I don’t want them to hurt her.”

“Like you’re doing right now?” Matt points out.

Chris frowns, knowing Matt is absolutely right. He is hurting Y/N, and that alone, makes his stomach drop.

Y/N’s phone had been going straight to voicemail, and none of Chris’ texts were delivering. He assumed she blocked him until he tried having Matt and Nick call her, but to no avail, neither of them got through. So, either she blocked all of them, or her phone was off.

Regardless, Chris was ridden with panic. He worried immensely about her. He knew she was hurting, and he was scared of her doing something stupid. Which brought Chris to where he is now; standing outside of her door.

He’s been on her doorstep for about five minutes, contemplating what to do and what to say. Part of him wants to turn around and forget about him, but he can’t bring himself to do so. He needs to talk to her. So, his hand reaches forward and, before he can talk himself out of it, he knocks several times. So much, in fact, that he yanks his hand back and curses at himself for being so stupid.

It feels like forever has gone by, like he’s been standing there for eternity, until the door opens and snaps him back to reality. His head lifts up and he’s met with Y/N. Her eyes are bloodshot, cheeks red and puffy, and she looks incredibly miserable. Chris still finds her beautiful.

Her eyes widen in surprise before they’re replaced with anger as she frowns at him, “Can I help you?”

The way she talks to him like he’s a stranger makes his stomach twist and he’s suddenly ten times more nervous than before.

“Y/N.” He sighs, unable to form another other words.

“Christopher.”

He takes a deep breath, washing his anxiety away in order to speak to her. “You were right. You were right about everything. I was a complete asshole. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you, the way I pushed you away. I lied. I do feel things for you. I feel so much for you that it terrifies the fuck out of me. I’ve never felt this way about anyone and I didn’t know how to deal with it. So, when you admitted your feelings for me, I panicked. I was scared, I’m still scared! I don’t know how to be in a relationship, I’m worried I won’t be good enough for you. I’m scared you’ll realize that you don’t actually love me the way you think you do. I’m scared I’ll ruin everything good between us, if I haven’t already. You’re so fucking amazing, I can’t even wrap my head around how you want anything to do with me. I do love you, I’m so fucking in love with you that it hurts. I’m so incredibly sorry for the pain I caused you, it breaks my heart that you had to endure that because of me. Because I’m an idiot. I’m sick for even jeopardizing us because I was an idiot and couldn’t use my words like a big boy. I do love you, and I want nothing more than to be with you, to have a family and grow old with you. I want to go to every single doctor appointment for our children. I want to have cute gender reveals and baby showers. I want us to have a cute little house with the white picket fence. I want us to have a cute little garden and a play-set for our kids, and a little doggy house. I want to go to sleep with you every night, and wake up with you by my side every single morning. I, so badly, wish I could take back the last few weeks, but I know it’s not possible. But please, if there’s any part of you that still wants me, I want nothing more than to be yours.”

By the time he’s finished speaking, he’s breathless. The two of them had tears running down their cheeks, never breaking eye contact for even a moment. Chris feels so much relief for finally getting that off his chest, he just wishes he had done it sooner rather than later.

“Do you want to come inside?” Her voice speaks up, softer than before.

“Please.” He nods, letting out a breath of nervousness.

She opens the door wider, allowing room for him to enter. He does so, turning to her once she shuts the door. The two stare at each other, no words spoken, causing Chris’ anxiety to spike.

“Will you say something?” He asks, “Please.”

Instead of speaking, she steps forward, yanking him into her. Her arms wrap around his neck, his arms going around her waist. She buries her head in the crook of his neck, and he places his head on hers. Both of them sigh in contentment, finally back in each other’s embrace. Their hearts swell with love as relief floods their bodies.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He repeats.

“Shh, come on.” She says, reluctantly pulling away and beckoning him to her room.

He follows her in, watching as she gets on her bed. He stands there, almost unsure whether to join her, until she pats the space beside her. He wastes no time in lying right next to her, their bodies molding together once again. Her head on his chest, his arm around her, keeping her in place as their legs entangle and fingers interlock.

“I missed you so fucking much.” He whispers, pulling her impossibly closer in fear that she’d disappear.

She squeezes her eyes shut, gripping onto him tighter, like when she opens her eyes, she’ll find herself alone and realize all of this was a dream.

“Please never do that again.” She croaks, swallowing the lump in her throat.

He instantly lifts her head up, coming face to face with her as they lock eyes. “Never again. I promise. I’m never leaving you again. I want this, I want you. I’m sorry it took me so long to admit that, but I promise this is what I want. You’re what I want, what I need. I’m here to stay.”

It’s like his words flipped a switch because she could suddenly see right through him again. He’s being sincere.

Her hand slowly makes its way to his cheek, rubbing the soft skin with her thumb, before pulling him into her and pressing her lips against his. It feels like heaven. This is what both of them have been longing for, being together in the way they are meant to be.

Their mouths move in sync, the kiss deepening with each passing second. Y/N hooks her leg over him, sliding herself on his lips, to straddle him. Chris’ hands, instinctively, meet her hips, holding her in place.

He suddenly pulls away, “Wait, I don’t want you to think I just came over here to get my dick wet. I-”

“Please shut up.” She breathes, melting into his lips once more.

Their kiss becomes feverish and desperate, as if trying to make up for lost time. Chris’ hands move downwards to her ass, tightly gripping it as she grinds her hips against his. Almost instantly, she can feel his bulge against her core. Her lips part from his and continue trailing down his neck, leaving open mouth kisses, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin. His breathing picks up, now heavy in her ear.

With one quick motion, he flips her, leaving him hovering over her. His lips meet hers again, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths like it’s the first time ever doing so. His hand softly grasps her neck, his hips rutting against hers, eliciting a soft moan from her.

“God, I’ve missed that sound.” He mumbles against her lips.

Her hands reach the bottom of his shirt, tugging it upwards and placing her hands on his chest as he fully removes it. Her fingers roam his torso, goosebumps arising on his skin beneath her touch. His lips work on her neck, kissing down towards her exposed collarbone. He pulls the loose strap of her tank top down, exposing more skin, his lips following in suit. Soft, breathy moans fell from her mouth, enjoying every sensation he’s giving her.

Chris grabs the hem of her tank top and swiftly pulls it over her head, leaving her topless. His hands caress her bare skin as hers tangle in his hair. He lowers his mouth, peppering wet, open mouthed kisses along every inch of her upper body. His lips trail down the valley of her breasts, both hands cupping each one, giving them a tender squeeze.

“God, you’re so perfect, baby.” Chris groans into her chest, his lips wrapping around her nipple.

Her back arches, pushing her chest more into him, her panties growing more wet with every touch. He takes turns with each nipple, sucking, biting, and pinching them. Airy moans left her mouth, fueling Chris’ desire to hear more of them.

His fingers hook in the waistband of her bottoms, pulling them down and off her feet in one quick motion, tossing them across the room. Y/N’s left bare in front of him, he can’t help but admire the sight of her. Butterflies erupt in her stomach at the loving look in his eyes, her cheeks heating up under his stare.

“So fucking pretty.” He mutters, placing another kiss on her lips.

His hands trail down, groping at every one of her curves, softly massaging the plush skin. They make their way down to her thighs, caressing them with passion. He pulls them apart, her core glistening with her arousal, causing him to lick his lips. She’s completely mouth watering to him.

“Need you so bad.” She moans out, the cool air hitting her right where she needs him most.

He lowers his body in between her legs, softly kissing and nibbling her inner thighs. The moment she bucks her hips up, in need of friction, Chris lurches forward. His tongue glides through her folds with ease, causing her to let out a loud moan. His lips wrap around her sensitive bundle of nerves, gently sucking.

“Fuck.” She moans out, her face contorting in pleasure.

He pulls away, his finger taking his place. It rubs her clit in soft circles, before trailing down, gathering her juices. He leans up towards her mouth, placing his lips on hers, and sinks his finger into her entrance, causing her to moan into the kiss. His finger continues pumping in and out of her for a moment, before he adds another. He speeds up the pace, fucking his fingers into her and curving up just right, feeling that spongy spot he knows she loves.

“Oh my fuck.” She moans, grinding into his hand.

He continues this, his mouth now working on her neck once again, marking her up just how he knows she likes. He knows her inside and out, quite literally. His thumb rubs her clit in circles while his middle and ring finger thrust in and out of her, leaving her a moaning mess. Very quickly, her legs begin shaking and she clenches around him.

“Fuck, baby. Gonna make a mess for me, hm?” He whispers in her ear, sucking on her earlobe, and placing a kiss on it.

Unable to form a sentence, she frantically nods, her hands grasping his arm as he speeds his hand up. She gasps, feeling nothing but euphoric. The knot in her stomach tightens, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Fuck, right there!” She moans out, “Please, don’t stop. Please, please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He speaks, quickly bringing his mouth back down to her heat, his lips easily wrapping around her clit once again.

Just as his tongue flicks over it, her hips are bucking as her orgasm rushes through her. Her legs tremble as she releases, her juices flying out and drenching the sheets as well as Chris. He moans into her center, his tongue working to taste all of her as his fingers slowly help her ride it out.

“Taste so fucking good.” He moans, pulling his fingers out of her and placing them in his mouth, sucking her fluids off of them.

Her legs continue to twitch as she tries to catch her breath, a goofy smile dancing on her lips as she watches him through heavy eyelids. She pulls him into her again, her lips easily molding with his, the taste of her juices still on his tongue. She can feel his clothed erection pressing into her, causing her to pull away.

Her fingers grasp the drawstring of his sweatpants, slowly pulling them loose. He gets the hint and pulls them down, adding them and his boxers to the pile of clothes discarded on the floor. His hand wraps around the base of his dick, sliding it up and down through her folds, coating it in her arousal. He places himself at her entrance, both of his hands interlocking with hers. Looking into her eyes, he slowly sinks in, loud moans coming from both of them as he bottoms out.

“Mm, missed you so much.” She moans out, her fingers tightening around his.

“I missed you.” He groans, slowly pumping in and out. “God, you feel so good around me, baby.”

As he thrusts into her, her hands guide his to her breasts. His hands engulf them, tightly squeezing them as she claws at his back. His strokes become faster and harder, desperately fucking into her as deep as he’ll go. Her eyes roll into the back of her head as her mouth falls open, broken moans emitting.

He grabs one of her legs, lifting it over his shoulder for better access. The deeper he gets, the louder the moans are, falling from her lips. His free hand comes down, rubbing her clit as he fucks into her at a delicious pace.

“Chris, baby, I’m so close.” She moans with a whine, her fingernails digging into the skin on his back. “You fuck me so good.”

“Let go, mama. Wanna make you feel good.” He groans, his thrusts meeting her just the way they both need.

The tightening in her stomach indicates she’s close to releasing, causing her to tightly clench around his cock. That causes his thrusts to grow sloppy, him feeling his own orgasm sneaking up on him. He recomposes himself, his hips rutting into hers so perfectly, instantly snapping the metaphorical rope inside of her. Lewd moans fall from her mouth as she lets go once again, her juices coating his dick.

“Fuck, so good to me, baby.” He groans, pumping in and out of her before his own release hits him, his hot load painting her walls.

His thrusts slow down before he pulls out altogether, their mixed fluids dripping out of her. Both of their breaths were erratic, their skin flushed mixes of reds and pinks. Chris collapses beside her, their hands immediately connecting as they attempt to regain themselves.

“I love you.” Chris suddenly announces, “I’m gonna remind you every chance I get. I’ll never let you forget it, or doubt it. I love you, I’m so in love with you. I wanna be yours and only yours, forever.”

a/n : lolzzz there ya go <3 wasn’t sure if i liked the ending but i got lazy and someoneee wanted a happy ending. it’s not my fic without a lil nasty 🤭 hope you enjoyed it xx

@worldlxvlys @flowerxbunnie

#lustfulslxt #joss speaks #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #the sturniolos #imagine #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #angst #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #chris

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antebunny · 4 months

Text

a cuckoo in the nest

(Aka the Fae!Tim fic that I decided not to finish and thus am dumping on Tumblr)

The creature that the Unseelie Queen forces on Bruce is disguised as a human child. Worse, it resembles Bruce’s two current children. Skin on the lighter side, lighter than either of his kids, black hair, blue eyes, and a light sweater and sweatpants combination that either Dick or Jason might wear. It is quite the contrast to the wild fey flashing too-bright teeth at Bruce.

“You will welcome it into your home,” the Unseelie Queen commands. “You will treat it as you would your own son. You will do nothing to indicate that it is anything but a human boy.”

One gnarled claw curls around the creature’s shoulder. The creature’s expression remains eerily blank. Another point in favor of its otherworldliness. A normal human child would show some reaction to the Unseelie Queen’s possessive presence. This creature stays perfectly still.

“In return…” the Unseelie Queen crooks one finger of her free hand in a come here motion and a figure stumbles out of the dark trees surrounding their little clearing.

It is Jason. Injured beyond belief, blue eyes red and weeping. Bruce’s knee jerks, but he forces himself to remain within the small summoning circle. A thin line of salt and iron protecting him from the Unseelie Queen’s unfathomable powers.

“You get your son back.” She presents Jason to Bruce like she’s selling a prize horse at an auction. One hand on the back of his neck. “Alive and well. As he was before his death. The memory of his death will remain, but dulled. That is my bargain, Batman.”

Bruce is not fool enough to give the Unseelie Queen his real name, nor is he stupid enough to lie to her. Using his nighttime alter ego presents the perfect compromise. Batman is not his real name, nor is it a lie. So it is Batman’s black gauntlets that curl into fists as Bruce considers the Unseelie Queen’s deal.

It is the height of stupidity to take a creature he does not know the abilities of into Wayne Manor, and pretend it is his son. Given what he knows of the Unseelie Queen, such a creature could cause unfathomable damage to his family, to Gotham. This is a bet of Bruce’s own intelligence against a fey hundreds of times older than Bruce. He could very well end up losing both of his sons this time.

“B,” Jason sobs. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

But the alternative is to walk away from a chance to have Jason back. This is not the universe where Bruce is capable of such an act. At least with the Unseelie Queen’s bargain, Bruce has a chance to limit any potential harm. Perhaps he can even outsmart the creature and prevent all damage whatsoever. If she had asked him to kill someone, or something more direct, Bruce wouldn’t stand a chance.

Bruce uncurls his fists slowly. “I accept.”

With those two words, both the creature and Jason are invited into the circle. The creature steps forward calmly, Nike sneakers passing over the salt and iron easily. Its arms are flat by its sides, and its head comes up to Bruce’s chest. If it were human, it would be around the same age that Jason was when Bruce caught him stealing the Batmobile’s tires. A blatant attempt at emotional manipulation on the Unseelie Queen’s part.

Jason is shoved forwards by the Unseelie Queen. He trips over his own feet, but Bruce is there to catch him this time, to gently fold him in his arms and check him over for injuries.

“I’m getting you home,” Bruce promises.

And if he has to bring home the Unseelie Queen’s little spy as well to make it happen, then that is a price Bruce is more than willing to pay to have his family whole again.

Tim finally has the chance to be part of a family again, and it is the best family he could have imagined. He can scarcely believe his luck as Mr. Wayne–Batman, for now–leads Tim and Jason (who doesn’t look so good) into the Batcave. Tim is so caught up trying not to gape in awe at everything that he misses the hushed conversation that Mr. Wayne has with his butler, and the slightly louder, much longer conversation he has with his eldest son. The original Robin is standing all of five meters away from Tim! He’s going to be Tim’s older brother!

A lifetime ago, when Tim was still fully human, with parents and the last name Drake, he’d been obsessed with Batman and Robin. Had followed them around pitch black rooftops, through the streets buzzing with neon lights and vices, just to get a glimpse of his heroes. Discovered Robin’s true identity shortly before Bruce Wayne adopted Jason Todd, and a new Robin came to roost in Gotham’s skyscrapers.

Then Janet and Jack Drake gave their only child to the Unseelie Queen in exchange for money and power, and Tim lost his name, and his home, and his entire world.

“What is your name?” Mr. Wayne interrupts Tim’s memories. He looms in front of Tim in an empty Batcave. Mr. Pennyworth and both Robins are long gone. It is only Tim, in his ill-fitting human clothes, and Batman.

Tim knew this question was coming. Mr. Wayne must think that Tim is a human child, and that asking for his name is a simple exchange of pleasantries. He cannot know that Tim is no longer fully human, and his name is no longer free to give or take, nor his own anymore. Luckily, Tim prepared a response. He does not want to lie to Batman, after all, but as much as he wishes he could trust Mr. Wayne with his name, he knows better.

“What do you want to be called?” Mr. Wayne amends, when Tim fails to answer fast enough.

Carefully, Tim purses his lips and whistles. Hoo-ooh. A sharp ho followed by a lower, longer oo sound. The call of a common cuckoo. Hoo-ooh. Hoo-ooh.

Mr. Wayne frowns in response. Tim panics briefly–did he not get the call right? He practiced so much!–and tries again, a little faster. Hoo-ooh, hoo-ooh, hoo-ooh. Please accept me. I know I’m an unwanted interloper, an imposter. Please accept me anyway.

“Do you have a name in English?” Mr. Wayne asks. He repeats the question in a few more languages. Tim recognizes the Spanish and Russian, but he’s not sure what the others are. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Tim nods frantically. He swallows with difficulty, and then whispers: “Tim.”

It is not a lie, and it is common enough that hopefully Tim can remain anonymous. He is a common cuckoo bird, after all, not even remarkable in his imposition.

“Well, Tim,” Mr. Wayne says, voice dropping to an ominous growl, “I will uphold my end of the bargain. But do not think for a second that I can be tricked into trusting you. And if you give me even the slightest indication that you intend to hurt a member of my family in any way, I will not hesitate to take you down. Do you understand?”

Tim has not cried in years, not since his parents gave him away. But tonight a peculiar wetness pricks at the corners of his eyes as he nods. “Yes, Mr. Wayne, sir,” he says quickly. “I understand.”

It isn’t as though Mr. Wayne is wrong. Tim is an interloper, here to trick Mr. Wayne and his family into caring about Tim. All Mr. Wayne did was make it clear that he will continue to pretend that Tim is part of his family and that he will not be tricked. There’s no reason for Tim to get emotional about it.

It’s just that Tim hoped, if just for a moment, that it wouldn’t be pretend.

The Wayne family, aside from Mr. Wayne himself, is very easily tricked. Mr. Pennyworth (“call me Alfred, Master Tim”) lets Tim follow him around even though he won’t let Tim help with chores no matter how much he insists that he can do it. Tim is fine with that, really. For now it is better to be tolerated, if not liked, than not to be tolerated at all. He has noticed that even Mr. Wayne defers to Alfred in household matters, so it is good to have the real head of household somewhat in his corner.

Most days, Tim sits on the kitchen counter while Alfred cooks, and awkwardly attempts to answer questions about his previous life. It is mixed, as far as conversations go. The questions are very stressful for Tim, who is never sure how much he should say, but smelling and eating human food after so long without it still brings tears to his eyes.

Simmering tomato floats through the air as Alfred adds a pinch of rosemary to his soup. Tim’s mouth waters, and he swallows before talking.

“I had a really long argument with a rosemary plant, once,” Tim recalls ruefully. “It was dumb. But I was so desperate for human food that I’d’ve said just about anything.”

The rosemary plant refused, in the end. Everyone was too scared of the Unseelie Queen to help Tim.

Alfred stirs his pot carefully. “You had an argument…with the rosemary plant?” He clarifies neutrally.

“Yep.” Tim’s legs swing back and forth a bit faster. “I told you, it was really dumb. I would’ve tried with the mushrooms, but they’re mean and scary, really scary. And old.”

Some of the mushrooms are even older than the Unseelie Queen, which makes them even scarier. Except that the Unseelie Queen has Tim’s name, and the mushrooms do not.

Tim blushes all of a sudden, mindful of his audience. “I didn’t mean being old makes them scary,” he mumbles, furious at himself. He is supposed to be trying to get Alfred to like him, and instead he insults him! What is wrong with him?

“It is quite alright, dear boy,” Alfred says. “I assure you no offense was taken. Now, what is it you were saying about being desperate for human food?”

Mr. Grayson (“call me Dick, everyone else does!”) is the easiest to trick into caring about Tim. He is actually not sure what he did to pull it off. Dick stays at Wayne Manor most weekends, and the first time he comes over, before Tim has a chance to enact any of his thirty-four “Trick Robin Into Liking Me” plans, Dick asks if he wants to get ice cream. Tim accepts eagerly, and Dick smiles so brightly that Tim nearly forgets about Mr. Wayne scowling in the background. After that, Dick always makes a point to seek him out. Tim is pretty sure he makes a bumbling mess of himself every conversation, but somehow Dick keeps laughing it off and taking Tim out for another slightly reckless and exceedingly enjoyable excursion.

Jason is a bit harder to trick. He is still healing mentally and emotionally from his death, so he’s off-duty as Robin. Since school is out for the summer, this means he spends most of his time curled up in the library. Tim once hovered behind him for hours, trying to work up the courage to start a conversation, when Jason turned and snapped what so aggressively that Tim immediately ran away.

In general, he is surly, defensive, angry, and reluctant to accept affection from his real family, much less Tim. Eight plans to trick Jason into caring about him are complete failures that end in Tim further earning Jason’s ire. Another fourteen plans are thrown out before Tim can enact them, after the humiliation of the eight failures.

Eventually, Tim turns to Dick for help. Dick has alluded to a rough start with Jason, which sounds fake to Tim. Dick was Robin, how could anyone not like him? But maybe he can give Tim advice.

It is a sweltering Saturday in late July when Dick pulls away from Wayne Manor in some type of fancy car with Tim in the co-pilot seat.

“I need advice,” Tim says nervously as Bristol’s mansions flash by. Tim did his best not to look at the Drakes’ manor. He succeeded in not looking, but he wondered whether his parents started staying in Gotham more often once Tim was gone, and the question won’t leave him alone.

“What’s up?” Dick asks easily. He lazes in the driver’s seat, two fingers on the steering wheel. It is this nonchalance which convinces Tim to go through with his question.

Tim’s hands tap out some pattern on his forearms and elbows. “How do I get Jason to like me?”

Dick curls his right hand around the wheel and glances at Tim quickly. Tim still struggles reading expressions, so he has absolutely no idea what’s going through Dick’s mind. Maybe he’s thinking that there’s no way that Jason will ever like him. Maybe Dick doesn’t like Tim. Maybe he’s only acting like he cares about Tim because he’s so nice.

“Jason doesn’t…” Dick sighs. “Not like you. He’s just going through a lot right now. On top of the stuff with his birth mother, he also, well, you know.”

“Died,” Tim supplies.

Dick’s shoulders inch towards his ears. Veins in his forearm pop as the hand on the wheel tightens. “Yeah. So, just, give him some time, yeah?”

But Tim doesn’t have time. He has until the end of the summer, approximately two more months. To the fae the end of summer is not a specific day, but rather a sensation. Decay on the doorsteps, rot in the wind. Hot breezes melting into simmering afternoons. The crisp crackle of a leaf underfoot.

If he cannot trick every member of the Wayne family into loving him by the end of summer, he must return to the Unseelie Queen, this time forever. That was her bargain. This is Tim’s one chance to escape her.

Tim looks out his window at the cold, unfeeling mansions and nods miserably. “Okay.”

Jason does not like the new kid. Everything about him is just slightly off. He walks like he’s surprised that his feet come back down. He talks like he’s describing a dream and expects everyone else to understand. He’s constantly watching Jason silently with those eerie, unblinking eyes of his. Despite living in the same house as Batman, Tim is quieter still, always popping up unannounced and thrusting a trinket or a book at Jason.

This isn’t even getting into the part where Jason knows he died but doesn’t quite remember it and keeps having nightmares he doesn’t understand. He vaguely recalls a forest that wasn’t a forest and a hand that wasn’t a hand, curling around his shoulder. Bruce won’t stop treating Jason like glass and Dick still looks weepy sometimes, but neither will let Jason out as Robin. All three are letting Jason get away with everything except the things he actually wants to do. It’s infuriating.

In other words, the summer is off to a great start.

“Bets on the new kid,” Jason says. He’s in the middle of making himself peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, because he is the only one that Alfred allows in the kitchen.

Dick is draped dramatically across the counter, because according to him it’s so tragic how Jason never wants to do anything fun. Jason hit him over the head with a spatula in response. Dick whined about that, so Jason hit him even harder.

“What are we betting on?” Dick asks.

Jason half-shrugs. “Like…he’s clearly not human. What is he?”

Dick sits up on the counter. “Yeah, he keeps talking about talking to plants.”

“And plants are always a little bigger and shinier after he leaves the room,” Jason adds.

“Maybe he’s got some relation to Ivy,” Dick suggests.

This entire conversation would not be necessary if Bruce would just cough up the answer. But he responds to every question about Tim with some variation of “hmmm” or “I cannot say.” Jason even sucked up his pride and asked Barbara, but she doesn’t know what’s up with the new kid either. Jason suspects that Bruce promised Tim he wouldn’t tell, because–

“Have you seen his reaction to food though?” Jason asks rhetorically. “It’s like he’s so shocked he’s being fed.”

And he lets that hang, because maybe it’s true, and not a joke.

Dick scratches his chin. “And he says ‘human’ like he’s not one.”

“Okay.” Jason sets his mixing bowl down on the counter Dick claimed as his seat. “My theory: he’s a metahuman whose parents–or guardians–or whoever was in charge of him–treated as less than human, and he made B promise not to say ‘cause he doesn’t know we ain’t shit like his parents yet.”

“I mean.” Dick scoots off the counter when Jason comes swinging with the baking tray. He attempts to help Jason spread the parchment paper until Jason glares at him. “He thinks you hate him.”

Jason freezes in the middle of scooping a handful of cookie batter into the tray. Guilt curdles, expired milk and broken egg shells, in his stomach. “I don’t.”

“I know.”

Dick doesn’t mention the part about Jason dying, because he’s ultra sensitive to that sort of thing. Jason has debated making extra jokes about his death just to force Dick to get used to it, but he hasn’t gone through with it. He’s never seen Dick cry like he did when Jason came back. They haven’t talked about it, because Jason is allergic to big emotions and Dick is nothing but an oversized bundle of big emotions. But it lingers in the back of Jason’s mind, everytime Dick pretends that everything is fine. You mourned me. It’s so obvious, said like that. Of course he mourned Jason. But it’s not an experience Jason ever expected to live through.

Not even Jason knows how he came back to life. He suspects Bruce had something to do with it, but Bruce won’t say. The continuous silence from him is driving Jason to insanity where the Joker and dying failed.

“Fair tidings.” Tim’s head pops up by Jason’s shoulder and he forcibly suppresses a surprised reaction. Another weird-ism of Tim’s: what sort of American kid says fair tidings? “Can I help?”

“No,” Jason snaps immediately, curling one arm around the batter bowl.

Dick makes a noise, and Jason winces. He didn’t mean to snap at the kid. It’s just that everything about Tim sets off sirens in Jason’s head. And usually by the time Jason is ready to invite the kid in, he’s run off.

“Fine,” Jason grunts. He shoves the bowl at Tim. “We’re making cookies.”

Tim stares at the bowl with owlish eyes, and Jason clamps down on the urge to yell at the kid again.

“Hey, Timmy,” Dick says faux-casually. “I never asked. You got a last name?”

Tim’s head snaps up. “Why do you want to know?”

Jesus, he sounds one wrong word from breaking into tears. Jason exchanges a glance with Dick, who is taken aback by the uncharacteristic bout of aggression from the weird kid, and reluctantly decides to intervene.

“It’s ‘cause we wanna get to know the baby bro better,” Jason says gruffly. “Ya know. Bondin’ and shhhh, uh, stuff.”

Tim’s blue eyes widen into twin moons. “You want to be my big brother?”

The naked hope in his voice is really not helping with Jason’s guilt.

“Yeah.” Jason throws down a few more lumps of cookie dough a bit more forcefully than required. “Ain’t no way B is returning you to the kid store.”

Actually, he’s only seen Bruce interact with Tim once, and it was super awkward. But he’s pretty confident that Bruce wouldn’t take in a kid if he didn’t want that kid to be his kid.

Dick is smiling dopily, so Jason is pretty sure he said enough right words in the right order. “So?” Dick prompts. “Got a last name, baby bird?”

Tim’s hands float to his elbows and start tapping out an unknown pattern. “It’s, uh. Drake.”

“Tim Drake,” Jason tests out, and neither he nor Dick miss the way that Tim does his best impression of a wooden plank at the sound of his name. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Dunno.” Dick snaps his fingers and points at Tim. “Wait! You’re our neighbor!”

Tim gives Dick his weird blank stare, so Dick points at Jason instead. “The Drakes are our neighbors,” he explains. “The parents were always out of the country for vacation or something, but I remember they had a little kid tag along with them once or twice. What happened?”

“Bruh.” Jason shoves the tray in the oven with his bare hands, because he isn’t a wuss and he’s also not stupid enough to touch the burning hot metal with bare hands. “They supervillains or something?”

Tim shakes his head. His hands press flat against his legs. “They sold me.”

He says it so flatly that Jason exchanges another look with Dick just to make sure he heard right. But Dick’s jaw drops in outrage, so clearly they heard the same thing.

“How? When? To who?” Dick’s eyes narrow. He’s dropping into protective big brother mode. Jason has had the dubious pleasure of experiencing it first-hand a few times. “Does B know about this?”

But Tim shakes his head again. “I can’t say.”

“Are they threatening you?” Jason jumps in, pretending his tone isn’t leaning in the same big brother direction as Dick’s is. “You know B has Supes on speed-dial, right? Ain’t no one in the world who can get away with threatening you now that B’s got you.”

Tim shakes his head a third time, and Jason really has no idea if Tim actually means no or if he’s just moving his head.

Dick and Jason exchange another worried look, but this time Jason isn’t sure what Dick is thinking. Mostly because Tim just gave them about a thousand more questions in the process of answering one.

#batfam #batman #tim drake #my fanfiction #my writing #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne

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fancyfeathers · 4 months

Text

Rain and Dirt (Yandere Rex Lapis/Zhongli x Goddesses!Reader)

Chapter Three, Ghosts of the Past

Sequel to The Moon Will Sing and Time Alone

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Summary: Stories are told of Rex Lapis the God of Contracts and his darling the Goddess of the Moonlight, but what people do not know is the truth of what their relationship really is. People think at Rex Lapis’s death that his wife would be the first to weep, but what if she is the first to smile.

You began your journey to Jueyun Karst with Lumine and Paimon, acting as their guide. As you walked along the road that ran through the Guili Plains and into Jueyun Karst you looked around at the sky above, it was starting to get dark as you were nearing the abode of the Adepti. You wondered what would have happened if you ended up coming here for the Rite instead of staying in the city, would they be made at you, violent even? No you shook that thought aside, they would never harm you even if your husband wasn’t there to protect you anymore.

No, no, no! You did not need him to protect you, have you forgotten you are a goddess? It is well within your power to protect yourself… but some nights when it gets cold, being held by someone helps. Or the pain of thousands of years gone by, sharing that burden with someone else… but he also gave you a burden-

“(Name), Are you alright? You seem to be drifting off?” The voice of Lumine’s floating companion grabbed your attention and you smiled and nodded in response with a small hum.

“I am alright, it is just….” Your eyes drifted up to the peaks out the mountains approaching in the sky, knowing what you are about to encounter. You sighed as your eyes fell back down to the path you walked on and the ground below. “It has been awhile since I have come here. It feels strange, especially given the circumstances.”

“You mean the death of the Geo Archon, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“You know, Paimon noticed that while most are in shock and crying over Rex Lapis’s death, you remain totally calm, why is that?” Paimon stepped in, poking you with a question.

“I….” The question made you stop in your tracks, why was it so easy for you not to cry? The answer should be easy, because of all the things he has done to you. But did you honestly know that answer? Did you hate him? “…don’t know…”

“Really?”

“Really, honestly for all the people’s praise of him I do not know if I can make myself follow him like they do.” You paused again before forcing a smile and changing the topic. “Well what brings you to Liyue? I doubt it is just the sights if you are willing to do all of this.”

“I’m… I’m looking for my brother. He was taken from me.”

At Lumine’s answer your heart ached for her for you knew her pain, what it is like to lose a sibling. You had no idea where your sister is today, thousands of years later. You can still remember the sound of her voice, the life in her eyes, the joy in her smile.

“I’m so sorry, I understand your pain but it still hurts, does it not?” A look of surprise came across Lumine’s face at your sympathy.

“You understand?”

“I do, a long time ago my sister set out to explore Teyvat and I did not go with her, I have not heard from her or about her since. I would be lying if I said I didn’t regret going with her, I think about it everyday.” You reached down and gave Lumine’s hand a squeeze. “After this I promise you I will help you find your brother, I have all the time in the world.”

“Thank you, that means so much.”

—————————

You were reaching the abode of Mooncarver and you knew that full well that he would call out your true nature on the spot so as you got closer you acted like you needed a break but urged Lumine and Paimon to go on ahead.

“Are you sure, (Name)?” Paimon questioned, to which you smiled and nodded.

“Yes, yes, I will find you both in a bit, I just need to rest my feet. I am afraid that I am not so used to walking such long distances.”

“Alright if you say so.”

You watched two walk off as you sat against a tree for a bit of shade so that you were covered from the sun’s heat. You ran your fingers through the grass and hummed, closing your eyes. You have been here before, not just in Jueyun Karst but this exact spot. When was the question?

You closed your eyes to think and you must have fallen asleep because you felt a hand brushing the hair out of your face stirring you awake. You opened your eyes and seeing the person there made you gasp.

“Menogias?”

There was a laugh and nod from the Yaksha, one who you thought to be dead for so many centuries. “Hello my Lady.”

“Why- wait- how are you here?” You asked, springing to sit up. You pressed your back against the tree, sitting there next to your old friend, for lack of a better term.

“What do you mean, I am supposed to be with you today.” He sighs and shakes his head, his fingers coming to rub his temples. “My Lady, did you forget? Today your husband is off at a meeting with an Adeptus in Chenyu Vale. I was placed to guard you until his return.”

Ah yes, how could you have forgotten? Morax had even told you the night before. He would be gone all day and perhaps a bit of tomorrow as well. Really you must get better at remembering these things.

“Apologies, it just feels like my mind is off these days.” You say curling your legs inward towards your chest.

“Off? May I ask how so?”

“I do not know how exactly to describe it, almost as if I have been tricked into something.”

“My Lady, it’s best if you don’t dwell on these things for too long, it would be bad for your health.” Menogias answered swiftly, almost to cut off your idea. “Your husband would not be very pleased with that.”

Your husband…

Rex Lapis…

Morax…

Zhongli…

All the same person…

All caused the same suffering…

“Menogias, can I ask you something…”

There was no response…

“Menogias?”

Again, no response?”

“Menog-“

You were cut off by the scream that ripped from your throat as you turned your head to look at the Yaksha, only to see him dead. His skin almost looked shredded and he was bleeding profusely out of a wound in his stomach.

You snapped awake, sweating and gasping for air from the dream. It was just a dream, but one that came from your memory to an extent. Menogias did watch over you some days when your husband was away, but so did the other Yaksha. Beyond that the rest of the dream weee just the ghosts of your past. Honestly out if all the Adepti, you hated Menogias the least, he was kind to you but still did nothing to dissuade your husband’s possessive tendencies.

As you rubbed your eyes in an attetonwak yourself up from that horrid nightmare you heard voices, shouting, and approaching you. Before you can even turn your head you are seized up by the forearms and find yourself face to face with soldiers of the Millelith.

“You are under arrest as a suspect in the assassination of Rex Lapis.”

Oh dear…

—————————

You were dragged along by a Millelith soldier, deeper into Jueyun Karst to find Lumine and Paimon, the other suspects. You panicked as you got closer and closer to Moon Carver’s abode, and you tried excuses like you would rather be tamed back to the harbor so you could be proven innocent already,mor that you had no idea who they were talking about when the described Lumine and Paimon, but none of it worked.

Then your heart sank the moment you turned on the path and your eyes laid on not only Lumine and Paimon, but the mighty and illuminated Adeptus, Moon Carver. His deer form was as proud and strong as ever and no doubt he retained that strength to carry that pride.

“It’s the assassin, they dare-“

The moment the soldier spoke and caught the attention of Moon Carver you knew all was over. The Adeptus’ eyes went from the soldier speaking, to the one who was dragging you along, then lastly to you. The moment you made eye contact with him, his eyes lit up in pure and untamed rage. He raised his front hooves up and stopped them on the ground, and the sound that echoed from it rang in your ears and even was enough to shake a few stones off of the mountain peaks.

“YOU DARE TOUCH HER!? YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO EVEN LAY YOUR EYES ON HER!”

The Millelith soldiers look back and forth at one another in pure confusion, meanwhile you just hang your head low and wait for this all to be over.

“Mighty Moon Carver we-“

“One does not care for your excuses, unhand her at once!” At the demand of the Adeptus the Millelith did not care to stay much longer after that. The grasp of your arm slipped away as the soldiers backed up away from Moon Carver and once they were far enough they turned on their heel and started running. You watched them run before turning to face Moon Carver and your eyes landed on the confused Lumine and Paimon as the Adeptus approached you. Slowly Moon Carver lowered his head before you in a bow before rising, his eyes meeting your own. “My Lady.”

“My Lady? What is this crazy deer on about, (Name)?” Paimon questioned, looking at you who were probably bright red in your embarrassment. Before Lumine can add something, Moon Carver gazed down at the floating Paimon, rage in his eye, not as much as with the soldiers, but still visible.

“You dare to call her by her name, you have no right-“

“Moon Carver!” You shouted, cutting the deer off. He looked almost ashamed for a moment at the sound of you raising your voice. “Please, I let them, they are my friends.”

“Very well.” He nodded towards you before facing Lumine and Paimon. “One humbly apologizes for such abrasiveness towards my Lady’s companions.”

“Lady? What’s going on?” Lumine asked, looking at you and you sighed.

“Really it is nothing important-“

“Nothing important?” Moon Carver scoffed at your statement, as if now he was scolding you. “Is being the bride of Rex Lapis not important? One thinks not.”

“Bride of- wait.” You watched as Paimon slowly clicked together the pieces in her head and she let out a loud and rather dramatic gasp when it clicked. “You’re the wife of the Geo Archon, you’re the goddess that Childe told us about. That’s why you knew so much about Liyue.”

“That is… true.” You sighed and stepped forward, not forcing a smile like you did before. Now you wore your true emotions, a face that suffered for thousands of years. “Allow me to properly introduce myself, while I still am (Name), I am the goddess of moonlight and rain and…” you felt yourself choke on your words for a moment, but you quickly swallowed the lump in your throat. “…and the wife of Rex Lapis, the Geo Archon.”

#yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere rex lapis #yandere rex lapis x reader

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pennyellee · 6 months

Text

CHAPTER VI - súton

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of God, mentions of alcohol, manhandling, mentions of murder, gun use, abduction, attempted non-con, gaslighting, vomiting, anxiety, choking, decapitation, strong language, smut, loss of virginity

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 11,1K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VII

súton (n.) twilight; the approach of death or the end of something

Images flashed through her mind like fragments of a dream, mixing reality with a disorienting haze. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she braced herself for what was to come. She was still in her temporary private quarters. Was it all just a dream? Confusion ran through Y/N like the hot blood inside her veins.

The engine of the roaring car pierced her ears and her vision was still blurry. “Where am I?” she whispered, her voice slowly progressing to realise the situation. She grabbed the letter seat, trying to pull herself up.

“Chan-yeol?” she asked, pressured.

“Little bird, are you ready to fly away?” he laughed. Y/N looked at him with terror in her pupils.

“Are you out of your mind? You just signed your own death certificate Chan-yeol!” This is bad. Her thoughts spoke to her in distress, each and one of them telling her to do something.

“What, a sudden change of heart? Did you not want me to ship you off to the new land?” said the man, accelerating the car.

“He’s going to slaughter everyone!” she screamed.

“You did not think of that when you ran the last time or the time before, why now Y/N?” He spitted his words out, looking at her through the mirror. Y/N took a deep breath, trying to collect herself before she would lose her mind for good.

“He has the whole family on a silver platter there Chan-yeol! Turn the car right now!”

“We’re almost there.” He declared.

“Yoongi?!” was the first name that came to her mind. Voice full of fear. The sound of urgent footsteps echoed around her, crescendoing with the abrupt swing of the door. However, the one she sought, the man whose name she called, was not in her sight.

“Namjoon?” she called out, the surprise evident in her voice, interwoven with a thread of relief.

“How do you feel?” He asked, slowly approaching her petite form.

“What— I don’t understand,” she struggled to articulate her bewildered thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Chan-yeol’s words cut through the frosty air. He steered the car to the side of the road. Snow was everywhere she could see, each surface draped in ethereal white. Without waiting for the vehicle to come to a complete halt, Y/N flung the car door open, her steps bold as she ventured out into the wilderness.

The direction from which they arrived became a backdrop as she briskly distanced herself from Chan-yeol’s presence.

“This might be your last chance to flee this wicked world, girl.” His voice, heightened in intensity, reached her ears. Y/N stopped in tracks — the ultimatum clear.

Her family on one side, her newfound reality on the other – a choice lay before her.

“You have no idea what you just did!” she screamed defiantly, she refused to spare him a glance. “You’ve ruined everything!”

“Y/N?” a different voice echoed and her eyes widened at the unexpected interruption.

“I did not, Namjoon. I did not try to run away. You have to believe me!” Her words tumbled out in a frantic attempt to convey her innocence. Namjoon, his touch gentle, enveloped her small hands in his.

“Shhh… I know, it’s alright.” Namjoon cooed at the bride. And that’s when every single picture came back to her mind.

“How—how did you get here, for the love of God?” Y/N pivoted towards the speaking man, memories of their shared past flooding back as if the study hall of Shenyang’s University was just yesterday.

“I came for you,” he declared.

“For me?” She asked, disbelief in her voice.

“For me?!” she repeated, a frustrated laugh bubbling up. “Now you’re coming for me.” Y/N recalled the day he declared that she was in this battle alone, a stark contrast to their current proximity. They were never that close, he was too afraid to even hold her hand or maintain prolonged eye contact. But she considered him to be a friend, nonetheless.

“I love you,” he confessed, staring directly into her eyes.

“You love me?” She asked, mocking him, a bitter edge to her tone.

“Where was this love when I needed to run the hell out of the continent, huh?” She closed the distance between them, pushing him with aggressive force.

“You're a coward, Han Chen,” she spat, the venom in her voice cutting through the tension.

“I have a plan, Y/N,” he replied, brushing off her words even as they stung.

“Hmm… you have a plan. And what is this plan exactly?”

“He won’t want you if you’re ruined, Y/N.”

His words hit her like a cold gust of wind, and she gasped at the implications.

The haunting melody of that familiar song resonated in her mind once again.

“He—he attempted to rape me.” Y/N looked through her teary eyes directly at Namjoon's, whose mimics told her, she is right.

“He paid for that with his life.”

“You’re going to kill us all!” Her words became the truth once the first bullet was fired, finding its mark in Chen’s head. Y/N witnessed his eyes blackening, a vacancy replacing the spark of life.

He was gone. Blood dripped down his neck, staining her chest, her breath hitching as her vision blurred. Chan-yeol swore and fumbled with his gun, leaving Y/N to crumple to the ground, as he was tightly holding her down for the devil’s messenger to do the unforgivable.

Her eyes narrowed at the white sky. Chen’s lifeless body collapsing onto her smaller frame. Y/N’s hands trembled as she mustered the strength to slowly push his corpse away.

“Are you alright?” she heard him before she saw him above her.

“What about the wedding?” she asked, curiosity mingling with the shock that gripped her.

“We’ll proceed—” he answered, addressing yet another of her fears.

Speech and vision eluded her. “Y/N?” he asked again, gently throwing Chen’s lifeless body off her. “Darling, please say something.” His concern was palpable.

“Let me go, you fuckers!” Chan-yeol’s enraged screams echoed nearby. He hadn’t made a clean escape after all.

Hoseok helped her sit. Y/N’s eyes mirrored the emptiness that had claimed Chen’s.

“Darling?” Hoseok urged, attempting to coax her back to the present.

“—and hold a trial tomorrow.”

“Trail?” she asked, her voice fragile.

“Chan-yeol was a part of our clan. He is a traitor, and we’ll treat him as such.”

“And what about—”

She cast one more glance at Chen’s lifeless form before shifting her attention to Chan-yeol, struggling on the ground, surrounded by Min soldiers from whom she only recognised Jungkook.

“I want to go back, Hoseok-ssi. Please take me back.” Her voice wavered. Hoseok breathed out, relieved, helping her stand. As she turned to look at Chan-yeol, his screams pierced the air.

“Don’t look that way, sweetie,” Hoseok intervened, guiding her away from the chaotic scene. Only when they reached the parked cars, a good half a mile away from the unfolding drama, did she exhale and allow herself to close her eyes.

“Yoongi is beyond pissed. We could have avoided this if you would tell him about that foolish boy.”

“I swear, Namjoon, we were not... we did not—” she stammered.

“—I did not know he would come look for me nor do that….”

“Do not tell that to me, princess,” he sighed.

“I need you to get dressed. We have already postponed it, and we cannot do it any longer.”

“Sure,” were her only words to him.

“She called for you, brother,” the right-hand man spoke as he entered the boss’s office, where Yoongi was finally getting ready for the wedding.

“Explain,” the young groom responded while fixing his tux in front of the mirror.

“She called your name when she woke up.”

“Did she?” Yoongi felt a spark of hope that he would indeed become her person, her lover, her everything, just as she was to him.

The right-hand man chuckled at his questioning response, knowing it warmed Yoongi’s heart.

“Damn this one tradition; you should go and see her.”

“I would, but that would ruin the thrill, wouldn’t it, hmm,” he hummed.

“You’re getting married, brother.”

“Yes, today I’m getting married, and tomorrow I have to deal with a man who kidnapped my woman and let the other fucker almost rape her,” Yoongi spat, hitting the wall next to the mirror. He never felt greater anxiety than when Xiaoli said she was taken away from him. How ironic that he is to be the one who feels anxious.

Her mother crying, father screaming at everyone, younger sister praying. Yoongi had a feeling that she would not be that stupid to run away when he had her family inside the hotel.

“Nothing else will go wrong.”

“Did you greet the Yamamotos?” The Yakuza clan was invited to the wedding, a bold move, and what was even bolder—they accepted and arrived.

“I surely did, brother,” said Namjoon.

“Good,” Yoongi smirked, not expecting what is yet to come.

“Everything is as it should be.”

“I don’t want Y/N’s father near her until the wedding, Jungkook-ah,” requested Yoongi from the passive listener, seated just a few meters away on the sofa, sipping on his glass of white liquor.

“As you wish, Hyung,” he put the glass down and stood up, fixing his tux and putting on his white hat.

“And for fuck’s sake, patch those knuckles, aight?” Yoongi screamed playfully after him.

The temple, a sanctuary of weary souls, stood solemnly bearing witness to the union unfolding within its hallowed walls.

The bride, adorned in a crimson hanfu dress, with beautiful shining golden details on her long sleeves, walked the creaking wooden path towards the temple’s entrance, her steps heavy with the knowledge of what is awaiting her. The rich fabric of her dress billowed like a blood-red sea, a stark contrast to the pallor of her face that concealed emotions that dared not surface.

The courtyard was adorned with bright red and white paper lanterns when she passed it. She did not dare to look around at all the noble underground hats who had gathered to witness the union of two syndicates.

The flickering candles cast eerie, dancing shadows upon the ancient murals depicting forgotten legends. The distant sounds of the city, with its bustling streets and restless souls, provided a haunting contrast to the stillness of this timeless ceremony. The soft strains of the gayageum and the rhythmic beats of the janggu filled the air.

At the temple’s altar, the groom, equally somber in attire, awaited the bride. His eyes, like deep pools, hinted at the secrets he carried, secrets buried beneath, he wished to share with her.

The chants of the officiating monk resonated through the temple; a haunting reminder of the spiritual solace sought amidst the chaos of the outside world. Their union was a flicker of defiance against the oppressive forces that sought to extinguish the spirit of a nation. She was not initially meant to be his, fate seemed to have favoured him, and Yoongi thanked the almighty for bringing her to him.

Y/N dared not look at him, her breath unsteady, visible puffs in the cold air. The gal held her head high nonetheless, she was desperately trying not to give in to her intrusive thoughts and turn around, flee for her life, try one last time.

The gun pressed to Daiyu’s back served as a grim reminder, preventing her from succumbing to intrusive thoughts. She could see the tears that were in her eyes as she held tightly her little son. Chan-yeol, held captive and beaten for sins he performed.

The eyes of the guests felt heavy, especially her father’s, still unamused by the young leader’s audacity, keeping his hand tightly on his neck. Forbidden from seeing his own daughter before the ceremony, he seethed with anger, his frustration directed at the young Kkangpae.

Y/N’s heartbeat echoed loudly as she climbed the stairs to stand face-to-face with Yoongi, trying to find the courage to look at him. His eyes were full of expectations, he was waiting for this moment.

The exchange of bows signified respect and commitment. If this would be a traditional wedding, not minding their social status in the syndicates, they would continue with drinking rice wine sikhye, symbolizing the blending of their lives.

But this was not a common wedding. This ceremony was different. Altered by the traditions of the Min Clan. The moment arrived when Y/N extended her palm to take the knife from Yoongi’s hands. A cup of rice wine awaited underneath, capturing every drop of her blood. Their union, a pledge of loyalty through soul, blood, and mind.

Y/N met Yoongi’s eyes as she applied pressure to the hand holding the knife, slicing through his skin. A sadistic flicker seemed to pass through his eyes, as if he was enjoying the pain she was inflicting on him.

The rice wine now mixed with their blood and the heavy silence was driving Y/N mad.

The young Kkangpae lifted the cup to her lips, her eyes locked with Yoongi’s. Observing his actions closely, she followed suit, and he took a far bigger sip than her, almost devouring it all.

Setting the cup down they both extended their wounded hands. The golden wedding band that Yoongi slipped onto her finger, seemed to match her engagement ring that sat before it, closer to her knuckle. Y/N couldn’t stop looking at her hand. This was an explicit symbol of her being a taken woman now. No one else to touch, to have, and in their world — to own.

“Darling,” Yoongi whispered quietly, but still managed to keep the demand in his tone visible. Y/N shook her head to get herself to think straight again, realising she had lingered too long on the rings, delaying the public ceremony’s final step.

Huffing out collected air, she slipped the wedding band onto Yoongi’s finger, uniting them.

The monk placed a thick crimson ribbon over their hands, proclaiming them man and wife. No vows echoed like in the far west, no intimate encounters within the public ceremony, despite Yoongi’s yearning to press his lips against hers.

Y/N knew very well that her father scoffed and cursed at the young leader yet again for choosing to follow his wedding traditions and not theirs. And ultimately, there was no paying respect to the elders.

Kkangpae does not bow down to anyone. Nor will his new bride.

Y/N was especially glad she does not have to do that nor the tea ceremony she always found dull. Not that she particularly enjoyed being controlled and swept by the demands of Yoongi’s clan.

The monk’s chants grew louder again, filling the temple with an eerie resonance. Y/N and Yoongi turned to face the gathered members of their syndicates, their families, and the underworld elite who had come to witness this union.

The banquet that followed was a lavish affair as is fit for the Min clan. The tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous dishes, and the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of delicacies prepared by the finest chefs. Nonetheless, Y/N could sense the atmosphere that was charged with tension. As if everyone was prepared to cast guns and kill each other.

Y/N felt the weight of her father’s glare before she could see him eye to eye. Her mimicry has shown nothing more but pure disgust when Wang Zemo shook the scarred leader’s hand congratulating them on their marriage. Y/N did not trust her father. His judgment was always clouded by power.

“You do not seem pleased, father,” Y/N remarked, exposing him. Her mother nervously laughed, hoping to prevent a disturbance between the two clans. She eyed him, expecting an answer from him.

“I’m not pleased that your husband allowed you to be kidnapped,” he retorted, making Yoongi squeeze Y/N’s hip, a possessive gesture.

“But he aided a rescue team in no time, daddy. Meanwhile, you could not even keep me at home,” Y/N fired back, laughing in her father’s face, not believing her own words defended the young Kkangpae that was now amusingly smirking next to her. She could see how her father’s brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, fuming at his daughter. Y/N can do that now, she does not owe her father loyalty anymore.

Her mother stopped him before he could raise his hand causing commotion within the two clans, instead he lifted his free arm pointing a warning finger at her. Y/N smiled sweetly and watched her mother pull his arm until he walked with her. Only when he was far away did she ask her new husband.

“Did he give you trouble when you asked for Xiaoli’s hand in marriage on behalf of Taehyung?” The young leader only hummed in response, his eyes were focused on something different from her now, and Y/N could not help but turn her head in the same direction as he was looking.

What unsettled her the most was the presence of Yamamotos. Yoongi nor anyone did not mention single tweet about these poisonous guests. Therefore, she felt her stomach rotate when they were approaching and for the first time in forever, Y/N pressed herself closer to Yoongi, intertwining their fingers together.

Of course, she feared them. She always viewed her father’s tactics and measures quite cruel. But if Wang Zemo was cruel than Yamamoto was brutal. And it was only natural to fear such a brutal syndicate as Yakuza.

“Congratulations, Min,” said the older male in Japanese. He did not bother to speak the tongue of his enemy’s territory, but he knew they would understand perfectly. The man had such a strong and intense aura around him. He ruled with fear, that thing was obvious.

He held his hand to Yoongi who accepted it for both your and his behalf, shaking it with firm grip, piercing his eyes alongside.

“You got yourself a fine woman, Min, —” he leered at Y/N, his gaze filled with hunger. A wave of disgust washed over her.

“She has caused you quite a bit of trouble, has she not?” he continued, finishing his remark. Y/N understood that their marriage was a calculated move that would redefine the power dynamics within the criminal underworld. Whether Yamamoto perceived the Mins as a threat remained an assumption on her part.

“Not as much trouble as you sending that foolish boy to his death,” Yoongi added, causing Y/N’s breath to hitch. Slowly, her eyes lifted to Yoongi, whose gaze now held an intensity that made the scar glow with anger. Y/N did not understand any bit of it. Had he not come willingly? No, that simply cannot be, there had to be an ulterior motive to commit such a sin.

“Certainly, we knew you would handle him and your bride just as you saw fit.”

“Surely, —” Yoongi replied with a dark undertone and a sinister smile. A wave of nausea rolled through Y/N. If they lingered in the presence of the Japanese Yakuza any longer, she might empty her stomach right there. Thankfully, they bid a seemingly cordial farewell, leaving to take their seats behind the tables and Y/N could at least breathe out.

“Yoongi—” she began once they were out of earshot. He cast her a brief glance before pivoting to examine her, noting her even paler face.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she stumbled the words out of her system fast. Y/N released Yoongi’s hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh God,” her sister’s whisper reached her ears, a reminder of their public setting, alerting her that she is still in public, and the eyes will pry.

Y/N swiftly walked — not ran, to avoid drawing attention — towards the nearest door leading outside to the cold. Once in the cold air again, she emptied her stomach.

“It’s okay,” Y/N heard her sister’s voice yet again, just before her hands were soothingly rubbing her back. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe the cold air in. She was grateful it was her sister offering comfort, not the groom. At least Xiaoli realized that Y/N wouldn’t want Yoongi to see her now. Nor any other prying eyes.

“It’s not okay, Xiaoli,” said Y/N through tears, feeling a profound, heart-wrenching anxiety and fear settling in her core.

“They fucking sent him to rape me, and God knows what else.”

“And he did not manage to do that. Hoseok took care of that. Jungkook took care of that, —”

Y/N recalled, her mind flashing to Jungkook storming into her room, his concern evident as he bombarded her with questions about her well-being. Guilt weighed on him for getting entangled with Chan-yeol instead of going straight to her. As her new brother, he felt an obligation to protect her, just like Hoseok, who would go to any lengths for her.

And that leaves Y/N to wonder. She pondered the sincerity behind their sympathy. Was it because of her supposed relationship with their brother, or was there a genuine connection forming? For a fleeting moment, she wondered if her aunt sensed the potential for them to become family, to be her home.

“—Leader Min will see to it that he is brought to justice,” Xiaoli continued, always sure to express her love for Yoongi.

Y/N looked down at her stained dress with a sense of pity, both for herself and the situation. A deep sense of sadness remained.

“I just wish it did not have to be this way,” she confessed, her voice filled with sorrow. “I wish I could have chosen this path for myself, rather than having it forced upon me.”

“But this is not the world or lifetime where you could do that,” her sister replied, and for a brief moment, Y/N felt a glimmer of understanding.

“I know,” she whispered quietly. “He used to be my friend; you know. Despite what he did, I never thought he would die in front of my eyes, —” her words held honesty, tinged with something else.

“And I never thought that I would be relieved they came in time and shot him dead, Xiaoli,” Y/N admitted, finally getting it off her chest.

“Taehyung-oppa said they paid him to do it.” Xiaoli disclosed. Y/N dreaded this scenario; she suspected that Chen did not act out of love for her. No one who loved someone would commit such a horrendous act.

Y/N scoffed, a desperate laugh escaping her. “Do you know what will happen to Chan-yeol?” She hadn’t had the chance to discuss this with Yoongi, leaving her in the dark and feeling consumed by it.

“He is held captive. That is all I know,” Xiaoli replied while helping Y/N stand. She needed to change her dress; there was no way she could return in this state.

“Y/N?” Xiaoli asked. Her older sister only hummed in response.

“If you attempt to run ever again, Daiyu is going to die—” Y/N paused for a moment.

“—He won’t hurt me, I’ll be betrothed to Taehyung-oppa. But Daiyu is still in the open.”

“Did you talk to her?” She asked.

“No,” Xiaoli replied, “but I talked to Kkangpae Min. He confirmed his intentions.”

“And it did not move you one bit?” Said Y/N surprised with what degree of calmness her sister is speaking of this.

Yoongi wanted to make it abundantly clear that he would take drastic measures if she attempted to escape again. He wanted her to fear the consequences, to be consumed by the dread of what might happen if she defied him; deliberately informing Xiaoli, knowing the bond between the sisters was a weak point for Y/N.

“I would not dare to go against his word.” Y/N only smiled sadly at her sister’s words. She does not understand. How could she?

The way to her chamber felt endless. Y/N was acutely aware of her disheveled state and the need for privacy. Another set of footsteps behind her and Xiaoli quickened her heart with anxiety.

“Y/N?” The soothing voice of the doctor, Seokjin, reached her ears, and she could not have been more relieved. Without turning around, she responded.

“I just need to change. I’m fine, Seokjin.”

Y/N wasted no time in stepping inside her room once they finally reached it. Seokjin followed, his demeanour calm and professional, yet she sensed a hint of concern in his eyes.

As she began changing out of the crimson robe from the wedding ceremony, Y/N couldn’t deny the unease that lingered within her.

“You can tell him I will be back in a little while, Seokjin.” Y/N turned to Seokjin, offering a weak smile.

“Are you sure you are feeling well?” Seokjin nodded; his expression was gentle.

“It’s just the anxiety.” Said Y/N. Her face still bore the traces of tears and turmoil, but she resolved to face the celebration with as much grace as she could muster. She knew that in the world she inhabited, appearances were everything.

Seokjin stood by the door, waiting patiently. “I’ll change and come right away,” she promised to the older male.

“Very well,” he answered simply and closed the door behind him leaving her and Xiaoli alone.

The intricate layers of fabric and silk were carefully removed, revealing a simpler, yet equally elegant, hanfu beneath — this one was a shade of soft lavender.

“Do you want to wear the hanbok instead?” Xiaoli asked. Does she? Just this morning, she insisted that her wedding dress will be a representation of the culture she is coming from. Looking over at the beautiful crimson and royal blue hanbok that she was supposed to wear as her wedding dress, Y/N hesitated.

“I don’t feel like wearing a wedding dress anymore, Xiaoli.” Her sister nodded in understanding, but beneath her supportive gaze, there lingered a hint of disappointment. Xiaoli had hoped that Y/N would fully embrace the culture of the Min clan, a desire likely shared by the clan’s leader. However, Y/N’s desire was to stay true to her Chinese roots for a little bit longer. If this is the only way she can remain herself, she is willing to rebel against him as long as she can.

She heard her sister sigh as she handed her the crimson flowery qipao. “You could at least meet him in the middle.” Xiaoli muttered, her disappointment evident.

“Xiaoli, if you did not notice I’m having a really bad day today.” Y/N’s patience was wearing thin. She had endured enough turmoil for one day, and the idea of appeasing Yoongi’s wishes no longer held much appeal.

“I understand—” Xiaoli wanted to say before Y/N interrupted her with the welling tears in her eyes and raised voice.

“No, you do not understand, Xiaoli!” Said Y/N, sliding down to a lower cushion chair, hugging her head with her small hands.

“But you are not even trying, Y/N,” Xiaoli retorted.

“Because I’m gasping for air every single time! I’m drowning, and yet I cannot learn to swim—” she cried out, clutching the fabric of her hanfu to the point she feared it would tear.

“All of you are blindly trying to convince me that this is the best that could ever happen to me—” she continued.

“—like you’re some kind of Gods that shall decide one’s fate.”

Xiaoli sighed, her frustration and discomfort evident. “All we do is care for you, truly, madly, deeply.”

Y/N looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of despair and defiance.

“Are you listening to yourself, sister?!” Y/N did not even give her a chance to answer.

“—We are family, by blood, Xiaoli, I thought you cared about me to be more than just a pawn—” this time Xiaoli interrupted her older sister.

“And because we are family, I am trying to protect what matters to all of us.” Xiaoli knelt beside her, trying to console Y/N.

“What about what matters to me?” Y/N retorted; her voice shaky. “What about my dreams, my choices? He took that from me.”

Xiaoli hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “We all have to make sacrifices. And I know that you will make the best out of this.”

Y/N looked at her sister, a mix of disbelief and sadness in her eyes. “Is this the price of my freedom?”

“If this was another life, you could have what you truly desire.” Said Xiaoli. Y/N wiped away her tears before she spoke.

“I won’t let—” Y/N inquired.

“The consequences will be severe.” Said Xiaoli before Y/N could utter her thought as if she knew what she wanted to say.

“Remember that before you will do anything.”

The distant strains of music and laughter reached their ears when Xiaoli opened the door, walking through it in the direction of the celebration. Y/N put on a mask of composure, her posture regal, and her expression neutral. She couldn’t let anyone see the turmoil within her. Tonight, she would play the role expected of her, all while strategizing her next moves in this complex and dangerous game.

“Min Buin?!” a voice called out, unfamiliar and tinged with a strange mixture of reverence and unease — it sent a shiver down her spine.

A man stood right in the middle of the hall behind her. He was dressed in a dark, tailored suit that exuded authority, a stark departure from the opulence of the occasion.

Y/N couldn’t help but wonder who this enigmatic figure was and why he had singled her out with that title,

“Min Buin?!” He repeated again. Y/N turned her head slightly to Xiaoli, now a few steps closer to the banquet, her expression wary.

“Who’s asking?” she demanded, a hint of protectiveness in her voice. The man did not seem to be perturbed by Y/N’s defensive stance. Instead, he offered a faint, cryptic smile.

“Do you not know?” His tone took a different direction. He stepped closer to them.

“Y/N,” Xiaoli gulped down, her voice trembling. “That is Yamamoto Itsuki.” By how her sister spoke Y/N understood that this is the very man she was supposed to marry.

“Go.” She whispered to her sister who did not hesitate to run down the corridor and alert anyone. Only once Y/N was sure that her sister was far away did she speak.

“What is your business with me?” Y/N asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. The man’s smile widened slightly, revealing teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp in the dim light.

“Business?” He laughed. Y/N’s mind raced as she absorbed his words. She had been thrust into this world, initially a pawn in a dangerous game, but now it seemed that her role was evolving.

“I have unfinished business with you, yes.” He said after a few silent moments. Only her heavy breathing could be heard.

“I’m very much sure that a business between us never started in the first place; therefore, it seems to me we have nothing to talk about,” said Y/N, swiftly turning her body back to its original position, ready to flee to the banquet and seek help.

As she predicted, this day could only get worse as she found herself pinned to the nearest wall. Y/N could feel his breath on her face, a strong large hand enveloped her throat, pressing her to the wall harder and making it hard to breathe. Y/N’s breathing skipped intervals.

“You are one greedy ungrateful little bitch, are you not?” He spat the words into her face, squeezing her neck even tighter. Her hands automatically rose to his arm, trying to push him away. Her head started to spin, and she could feel the redness that rushed to her cheeks as she gasped for air that would fill her lungs.

“You were supposed to be mine!” His scream echoed in the empty corridor. Out of all the endings of her life, she truly did not foresee this one. There was a strike of a quick moment where she thought that death would be her redemption and eternal freedom she wished for. However, Y/N still had the will to fight for her life. She dug her nails into his arm, trying to push his hand away one more time, but he was too strong.

A click of a reloading gun seemed too muffled for her ears to notice, but when the sudden absence of pressure on her throat disappeared, and she could finally welcome the air in, she thanked God for being still in his favour.

Her knees have denounced their service, and she found herself on the ground. She went to touch her sore throat when a familiar hand did it before her. Y/N’s breath was still rocky, and she heard an annoying ringing in her ears. She barely could hear what Yoongi was screaming at the man who was recently near killing her.

“Y/N?” She heard Jimin’s voice, but she could not figure out where it was coming from. Her head was spinning like a carousel, and her vision was still a bit blurry. She wanted to speak up but she found it hard to do so.

“Can you breathe for me, darling?” She tried to stabilize her breathing but couldn’t stop panting for air.

“You have to try and calm down.” Seokjin was speaking to her, and by her blurry vision she saw another four figures around her. Two holding the younger Yamamoto for Yoongi, the other two attending to her.

Y/N went to try to speak again, even though she was fully aware that only high-pitched tones would come out that would make her words unrecognisable.

“I—” she tried, “I want—” she finally gulped down the little amount of saliva she had in her mouth.

“Bring her water right now.” Seokjin understood quickly. Her hearing was coming back to life and same for her vision. She could now see Jungkook and Hoseok dragging the man away from them, and Yoongi swiftly turning to examine the damage the man had done to his beloved.

By the time he fell down to his knees, cupping her cheeks, trying to read from her eyes, Jimin had returned with the water she needed. Yoongi helped her to hold the glass in both of her hands and drink it whole in one go.

“I do not want to stay here tonight,” she said with a raspy voice, feeling every muscle in her throat. Yoongi looked at her with worry in his eyes. He promised she would be safe with him, and within less than twelve hours, she was abducted, almost raped, and nearly choked to death.

“I am so sorry, baby,” said the young leader with remorse. “I am going to make it better, I promise.” Y/N’s ‘better’ however, contained something else than his ‘better’.

“We cannot leave right away—” tears escaped her eyes, falling heavy and hot on her dress. Yoongi was the Kkangpae and the enemy’s clan member just assaulted his wife. This cannot slip out without consequences.

“How dare you disrespect me and my wife this way,” said Yoongi to the older male from Yamamoto’s clan who had barely sat down in Yoongi’s office.

The younger offender, who had laid his hand on Y/N, was still firmly held by Hoseok and Jungkook. She sat in Yoongi’s office chair, a blanket draped over her shoulders, the purple bruises on her neck stark against her skin, certainly not flattering jewelry.

“How dare you disrespect our clan, Kkangpae Min.” The older male retorted, testing the younger leader’s patience. Yoongi clenched his hand into a fist, struggling to maintain control.

“This is far too unforgivable against what you assume I did,” he spat out quickly. Y/N wished she could just hide away and never come back, but as the Kkangpae’s wife, a Buin, she had to be present.

Yamamoto scoffed. “You are playing the game dirty, so are we—”

“Take this as a payback for meddling in our affairs, Kkangpae Min—” the older male started.

“And as far as traditions goes, she is yet to be your woman by our law and God’s will,” alluding to the inevitable — they had to consummate the marriage. Y/N knew this and had been making peace with the fact throughout the day.

“You won’t have to worry about that, Mr. Yamamoto,” Yoongi was always known for his cockiness whilst dealing with enemies, but he was also the most cautious man alive, however today was a misstep he did not wish to ever make. All this only proved he could not leave her alone — not because she might flee, but because someone could take her away from him. And he would never let her go.

“Watch me fucking continue meddling—” Yoongi retorted. “I see that you know the goddamn rules; I shall have his hand.” Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. She did not expect him to go unpunished for what he did to her, which would make Yoongi look unfit to rule. Itsuki started to squirm in their hold, attempting to break free.

“You want a war?” Yamamoto asked with venom in his voice.

“You apparently desire to have it when you assaulted my wife twice in one day.” Yoongi spat and signaled to Hoseok to bring Itsuki forward. Jungkook grabbed the hand that had been on Y/N’s neck less than an hour ago.

“Father!” Itsuki screamed with madness in his voice.

“Here you have it, you impatient imbecile!” his father screamed back at him, frustrated with both himself and his son. The plan had been to warn the Mins, not infuriate them.

Y/N watched Yoongi wordlessly as he took a short katana from Namjoon who appeared out of nowhere. The blade was sharp as a viper’s fang, and it gleamed in the dim light sourcing from the fireplace. The hilt, wrapped in silk, the colour of dried blood, felt cool and ominous in Yoongi’s hand.

She knew he’d have to swing it more than once to actually cut off Itsuki’s hand. Y/N gulped down her fear, pressing both hands to her mouth to stifle the scream that escaped when he first wielded the blade, piercing through Itsuki’s skin and colliding with bone, breaking it open. Burgundy blood streamed down to the wooden floor. Y/N clenched her eyes shut at the painful scream that followed and bounced slightly on the chair at the loud thump of the hand hitting the ground.

“You have one hour to leave our land,” Yoongi declared, aiming the katana at the leading Yamamoto. The son dropped to the ground, cradling his arm, staring at the severed hand and screaming in pain, muttering threats to the Min clan.

“You chose.” The older male looked over to Y/N who was still very much speechless and in utter shock from what occurred before her eyes. Yoongi’s gaze, momentarily lingering on his wife with furrowed brows, but quickly returned to Yamamoto. Their eyes locked, and the older man extended his hand to retrieve his injured son from the floor, leading him out of the room.

Yoongi dropped the katana onto the ground, tilting his head backwards in a brief prayer to the Lord. The room remained cloaked in heavy silence — not a peaceful silence, but one pregnant with the weight of a grim decision. A choice had been made, and its consequences were bound to unfold in darkness. This was a proclamation of war.

Y/N’s eyes remained fixed on the spot where Yamamoto’s hand was laying limp in a pool of fresh blood. As Yoongi straightened and turned his gaze toward her, his eyes were a tempest of conflicting emotions.

“You chose.”

Yoongi echoed Yamamoto’s words more as a question, his voice carrying a low, sombre resignation. He did not demand an answer; he knew what Yamamoto was talking about. Glancing down at his black shoes, now soaked with the blood of his enemy, Yoongi let out a soft laugh at the irony of her choosing him.

He understood the possibility that her choice might stem from self-preservation, realizing he could annihilate her entire family the moment she disappeared. Yet, his own selfishness shielded him from that harsh reality. Yoongi desperately wanted to believe that she returned to him and him alone.

Her eyes grew too heavy to stay open during the car ride back to the sanctuary. She allowed them a brief respite, letting the weight of exhaustion pull her into a momentary rest. The events of this day had been like a tempest, tearing through the delicate fabric of her reality and leaving chaos in its wake.

Y/N’s strength was something Yoongi admired, yet even he recognized the toll this day had taken on her. The hypocrite in him thinking that kind of evil will lead her to seek solace in him, perhaps finding that this was where she truly belonged — by his side.

She could have turned and run when the chance presented itself, disappearing into the wild. But she did not, and that is what mattered to Yoongi. For the first time, Y/N found herself yearning to return to the sanctuary, back to her golden cage.

Y/N knew that this night would be a reflection of the complexities of their relationship, a dance between desire and the darkness that surrounded them. Y/N understood that despite the arduous day, this had to be done. Bracing herself, she stepped out of the car and into the dark.

She walked slightly behind her now husband, letting him lead the way to the house she did not quite recognise. Before she mustered the courage to ask questions, he spoke first.

“I grew up in this house—” he whispered into the cold air, “a hot spring is right behind it.”

Y/N observed the house built into the massive stone walls of the valley, surrounded by tall pine trees. It was too dark for her to see just how tall they actually are, but the little flickering lights visible through the windows granted her a little peak.

“I want to spend tonight with you here,” he turned to face her. Yoongi could not tear his gaze away from her, adoring every detail—her eyes, cheeks, nose, hair, mouth. But if you would ask him, how did he come to be so obsessed with her, he would not give a cohesive answer. The inexplicable obsession he felt seemed right, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. He believed that even if she did not feel it now, she would eventually.

“Just the two of us.”

He took a little step to be closer to her. If Y/N understood correctly, this is the only place where they can be truly alone without prying eyes and ears. Yoongi wanted to talk and what’s more, he intended to do more than just talk tonight.

“Aight,” she replied slowly with her still sore throat. He had never seen her this calm, and he wanted to enjoy every minute she is not fighting against him — despite the disturbing circumstances that led to her current state of mind.

“Can we have some tea first?” she asked with little hope that he would agree to slow down a little bit. He chuckled at her sudden innocence and extended his arm to caress her cheek.

“Course we can, my love,” he smiled softly.

And so, they found themselves once again by the comforting embrace of a fireplace, patiently waiting for the tea to brew in the teapot’s gentle whistle.

There was something about this scenery that Yoongi could not help but love. Y/N, seated on the fur rug next to the warmth of the crackling flames, found solace in these quiet moments. After the tumultuous events of the day, it was a sanctuary they both needed. At least, she felt at peace in moments like these.

“I am sorry.” he suddenly confessed, his eyes revealing the genuine sorrow within. Today had left Yoongi conflicted, riding the highs of marrying the woman he desired while being weighed down by guilt for the day’s events.

Y/N met his gaze, her voice devoid of emotion as she calmly asked, “About what exact part?”

“All of it,” he shook his head. Y/N chuckled, and confusion flickered in Yoongi’s eyes.

“Are you not going to punish me, Kkangpae?” Here she goes.

“I do desire to know your relation to the boy, I won’t lie, but no.”

“There is no relation.”

“Are you sure? We talked about this already — no lies.”

“I’m not lying, he did fancy me, yes—” Yoongi’s grip on his hands tightened.

“—I thought we were friends, but he was not keen to flee away with me when I needed to,” she admitted.

“Do you mourn him?” Yoongi’s voice held a serious tone.

“I mourn the boy he was, not what he apparently became after we parted—” she began, carefully, collecting her thoughts.

“—they paid him to go and attempt rape me, Yoongi. I pray for his soul to find its peace after what sins he committed,” a tear escaped her eye, a sob followed. Yoongi leaned in, holding her small hands in an attempt to provide comfort.

“It was horrible,” she cried out and finally, she opened up to him.

“Amidst all the bad today, I’m so proud of you—” Y/N raised her blurry eyesight to meet him, awaiting an explanation.

“—You could have run, and you did not. You chose to come back to me.”

“I promise, I swear to you — I will never ever let that happen again—” he assured, moving closer to her.

She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to address the yet unspoken. “Can I get the letter, please?” Y/N whispered.

“In the morning.” He answered, intending to prolong it to ensure her continued good behaviour and obedience.

“Do we?-” She interrupted, praying for a change of his mind, though fully aware of the inevitability. He needed to ensure no loopholes in their marriage for others to exploit or for her to negotiate over. She knows this is mandatory.

“Yes, we do,” he acknowledged after some thought. Knowing what she had been through that day, he recognised the potential impact, but he also saw it as a way to fully claim her. It was a selfish desire, perhaps, but one he had long awaited.

Yoongi longed to feel her skin to skin. It was indeed selfish, he knew that much. Some would say it is careless of him to demand such an intimate act to happen after all she has been through. But he wanted to show her that this is a part of their marriage she can truly enjoy. Yoongi wanted to give a final full stop to their relationship by solidifying the union rightfully, as the tradition goes.

The flickering flames of the fireplace danced in the dimly lit room, casting a warm glow upon Y/N and Yoongi. Consummating the marriage was a private but necessary measure.

His selfishness had not gone unnoticed by the syndicate elders, who questioned his insistence on not just any hotel room but the house where generations of memories had been created. He deliberately wanted to spend the night in the house he grew up in, where his father started a family, and his grandfather, and his grandfather and so on down the history line.

Yoongi, having lost his parents at a young age, yearned to start his own family. He wanted to witness the growth of his children, their marriages, and their own families.

Y/N knew this day would come, sooner or later, and as a young woman, she had learnt to protect herself from unplanned consequences. She understood his desire for a child, though he never explicitly discussed it with her. But she was far from being ready to surrender to the life fate had planned for her, not just yet.

Heaven had given her a sign, a slight hope when she found a particular herb in the garden before the first snow fell. Y/N had kept it discreet, asking the maid to dry the flowers and serve them as tea in the morning. Tonight, she was calm, knowing it could not happen, even if he wished otherwise.

Yoongi observed her hesitance, her eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and resilience. The room, with its walls that held generations of memories, seemed to echo with the weight of tradition and expectation. But as he reached out to touch her cheek gently, his eyes softened.

The sharp sound of a loud whistle from the tea kettle startled them both, tearing them out of the cocoon of their thoughts. The iron kettle hung gracefully over the open flame, steam rising in wisps as if trying to escape the weight of the night. Yoongi carefully prepared the tea, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The aroma of freshly brewed leaves filled the air. The porcelain teapot, an heirloom passed down through generations, sat patiently on the wooden small table that was next to them. As he poured the tea into delicate cups, he eyed her small physique yet again, searching for any signs.

She accepted the cup he offered her, the warmth seeping through the delicate porcelain. Her mind briefly paused when she recognised the familiar scent. She chuckled and Yoongi raised his eyebrows in surprise, awaiting her words. Y/N took a few careful sips from the cup, accepting what it offered.

“Are you afraid, Kkangpae?” She asked, taking another sip. Yoongi put his cup on the wooden table and looked directly in her eyes.

“Me? No,” he pointed at himself, hiding a smile.

“So why did you choose to make tea from Valerian root?” Her studies that surely included herbalism had escaped Yoongi’s mind.

“I knew this night would be difficult for you, and I — I wanted to ensure it went as smoothly as possible,” he confessed.

“Considerate,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Yoongi’s gaze faltered, and he looked away momentarily.

“I want you to enjoy it—”

“Then make me enjoy it,” she interrupted him yet again, gulping down the contents of her cup, setting it down with a gentle clink next to his almost full one.

“I intend to,” he said. The complexities of tradition, the weight of the syndicate expectations, seemed to press down on them like the heavy beams of the hanok. Yet, he was thrilled at the prospect of laying her down and making love to her, while she tried to make peace with the path ahead.

A mixture of emotions played across Y/N’s face, the tension in the air made her anxious. The tea flowed in her system, calming her. The steps were set, and she cannot back down now.

His hands cradled her face, a gesture that held both tenderness and an unspoken understanding. But Y/N knows he will never understand. And thus, the night unfolded.

The hanok, with its wooden beams and paper windows, seemed to breathe with the rhythm of their footsteps. The aroma of tea still lingered within the walls, all the way back in the house.

“Pray with me?” a soft plea that resonated with the hallowed surroundings. They settled on top of the low cushion bed; he held both her hands in his. The subtle sounds of the valley outside, muffled by the hanji-covered windows, crackling fire nearby — the low hum of their shared prayer filled the room, blending with the whispers of the winter wind outside.

As they concluded their prayers, the world outside the hanok continued its silent ballet with nature. Yoongi slowly let her hands fall into her lap. Y/N kept looking at her hands, biting her lower lip.

He extended his hands pulling out the golden pins from her hair, releasing them.

“You are magnificent,” he whispered into her lips that were anticipating his. She looked into his eyes one last time before she slowly closed them, awaiting him to take the first step. Y/N could feel both his hands on the swell of her bottom, slightly squeezing it and thus making her pant into his mouth. He pulled her into his lap, not distancing their close proximity. Not now. Not ever.

A deep groan released from his throat when she fully sat down in his lap. Y/N was straddling him, feeling his stiff manhood tightly pressed against her core making her breath hitch. He moved his hand from its place on her butt cheek to the swell of her clothed breast.

“Let me make love to you.” He kissed her lips very gently, waiting for her response. She knew he would do so even if she would not give him her consent. And once she shyly nodded her head, he dove right in and kissed her very deeply, slipping his tongue into her mouth. He was hungry and only she could sate him.

He continued to press himself against her core, creating at least some friction in between, aiming to hit the right spot and make her sing for him.

Yoongi was trying to trace down the opening of her qipao, feeling the delicately made buttons on her chest. Not for a moment he stopped kissing her, unbuttoning her dress and hiking it up from its hem on her thighs, showing her undergarments and pulling it all the way up her head —throwing the peace of clothing that provided her warmth, perhaps even a security blanket, away.

Her neck was his next target. He bent his head making hers to lean back to allow him access. Yoongi layered down butterfly kisses all over her, now, naked, bruised neckline. “You are such a good girl.” He muttered into her skin, caressing her bottom while he placed his hand back to her right breast.

Y/N could feel her nipples stiffen under the change of temperature, or perhaps the excitement her body was going through, which she did not want to admit. He took one of her hands who were inactive till now and placed it on his chest near the small buttons of his shirt. Trying to send a mental message for her to touch him too — undress him too.

Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to come to her senses. Out of this ectasis. But she could not. His work on her neck was becoming troublesome, not mentioning his roaming hands. She was never touched by man lovingly, but she could not deny that he is making her heart skip just by teasing her.

Her small shaky fingers finally reached to the buttons whilst he was abusing her chest with hot kisses. She unbuttoned the first one, then the second until she reached the last. “That’s it baby.” He encouraged her to continue slipping his shirt down from his body.

He straightened himself and looked deeply into her eyes, his voice filled with desire and longing. “I love you.” Said Yoongi when he slowly slid his hand in between them cupping her clothed heat. Millions of little butterflies erupted in her lower belly, her breath hitched, silent moan coming out of her swollen lips when he started to rub circles, moving her clitoris through the fabric. She could feel herself leaning into him, her body responding to his touch.

The room was filled with an intoxicating blend of desire and anticipation. He caressed her back until he reached the opening of her western style cone bra that she wore under the dress. Popping it open her eyes snapped open too. But the pleasure was overshadowing her sound judgment, and he knew she would at some point try to resent him a little, that’s why he did not hesitate to throw it the same direction as her qipao, not wasting time and taking her already hard nipple into his mouth. Her eyes widened; pupils dilated.

He was taking his sweet time loving her every inch before he laid her down on the bed, hovering above her. Dominating her. Yoongi’s hands moved with a gentle urgency, his kisses becoming more fervent as their passion ignited. He hooked his fingers into her undergarments, not giving her a chance to protest when he quickly pulled them down her legs, tepid air hitting her centre.

It’s when he went to spread her legs touching her knees she took his wrist into her small hand, looking deep down into his eyes, tears swelling in, realisation hitting her. Yoongi did not seem to be angry or displeased. He understood why this action triggered her and therefore he led her hands to his belt, giving her a chance to yet again give him her consent to proceed. He wanted her to fall in love with him, not to fear him. He dreaded the day when he will have to use different measures to convince, she is his woman and no one else can touch her.

The little rat was a big mistake. Yoongi did not expect him to go as far as to attempt to rape her. But he knew that the boy was coming. He knew it’s Yakuza’s move, and he knew when they would strike,and he was ready. What he wasn’t ready for was Chan-yeol’s betrayal. Nobody is betraying Kkangpae Min, nor no one will dare to touch his wife after what he will do to the traitor.

“You’re alright, baby.” He attempted to assure her, putting her small hands on his belt. Y/N’s fingers were yet again shaking when she was undoing his belt. She was now fully aware of her laying naked body. She could feel the goosebumps forming on her skin.

As Yoongi’s belt came undone, he couldn’t help but marvel at the strength and resilience that radiated from her. She had endured so much in such a short span of time, yet here she was, willingly surrendering herself to him.

He pulled down the pants, together with his undergarments. A loud thud followed once they fell down to the floor. He bent down to her belly and placed a small kiss just below her belly button and one slightly lower to her yet uninhabited womb.

“I need to help you relax your muscles a little.” Said he. She felt his hot breath on her inner thighs, shaking in his hold. He slid his hand down to her core yet again, touching her without any barrier for the first time. Y/N took a deep breath and another one when he slid his finger down her folds and up, making her pussy produce wet juices. His lips were on her collarbone when he unexpectedly slid his index finger inside her making her moan loudly, yelp even.

“Shhh…” He cooked at her, kissing her lips passionately, while thrusting his finger slowly in and out of her heat. She could feel a prick of pain in the area Yoongi’s finger occupied. Y/N’s moans became a mix of moderate pain and pleasure altogether.

She could feel his other hand move away from caressing her hip to his member which he started to slowly stroke. Y/N could see that he was more than ready — his cock big, stiff and red, pre-cum leaking from its tip. He wanted to dive into her heat badly. But he needed to stretch her out a little more, so she won’t suffer that much pain. Yoongi smiled when he spotted her eyeing his body through half-lidded eyes, panting, yet being focused specifically on his manhood.

He towered above her, pulling his finger out of her heat. Sudden emptiness surrounded her walls that were finally adjusting to the intruder. She gasped when she felt his hands pulling her closer to him. Her legs were on each side of his hips. Y/N observed his body, his toned skin, slight muscles, his well-built torso — all the way down his V line, adorned with soft hair.

She snapped out of her thought train once he climbed on top of her and pressed his manhood in between her folds, sliding it up and down, covering it in her juices. Moan escaped her mouth once he put a little bit of pressure, stimulating her clitoris. He moved his hips slowly, trying to hold himself to not to thrust it in just yet.

He raised his left hand and intertwined his fingers with hers pinning it above her head while attacking her lips again. Y/N’s hand instinctively slapped his chest trying to push him away just a little, but his little smirk into her lips assured her that he wanted that kind of reaction from her.

And when she awaited it the least, he thrust himself into her, making her bite down his lower lip. He groaned at the sensation. His lip was bleeding, but he could not care less. “No—” She let go of his lip and an incoherent sound came out of her throat, eyes welling up with tears.

“Yoongi, it hurts too much.” She stated the obvious, crying whilst trying to breath. Enormous heat wave just hit her, and she was desperately wanting to make her head stop spinning.

“I know, baby. I know.” He whispered into her lips, trying to take his own breathing under control. She feels like heaven to him. His everlasting home. His love. This is where he was supposed to be all his life.

He tried to move very slowly, making her cry even more, but he couldn't stop. “It will stop I promise.” He kissed her tears away, stretching her walls to the fullest with his manhood. Silently moaning into her lips.

It took quite a while for her to adjust to the stretch and tension, fullness inside of her. Yoongi explored every inch of her naked body, his hands caressing her with a gentleness that belied his previous actions. In this moment, she was not defined by the traumas of her past or the expectations of their marriage. Their bodies moved in perfect sync once the pain yielded a little.

The room was filled with the sounds of their mingled loud moans and the crackling of the fire. The warmth of the fireplace mirrored the growing heat between them, intensifying the pleasure that coursed through their veins.

Yoongi’s movements became a little faster, more deliberate to draw as much pleasure from her as he could. He wanted to show her that their union was not solely physical but a one of love. With each whisper of reassurance and each gentle caress, he aimed to erase any lingering fears and insecurities that she held.

His thrusts were becoming sloppy after a while, he could feel her shaking against him. But not from fear but from pleasure. He mustered what he could to take her over the edge for the very first time in her life. Y/N could feel the butterflies in her stomach tying somewhat knot that she wanted them to release badly. Her hand slipped into his hair, tucking it tightly whilst he was thrusting into her heat, making her moan loudly into his mouth. He was very close, but he wanted her to come with her. And as they were reaching the peak of passion, their bodies trembling with pleasure, Yoongi held Y/N close, their hearts beating in sync.

Their moans became louder and louder every second they were nearing the summit. “Yoongi—!” she screamed his name out when she was sure the knot was about to burst. “Baby—” he could not even finish a sentence he meant to say once she came undone under him, trembling from the pleasure, her mouth agape, eyes tightly closed — her walls still vibrating around him. Not even a second later his loud cry followed as he spilled thick ropes of cum inside of her. His eyes closed, and he was breathing heavily. When he opened his eyes, she was already looking at him, her mouth still slightly open as she was panting. Her eyes seemed glossy but so were his. He caressed the side of her thigh whilst gently kissing her swollen lips, whispering how much he loves her.

Slowly pulling out of her heat, substituting with his fingers plunging his cum mixed with hints for crimson blood, back into her heat he lowered his body yet again to her belly. Kissing where he assumed her womb was, he whispered a prayer.

“May the Lord bless us with a miracle.”

I N T E R L O G U E

The father’s rage reverberated in the confined space of the car. “You could not have just fucking waited, you little prick!” his frustration boiling over.

Still grappling with the pain of his missing arm, the one-handed son shot back defiantly, blood seeping through the bandages “You said everything would work out in our favour!”

The car they were sitting in was slowing down until it stopped altogether. The older male looked around in confusion. They were nowhere near the docks for their escape to Fukuoka.

“It would if you’d just shut your damn cock instincts, you stupid boy!” the Yakuza leader hissed, attempting to keep his anger in check.

Blinded by fury, he failed to notice the car taking a series of wrong turns, leading them into a desolate no man’s land. When the driver turned to face them, blood reached his ears.

“Kkangpae Min sends you good wishes on your journey to hell.”

to be continued

©pennyellee. please do not repost

author's note: f finally yall!!!!! as I already said this chapter was a lot, ain't gonna lie about that, but everything is going according to the plan so don't worry. This was my first smut in english and I'm so scared of yall's reaction... Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was an emotional roller-coaster to write, especially the implied non-con and smut after all the reader had to endure, poor gal. I love to see your comments that basically express that you understand the story's essence and for that I love you all so much ♥ We'll see what will happen in next chapter :))

shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter! Love you bae!!!!

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @chaoticpuff17 - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts

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awearywritersworld · 8 months

Text

"can we stay here a little while longer?"

gojo satoru x reader summary: grappling with death, something that seems ever pervasive in your line of work, gojo offers you comfort w/c: .8k tags/warnings: light angst to fluff, gn!reader, no use of y/n, discussions of death, smoking, your relationship is obviously close but it's exact nature is left ambiguous a/n: i just want him to hold me, i am weeping. i wrote most of this a while back and finally decided to finish it. masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

"what brings you out here?" you call out to the white haired man strolling in your direction.

"oh you know," he begins, sitting down beside you in the grass. "just thought i could use some sun."

you're situated beneath a willow tree, its leaves rustling as the branches sway in the wind.

you look up at the gray sky incredulously. "'toru, it's overcast-"

"ah! you always see right through me, sweetheart," he exclaims, amusement clear in his voice. "i'm really just here to check on you."

you look over and meet his eye, but turn away the very next moment. "oh."

he watches as you pull blades of grass from the ground one by one. in your other hand, a cigarette hangs loosely between two fingers and he doesn't say anything more until you take a long drag from it.

"haven't you heard those things will kill you?"

a humorless chuckle passes your lips as you begin to exhale, blowing the smoke away from his direction. "given our line of work, it's much more likely that something else will get to me first."

"i guess you've got me there," he acquiesces, nimble fingers pulling the cigarette from yours.

you raise your eyebrows when he brings it to his lips, his nose scrunching almost imperceptibly as the menthol cools his tongue. having grown up with you and shoko, it's not like he's never smoked before. he just prefers to eat his weight in sweets, everyone having their vices and all.

"is that why you've been hiding away the past two days?" he questions, passing it back to you.

you shrug. "'m just tired of losing people."

his hand lands just above your knee, giving it a light squeeze before pulling away. "me too."

gojo's well accustomed to your habit of isolating yourself, and while he knows you need alone time now and then, he always comes to find you before long.

"do you wanna talk about it?" he broaches, giving you a little nudge with his elbow. "everyone else is getting tired of dealing with me, especially shoko."

"i suppose i can open up if it's for her sake-"

"hey!" he interrupts, though he's relieved to see the small smirk playing at your lips.

"kidding!" you laugh, leaning into him. after a moment, you grow quiet once more, though your expression isn't nearly as gloomy. "i don't know, 'toru. sometimes i just feel as if death is the easy part."

gojo narrows his eyes at you, the sentiment behind your words igniting his worry. "meaning what, exactly?"

"that they're gone.. and meanwhile i'm left to wonder why the hell i'm still alive."

"don't say that," he scolds, sounding a bit harsher than he intends.

"why not? it's not like-"

"because i'd die before i'd let anything happen to you."

you just stare at him, your lips slightly parted and your expression entirely unreadable. he doesn't take it back though, his eyes burning into yours decisively and his tone definite, like he'd decided on the matter ages ago. it leaves no room for argument, really, but of course you argue anyway.

"don't be ridiculous," you eventually huff.

"i'm not, you said it yourself. death is the easy part and i happen to be exceptionally selfish-"

"oh, that is the furthest thing from the truth," you interrupt.

"not when it comes to you."

his words hang in the air and you wonder when your heart started hammering against your ribcage, each beat more vicious than the last. the man before you is kind and generous, a far cry from the careless boy you'd known in your youth.

you haven't failed to notice the time and energy he dedicates to his students, or the way he's risked his life to protect those who can't protect themselves. it goes without saying that he'd won your admiration and understanding a long time ago.

"well, we all deserve to be selfish sometimes," you murmur.

his lip tugs upward at your response, a show of emotion that's both soft and genuine. "does that mean i can force you to rejoin society now?"

suddenly, you're aware of all the life around you— life that carries on even in the absence of the sun. the bees that fly from blossom to blossom. the birds that sing to one another. the squirrels that chase each other through the branches of the willow tree.

you scoot closer to gojo, your head falling onto his shoulder as you softly exhale. "can we stay here a little while longer?"

"sure, princess," he hums, his lips grazing the top of your head in a gentle show of affection. "we can stay as long as you want."

#m!writes #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo imagines #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagines #gojo satoru fluff

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smallgodseries · 2 years

Photo

[image description: An inky cat - almost a silhouette - sits tall in profile, a glowing red-orange circle (with curled banderoles from at top and sides) haloing her head. Behind her, an almost card-like scaled golden background, and behind that, the deep blue-black of space. Text reads, “160, A VOID ~ THE SMALL CAT OF BEING MISUNDERSTOOD ~ after the great Théophile Steinlen”]

• • • • •

The first thing she remembers is warmth, tiny bodies crashing over her own as they fought for a share of their mother’s milk. Warmth, and a purr that was the world, the sweet vibration of a mother’s love. The voices in the distance barely registered with her:

“One cat was one cat too many. You can’t keep six of them. Those kittens have to go.”

“But Mama—”

“The kittens or the whole damn cat! One or the other!”

Then she remembers hands, grabbing her and pulling her away from her littermates, from her mother, stuffing her into a cold, rough sack while her mother meowed piteously in the background, broken-hearted and confused. A door slammed. The meowing stopped. And then there came cold, freezing cold, and wetness, and one by one her brothers and sisters stopped moving, and still she fought, furious, cold and wet and tiny and angry, until again, hands, pulling the sack out of the water, pulling the surviving kittens out into the light.

After that came warmth again, and bottles held by human hands, and fosters who cared so much about the tiny lives in their care, but who knew from the beginning that they couldn’t save them all. After that came open eyes, and light, and a world. A world so big and so filled with beautiful things…for the cats who got to leave the shelter. Her brother, born with a white patch over half his face, got to go. Her sister, calico and striking, got to go. And she, black as midnight, stayed.

“We’re sorry, sweetie,” said the volunteers, after yet another open day when no one took her home. “It’s hard for the black cats. They don’t understand how wonderful you are.”

And she purred, for them, and she played, for them, and she stopped trying to be charming, for the people who came every second Saturday. She didn’t need them to understand her. She wasn’t going anywhere.

She spent her whole life at that shelter, and when new black kittens came in, she taught them how to be cute and coy, how to flirt with the potential adopters. How to find themselves a home. And one night, when she went to sleep, a strange dog was waiting for her.

“Hello!” it said. “Hello, I love you!”

The dog, it transpired, was named Adora, and Adora was a small god. Not a large god, not life or death or anything of the like, but a small god, of imaginary friends. And the cat, who had never had a name she truly felt was hers to keep or claim, had done enough for the kittens in her care, the misunderstood and the overlooked, that they were offering her the chance to be the same. She could be a small god. She could choose her portfolio. She could do anything.

Anything but go back to the shelter, where her unbreathing body had already been found by a weeping volunteer. That time was finished.

She looked at the dog. She looked at the crying people who had been her only friends. She wrapped her tail around her legs.

“I am A Void,” she said, “and I will be a small cat for the misunderstood.”

She takes her duties very seriously. She is with those who are judged unfairly, who speak too fast or too loudly or not enough. Who are out of step or out of fashion, who never get their points across. She is with them all, and while she does not love as freely as Adora, she cares for all who bear her banner. She cares so very deeply.

But she cares for the little black cats most of all.

#Small Gods #smallgodseries #Seanan McGuire #Lee Moyer #icons and stories

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deepdisireslonging · 7 months

Text

No Cum November Part 6: Dripping

The Reader is used in a ritual to summon the ghost that’s been terrorizing campus.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Warnings/Promises: canon-level danger, ritualistic SMUT, bondage, wax play, double penetration (split-roast), bukkake (of a sort… just, the boys get messy, okay?)

Word Count: 670

Note: Really had fun with this one. Whew! Let me know how you guys are enjoying the series, I love hearing from you guys. Happy reading!

Part 5: 2 AM Quickie

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Dean paused in tying the next knot around your wrist.

“You guys are gonna be here, right?” You breathed a sigh of relief as Sam nodded.

“The whole time. You remember how to get out of the knots?” He waited for your affirmative hum. “Good girl.”

It may have been just another run as bait for you, but this ghost was going to be summoned with your actual arousal. At first, the ghost had been summoned by the group of horny freshman with a book from the archives. Having found it during your excursion with Sam in the library a few days ago, the possessions and deaths had stopped. But, through trial and error, you three found out that the spirit was tied to the campus, not the book. Nobody knew of a potential grave. The only way to end it permanently was to summon it.

The team was happy to oblige.

Which is why you were currently tied to a desk with candles fluttering all around. The boys had taken turns massaging protective oil into your skin. Dean tied the last slip knot and nodded at Sam, who picked up a candle dripping with wax. He started to chant the summons. Drip by hot drip, he guided the weeping candle over your body. You hissed and writhed under the sensation, and under the gaze of the Winchesters. They watched your chest heave. How your thighs quaked. They panted in time with your mouth falling open to moan. After a few minutes of chanting with no response, Dean took his position.

He filled you slowly, accidentally dripping wax on your lower stomach. You arched, spearing yourself on him faster than he anticipated. He fell forward, stumbling in his words. Sam took over with the chanting, leaving his brother to take care of you.

Maybe the summons was working. Or maybe the way you twisted under the candle max was doing something to Dean. Either way, he gripped your hips tighter, pulled you onto him harder, needed more than ever to hear every way you could scream. His nails scraping up your stomach worked loose some of the wax, leaving ridges in their wake. Sam’s chanting stumbled. The sight of the wax remnants of Dean’s act resembled a way to claw into your skin like never before. He touched himself while refocusing on the chanting.

This was taking too long. Not that you could complain. But the ghost wasn’t coming. When Sam said as much, Dean didn’t hesitate.

“Be a shame to let such a pretty sacrifice go to waste.”

He continued to thrust into you, letting more wax drip around your breasts. Sam’s chanting of the spell switched to chanting your name and whispering filthy things that made your skin flush. You opened your mouth wide for Sam’s cock, happy to relieve some of the pressure he’d built watching Dean ravage you. Filled from both ends and covered in wax, you were too floaty to want to cum. When they needed to spill, the Winchesters added their cum to the ritualistic drippings already covering your body.

They helped you out of the knots. And massaged your joints that had been tied down. Dean wrapped you in the fluffy robe they’d brought after Sam wiped down your sweaty brow. They would clean you the rest of the way at the hotel. While Sam gathered the candles, you removed the tablecloth you’d used to cover the desk. Not a speck of evidence of the failed ritual would remain in the room.

Still, Dean needed to adjust himself.

“Dude, we just fucked her ten ways past Sunday, and you’re still hard?”

With a shrug, Dean grabbed the books. He held them to his chest, looking very much like a guilty student. He caught your eye. “Can we- for the bunker, we can buy candles, right?

You pulled the collar of the robe over your smile. “We can definitely buy candles.”

***

Series Masterlist

Part 7: Double Possession

#dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #winchester x reader #winchester smut #reader insert #dean winchester smut #sam winchester smut

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fanaticsnail · 8 months

Text

You Kissed the Clown? Part 8

Part 8 you guys! Here as promised, and only at just after midnight this time!

I've also uploaded everything to my Ao3, just in case you prefer that platform over the formatting here.

Word Count: 6,528

If you like my work, please leave a comment. I love hearing your thoughts about this series! ❤️

Part 7 back here.

You were cursed.

That was the only logical explanation that was presented before your mind as you sat beside the incapacitated swordsman who was now donning a gaping wound in his chest. You cradled one of his hands within your own as he slipped somewhere flittering between life and death.

You assumed you would’ve been nursing back Usopp to the land of the living, holding his hair back as he regurgitated in the bathroom due to his intoxication from last night’s over-consumption of alcohol. Staying well out of the way of the administrations of the head chef of Baratie as he placed fish skin over the weeping wound after performing a well-practiced stitch routine, you allowed soft tears to spill slightly from the corners of your eyes.

You paid no attention to the others in the room, focussing only on the steady rise and fall of the swordsman’s breath to note any inconsistencies or irregularities in their movements.

“He’s got one foot in each world right now, caught between life and death,” you finally brought your ears to focus in on the conversations taking place in your surrounds. Your orbs snapping to meet the eyes of the retired pirate Captain as he continued. His eyes softened slightly, still baring and air of authority.

“You have to find a way to keep him tethered to our world,” he continued, causing you to hang on his every word. “Talk to him, tell him stories, sing him sea shanties for all I care,” he added with a tone of authority, “he may not reply but he will know his crew are still with him.”

You all moved him into Nami’s quarters, the most well organised and least dangerous of the rooms; noting the many sharp objects in Zoro’s room and the volatile chemicals you use for maintaining and polishing antiquities.

“I’ll take first watch,” you notified the crew, “you all get some rest.”

There was no protestation with your crew, exhaustion overcoming them as the many drinks, sleepless night, manual labour – in Luffy’s case – and anxiety from the anticipation of the fight.

“Nami,” you added, “take my room. Less messy than Zoro’s and the majority of items in there already belong to you.”

She nodded, glancing one last time in sadness at the body of your fallen swordsman, before removing herself from the room. Once she closed the door behind her with a small click, you returned your gaze on Zoro as he lay unconscious atop the table.

“Mihawk,” you growled in a low tone, “you had to fight Mihawk?”

You walked around his body and snarled at him.

“Dracule fucking Mihawk,” you uttered again through clenched teeth. You reached for a chair and dragged it over to rest beside him, placing your hands on the vacant place beside his head.

“And here you are hanging shit on me for simply kissing a clown,” you angrily spat at him, “as you go so candidly up to pick a fight with one of the most fearsome warlords of the sea.”

You thumped your fist beside his head in anger as warm fresh tears threatened to spill again from your eyes.

“And you call me stupid,” you growled before allowing a soft whimper fall from your lips. You reached your arm down into the bag attached to your belt, finding a broad concealed flask and swiftly opened the tin lid. Taking a swig and feeling the burn to calm your nerves as you began your next tirade.

“You listen here, you stupid, stupid boy,” you threatened Zoro, “you are going to hear every word I am going to give to you, and you are going to hang on every syllable.”

You stared at the swordsman, focussing on his expressionless face as he began to steady in his unconsciousness.

“I am going to tell you everything,” you whispered into him, “and it is going to absolutely bore you so much, you will have no choice but to wake up just to get me to shut the fuck up.”

You slapped your back into the back of the chair, slumping down and taking another sip as you focussed on the events that just transpired, thinking if there would have been anything different you could’ve done to change this fate.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” you spat to him, making yourself comfortable as you began to relay your past, your present and your future to him while continuing to reflect of on the battle that occurred moments ago.

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

You slept through the night relatively peacefully before being rudely shook awake by a heavily intoxicated Usopp as he spluttered over his words. You couldn’t comprehend anything he had to say as he continued actively shaking you. You caught a few words like, “fight,” “battle,” “warlord,” and “big ass sword,” before you managed to break yourself free of his grasp.

You shoved him off you, recoiling slightly at the smell of stale, day-old alcohol lingering on his breath. Sheets flung unceremoniously from your form, revealing your night-clothes to the crewman before you; you shoved his body through your door and slammed it in front of him. You rapidly peeled your clothes from your body, changing into a light dress and fastening your belt in place, you flung the door open to reveal Usopp attempting to stabilise himself against the wall before you.

“Get up, Usopp!” you barked at him, “fill me in, damn it. Annunciate your words!”

“Hawk-eye,” Usopp panted, clutching his chest, “Mi-hawk.”

Your eyes widened as you began to sprint past him towards the upper deck where you saw Zoro with his black bandana atop his brow, marching toward the make-shift dock of Baratie with Luffy behind him.

You widened your eyes as you clutched the rigging before hurdling your way towards your Captain and his First Mate, noticing the dark form of the swashbuckling warlord you knew to be Dracule Mihawk. You couldn’t make out what conversation they were engaging in, not quite understanding the entire situation Usopp neglected to relay to you. For all you currently understood, Zoro and Mihawk could simply be sharing tips on how to polish their blades more efficiently; but from their stance you assumed something more sinister was currently in play.

“Enough,” you heard Zoro utter, “let’s begin.”

Mihawk reached to the small clasp at the back of his neck and removed the chain from its place fixed at his scruff. He tossed the material to the side heeding it no mind as he unsheathed the smallest blade you had ever seen pass for a sword. The blade looked similar in style as one of your large scalpel tools you used to cut through leather in your antiquities.

“What the hell is that, I’m here for a sword fight,” Zoro uttered to him, insulted at the production of such a small weapon.

“I don’t hunt rabbits with a cannon,” Mihawk rebutted carelessly, unblinking in his hawk-like gaze.

“Dracule Mihawk,” you said with a small curtsey, bringing his intense eyes to rest on your form. You bowed your head in greeting with a sweet smile falling over your face.

“Ah,” he purred slightly, “the Artificer’s daughter,” he addressed you with a slight sinister smirk playing on the corners of his lips.

“It has been so very long since the last time I laid my sights on you, sweet thing,” he added.

A burning, fixed beam of sweltering fury bore into you at that moment; the source being from the green-haired swordsman at your side.

“You are fucking with me,” he uttered in a voice low enough for only you to hear with an upturned snarl. You chose to pay his words no mind as you took a step forward towards the warlord.

“It has been long indeed, my lord,” you addressed him, “and in absence, fondness blooms in its stead. Shall we to the bar and enjoy a glass or two of Sangiovese while we catch up on the years that has stolen away from us.”

He narrowed his eyes, not entertaining your words in the slightest.

“You flatter me, little mouse,” he quirked his brow at you, “your mother taught you well.”

Your sweet façade fell from your face at her mention before you collected it back again to your face. Mihawk studied your every movement like a hawk fixated on a helpless little hopping mouse caught in the clutches of a wolf-spider.

“I learnt only from the best, my lord,” you smiled, “what say we leave this place and take that drink now?”

“As tempted as I am, sweet thing,” he turned his gaze back to the green-haired swordsman as he watched this interaction with absolute disgust, “I am a little hung up with this rather insignificant rabbit at the present.”

“I’m no rabbit,” Zoro snarled darkly while unleashing two of his three swords.

“That remains to be seen,” Mihawk taunted.

You side stepped to remove yourself from the equation as the two sword wielders engaged in single combat. You could not bare to watch your friend in their inevitability to be cut down by Mihawk but stood strong yourself to hold firm your sights on the battle commencing.

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

“-And that is how I came to be the oldest of fifteen children,” you concluded your incredibly drawn out tale. You snickered slightly, knowing the tale of how your parents fell in love and held onto it throughout the years would’ve bored Zoro so much he could cry.

“Now, shall we move onto something more juicy?” you snickered slightly, knowing he would absolutely not want you to continue your absolute mind-numbing experience of relaying insignificant events from your childhood.

“I have a confession,” you said, swigging from the brass flask once again, “and you’re going to kill me when you wake up.”

You leant in close to the tri-pierced ear of the unconscious swordsman, bringing your lips to the lobe as you closed your eyes and whispered without more than the breath it was required to speak the words.

“I am in love with Buggy the clown,” you spoke slowly, so he could catch on to every word that was relayed to him. You held your face close to his, focussing on the fact that this was the first time you had passed that information (willingly and knowingly) onto another person. The person in question being the first individual you had grown unwittingly closest to aboard the vessel. And the person likely to die in the next upcoming moments, to which’s limited time in the land of the living was spent pondering something as insignificant as a love confession from a crewman.

Pushing your body from the almost intimate proximity, you sat back in the chair again and almost pitied the swordman at his absolutely unwilling participation in hearing your confessional words. You reached for his limp right hand and laced your hand within his and gave it a small squeeze to comfort him.

“And if you continue to remain in this state,” you squeezed his hand again, this time more threatening and raising your voice to a regular speaking voice now, “I will actively do everything I can to seek him out, bring him into this room and desecrate your resting place with sounds so absolutely illicit, you would need to seek exorcism to rid your soul from the memories and images conjured to you every time you close your eyes.”

You laughed at your threatening words, knowing they were absolutely untrue in all shapes and sizes as the door began to swing wide. You looked over to your captain who had a forlorn expression adorning his face.

“Captain?” you asked him, semi-horrified that he may have caught the final words you uttered to the resting swordsman, “are you unable to sleep?”

“I just-,” he began, shrugging his shoulders forward slightly and avoiding eye contact, “I just wanted to-.”

He paused his words as they caught in his throat. You released Zoro’s right hand from your grasp and stood to walk over toward him. You maneuvered your head to retrieve his gaze from the floor, while placing your left hand on his shoulder.

“He will wake,” you said, finally catching his eyes, “I am sure of it.”

His eyes searched yours as his brows upturned, deepening his shaken and depressed expression.

“How can you be so sure?” he questioned you, his signature grin nowhere in sight.

“He has no choice, Captain,” you smiled broadly at him, patting his shoulder in comfort, “he has too much to achieve in this life to welcome the next so suddenly.

Luffy attempted to relieve you from watching over Zoro; but you absolutely disregarded those notions and was adamant in your refusal.

“Captain, with all due respect; each time I find myself away from you all, something far more sinister occurs. I refuse to be apart from Zoro in his recovery. I will not miss this,” you said firmly with a ferocity that had not graced your face for the entire time you had ventured.

Luffy sighed through his nose with a frown on his face. You watched as his jaw softened, indicating he had relented this battle with you.

“Go and get some rest, Captain,” you said again, “I will be here when he wakes up.”

And you were. You remained in these quarters, tinkering with the same piece Nami gave you to work on several days earlier. You endured your position while each member of the crew took turns in addressing Zoro; relaying information to him in stories from their individual travels. You listened as Nami read to him children’s stories before she went and picked a fight with your Captain.

You remained silent as Nami continued to lay insult into your Captain, flinching slightly at the disrespect she posed to him.

“I didn’t think he was going to lose,” Luffy said in absolute belief in his First Mate.

“you could’ve tried to change his mind-,” Nami began, only to be cut off by Luffy.

“I would never do that,” he said lowly.

“So you’d rather see him like this?” she gestured to his resting form, “he might die, Luffy.”

“And I’d do anything to save him. Anything,” he said with a small, tight-lipped smile coming to his face, “except stand in the way of his dream.”

You bit your lip at the words your captain disclosed, squeezing your eyes shut to make yourself as invisible as you could as your entire body seemingly quaked with emotion. Your Captain’s words sang to your soul; his innocence and absolute ignorance was a beautiful combination to your mind.

“We all have dreams, Luffy. But we outgrow them-,” Nami began, to be once again cut off by Luffy.

“Is that what you really think?” he asked her with a shrug, “don’t you have a dream?”

You finally opened your eyes to gaze on Nami before pulling your sights over to the rise and fall of Zoro’s breath.

“Yeah, for right now it’s to not have Zoro die in my bed,” she shouted, a small almost undetectable quiver slightly hidden in her voice.

“But isn’t there something that you want? Something more?” he said, his former grin returning to his face as his eyes beamed at her, “more than anything else in this world?”

Nami paused her words before quietly uttering: “not everyone gets to follow their dreams.”

She left the room without anymore words exchanged between the two of them, leaving the three of you alone once more in Nami’s bedroom.

Luffy turned to meet your eyes for a moment before resting on Zoro’s form, which continued to remain in their unmoving state.

“You have a dream, don’t you?” Luffy uttered quietly to you. You jumped slightly at the words, not thinking he was to engage with you so suddenly after the heated discussion with Nami. You paused before collecting yourself.

“I do,” you said in a low tone, standing again and making your way to stand at Zoro’s side.

“And what is that?” he prompted you, taking a small step towards you and halting to stand at your side, bringing your gaze to rest on Zoro.

“Call it an intermediate agenda,” you quirked your lip up slightly at the corner of your mouth, “several small plans to achieve a larger goal.”

Luffy laughed slightly at your response, nodding his head at your words; “care to disclose it with me?”

“My dream-,” you began, words halting slightly in your throat as you rifled your mind to seek the appropriate words, “is to be like my mother.”

“Oh?” he asked you in response, attempting to prompt you on.

You sighed with a warm fondness at her memory.

“She was kind,” you began, “and incredibly intelligent. She lead first with her heart, searching later for the appropriate means to achieve that end.”

You smiled, nodding while staring at the floor; “and she was loved by all who met her, most of all by my father.”

“And you wish to be like that?” he continued to prod, “to lead with your heart?”

“Not quite,” you smiled at him, bringing your eyes to meet with his, “she was also a tinkerer. She worked with harsh metals, precious gemstones and crafted some of the finest pieces known throughout all corners of the world. She was the one that crafted several pieces for-,”

Your words halted in your throat as you again gazed down to the fallen swordsman below, “-for Mihawk. I was more in my youth when I first met him. Young and stupid, as I like to call it.”

You chuckled slightly at the memory before shaking it from you to not lose your thoughts.

“That is my dream,” you held on tight to the words as they formed, “to become the greatest finery smith in the world; to create something worthy for the King of the Pirates.”

You nudged Luffy’s shoulder slightly with a warm smile before adding, “and I will make you the most beautiful piece, it will be the finest item in the entire collection. This I swear.”

Luffy grinned wide before placing his hand atop your shoulder.

You dwell in that moment together before he left you alone to be with the swordsman, watching over him as he slept.

You chose to not sleep through the night, willing yourself to remain awake at his side to not only be with him as he awoke; but to not miss any other stupid situation your crew dug themselves into. If you were being perfectly honest with yourself, you weren’t much better – smithing a weapon some nights ago that was intended to claim your life at its hand.

You witnessed the dawn rise, your crewmen coming in sporadically to check on Zoro. You noticed the blonde waiter was alongside them, who offered a mug of scorching hot coffee into your hands with a warm smile.

“You look as if you could need it, Miss,” he offered with a smirk playing at his lips.

“Are you saying I look a little worse for wear?” you toyed with him slightly, accepting the mug into your fingertips and cradling it slightly.

“Not at all,” he quickly added with a small widening of his eyes, now a slightly nervous smile adorning his face.

“I’m messing with you,” you reassured him with a small laugh before bringing the mug to your lips.

“That you are,” he confirmed with a slight nod, eyeline to the ground being caught off-guard by your confidence. His tongue darted out to dampen his lower lip, which you noticed his teeth began toying with a small silver-balled object between them. “A piercing? Interesting,” you thought to yourself.

He turned on his way, leaving you alone once more with the unconscious swordsman. You heard some commotion engaging above the deck, but your absolute stubborn reluctance to leave Zoro held to you like a tight leash to a firm, wooden post.

You remained behind; continuing to tinker with the circular, clock-compass item in your hands. You spent some time with it, placing it on the small space available to you next to Zoro’s unresponsive head as you turned several screws and aligned cogs upon its face. You resolved to not utilise the several desks near the window, as you were determined this time to not miss a single moment with your crew; especially at the side of the wounded swordsman who continuously found himself in dire situations, often engaging in battle.

You clicked a screw in a different direction, accidentally activating something within the face of the compass. It began ticking, something you did not account for; especially in its proximity to Zoro’s head. As a tinkerer; ticking usually meant one thing. That thing was a bomb.

You immediately sprung to your feet, cradling the small object in your hands and rushed over towards the window in an attempt to find an exit to cast the item into the sea. The ticking hastened its rhythm, prompting you to release several expletives from behind your lips as you attempted to shimmy the window open. The windows were thick, meaning you would need to return back to where Zoro was resting to retrieve your hammer to smash one open to throw it into the deep water ahead. As the ticking held a rapid beat, you flinched as you had no choice but to embrace your impending doom. However, it never occurred.

The object opened, revealing the most beautifully crafted creation you had yet seen in your life. Two figures holding one another in an embrace enchanted you as they danced in a circular motion with one-another. A metallic melody ignited a memory from within you as you sighed out a small laugh in surprise. You focussed your sights on the dancing figures, noticing how they were painted and allowing a single tear to escape from your eyes.

“Mother,” you whimpered slightly before laughing at the music box, “Zoro, this was my Mother’s. This was hers.”

You rushed over to his side and placed the now truly identified music box beside Zoro’s shoulder.

“This melody,” you said to him, “she use to sing this to me – to us – when we were children.”

You hummed along to the tune before you placed the words as you could best recall them to the melody. You swayed yourself to the music while half-laughing alongside the lyrics, your entire being fully overcome with a mixture of many emotions.

Your thoughts were brought back into the present as you heard several splashes in the water, assuming someone decided to go for a cool plunge to shake their form from over consumption of alcohol. You almost laughed at the thought, before sitting down at Zoro’s side once more.

“Now,” you began, “how do I turn this off?”

You knew exactly how to shut off the music, now knowing that it was not only a clock, a compass and a music box – the additional cogs made sense within your mind at how it truly fit together. You just wanted to get one final rise from Zoro to see if he would get angry enough to join you back in your reality.

After several minutes of Zoro enduring your humming along to the tune, you decided to finally shut off the music with a small flick of the switch to end his suffering.

“If that wont wake you, I’m afraid nearly nothing will,” you uttered sadly, gripping Zoro’s hand again and squeezing it, “he needs you, Zoro. Come back to us, but especially come back to him,” you said again in a voice just above a whisper.

You barely noticed as your Captain returned to you, this time an unreadable expression falling over his features. His hair was slightly dishevelled, as if he had a bath recently; prompting you to quirk your head to the side.

“Captain?” you asked him, “something the matter?”

He walked over to the hanging bed Zoro was laying on and hoisted himself up to sit at his legs. He ignored your questions, choosing to smile at you before fixing his attention on the unconscious swordsman.

“Hey, Zoro,” Luffy began, “you sure missed a big fight.”

Your eyes widened at the knowledge that you had also missed the aforementioned fight. You indeed, as you concluded earlier yesterday, were continuing to remain cursed in your misdirected absence. You elected to not speak up, hoping your Captain would disclose any further information to both you and the First Mate.

“Those fishmen guys were tough,” he said with a small smile, “you would’ve loved it.”

You stifled a gasp, hoping Luffy would continue to bare his soul to Zoro as so you could be privy to his innermost thoughts also.

“And we all had a pretty great dinner, all of us sitting around and listening to Usopp’s stories,” he turned to look at you for a moment, “with the exception of your guardian who protested to be removed from your side.”

You hung your head, knowing how you argued with Luffy earlier to remain with Zoro to again not miss out on anything. He chuckled at your reaction slightly before again returning his gaze to Zoro’s, his eyes hardening.

“Only I kind of messed it up,” he added, staring ahead at the vacant wall in front of him, “and now I lost Nami. I lost the Grand Line Map.”

He held a large pause before speaking once more; “And maybe I will lose you too.”

“I didn’t know what to say before,” he continued on, “but I know what to say now, and it’s so simple.”

You felt almost as if your presence in this moment was an invasion of a greater connection between two friends, but opted to remain in the room for a moment longer.

Luffy closed his eyes and furrowed his brows in passionate resolve, before strongly uttering: “I need you, Zoro.”

“I need you,” Luffy continued, “to wake up.”

You too closed your eyes as you willed those words into fruition, holding strong your own resolve.

“Are you going to keep talking or let me get some sleep?” you heard the swordsman utter from beside you. Your eyes flittered open to reveal the moment Luffy leapt onto the wounded torso of Zoro, wincing yourself in empathy as you thought of his large wounds.

“Zoro!” your Captain shouted in glee with a loud laughter, “Zoro, you’re not dead!”

He pressed his entire body against Zoro and gleefully held him in a friendly embrace. You grit your teeth as you watched Zoro writhe in pain at the pressure from the body above him.

“Right now, I’m wishing I was,” he groaned out in pain. Luffy leapt off him to sit at his lefthand side, prompting you to rise from your feet and sit to his right.

“I had the strangest dream that Nami left,” Zoro uttered with his eyes held closed.

“She did,” Luffy confirmed with him, “it’s my fault.”

Zoro opened his eyes and gazed at the roof, brows creased in thought.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Zoro reassured him in a monotonous voice, “you acted like a Captain.”

“But our crew is falling apart,” Luffy said, shaking his head slightly

“No it’s not,” Zoro again added his reassurance to the Captain.

“I, Roronoa Zoro,” he began a vow in the presence of both you and your Captain, “vow to stand by your side.”

He turned his gaze to the best of his pained ability to meet the eyes of his Captain as he continued his vow.

“From now until the end,” he added, emotion displayed slightly on his face now, “until we find the One-Piece, or die trying.”

The faces of your Captain and his loyal knight joined together in smiling with determination.

“So bring on the Marines, or Pirates or Sea Beasts,” Zoro raised a closed fist and placed it against the heart of his Captain, “you’re my Captain, Luffy. And I’m your first mate.”

Luffy clasped his right arm over Zoro’s left enclosed fist against his heart and held it to seal their promise together. You smirked at their display of affection for one another, all the more determined to aid your Captain in his dream of acquiring the One-Piece.

“Zoro!” you heard Usopp’s voice call from the hallway as he hurried into the room, “I wasn’t worried for a second.”

“He’s,” Luffy thrust Zoro’s left hand into the air, “alive!”

Zoro groaned in pain as you held out your arms in defence, cringing at the pain Luffy inflicted upon his First-Mate.

Usopp began relaying moments you knew did not occur from your exposure to the variety of his tall-tales prior and chose to laugh at his fighting moves imitating the movements. Zoro also joined in laughter at Usopp’s boldness.

“So, what do we do now? Plot a course for the Grand Line?” Usopp suggested after halting his combat display of recollection.

“Nope,” Luffy shook his head, holding his lips in a firm line.

“But I thought we were going after the One-Piece?” Usopp added with a slightly puzzled tone.

“We are,” he began, looking to his three remaining members of the crew, “but we can’t do it without our whole crew.”

“First, we’re going after Nami,” Luffy said, placing his straw hat atop his head and adjusting the hanging toggles on the side for it to fit him comfortably.

You nodded your head to him, agreeing at chasing the orange-haired navigator and bringing her to join once more with your crew. Zoro turned his head to meet with your own.

“You really didn’t leave my side?” he uttered, furrowing his brows in confusion slightly.

“I didn’t want to miss anything,” you shrugged, “and it really turns out no matter what I do, I always seem to miss the action.”

“That’s a good thing, given the way you fight,” he laughed slightly, “going in mouth first and all.”

You groaned and flung your head back in agitation before joining him in his chuckling.

“Luffy,” you addressed your Captain, “do you think the chef you had in here earlier may be interested in preparing something for Zoro?”

Zoro looked as if you had just said he had achieved his dream of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman, a glimmer in his eyes at the mere mention of something to eat.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, “I’m definitely keen on getting some more of the meat we had earlier.”

You laughed at the notion before moving yourself to grasp Zoro’s right arm. Usopp trailed behind him, excited at the thought of eating at Baratie again.

“Do you have strength enough to stand?” you asked Zoro. He looked down at his torso and tested himself against the weight of his body, wincing at the pain.

“Lean your entire weight on me,” you uttered in a low tone, “I may be smaller in size than you, but I can take it.”

You had a slight aura of mischievousness, prompting him to chuckle at your comment.

“Keep it up, tinkerer,” he almost playfully warned you while placing his arm around your shoulder to enable you to lift him, “we really need to have a chat about your words.”

“Oh?” you said, hoisting him up to rest against you. He sighed out a low rumbly chuckle.

“I,” he paused, “heard everything.”

You halted your lifting, pausing at what exactly he was telling you.

“I’m not embarrassed about anything that I’ve said to you over these past few days,” you shrugged, pulling him to his feet to stand, the yellow and gold blanket falling from his legs to pool at the foot of the bed.

“You should be,” he jested before adding, “again with the clown? It’s always the clown with you.”

You laughed at his comment before leading him out of the door, down the hallway to his bedroom.

You searched the room for some attire to place over his chest, shielding his wound from the air, settling on a light blue and navy collared shirt. You wordlessly maneuvered the material over his right arm and over his shoulder before inching it down to keep his other arm moving as little as required to be brought into the other side. You reached your hands behind his neck and pulled the material up to rest on his shoulders, smoothing your hands over the creases before adjusting the material to comfortably cover his back.

“Thank you,” he murmured slightly, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“For what, Zoro?” you asked him, a tight-lipped warm smile coming to your face.

“I dunno,” he said with a shrug, wincing slightly at the movement, “mothering me, for lack of a better word.”

You tilted your head at him before finding your place at his lefthand side and maneuvering his arm over your shoulders to hoist him up once more.

“Even the strongest of us need support sometimes,” you shrugged slightly, hoisting him up once more.

You brought him to the deck, as he leant on you for support in his movements. You sat him down close to the ship’s steps, just as Sanji made his way alongside Luffy to come aboard.

“Are you fine if I leave you here for a moment? I haven’t changed my clothes for the past few days and I’m in desperate need of doing so before we cast off,” you asked him.

“You do look a little worse for wear,” he jested, acknowledging the fact he was processing some of the words uttered around him in his unconsciousness.

You scrunched up your nose at him before dismissing yourself to your quarters.

Placing the newly discovered to be a music box atop your desk, you shed yourself of your clothes and began to ready yourself for a new voyage to collect Nami from what you assumed to be Fishman Island; a theme park commonly known as Arlong Park being the major port.

You rolled your shoulders, slight exhaustion overcoming your features; the toll of being awake for a multitude of days finally hitting you. You shook those thoughts away from yourself, knowing you were able to find sleep once you were cast off.

Searching your draws for some fresh clothes, you placed a light blouse on your upper body while you found a skirt to hoist over your hips to settle on your waist. You also found a pair of light under shorts and shimmied them up your body to settle below your skirt.

Once fastening your pouch of many mechanical tinkering tools on your waist, you made to search for your crew and seek instruction from your Captain as best to aid them as they set sail.

As you approached the deck, you noticed the ship had already embarked on their journey out to sea; leaving the beautiful restaurant-ship behind on the horizon as you embarked on your journey to collect Nami.

After looking around, you noticed none of the crew were above deck currently. Your brows were momentarily perplexed before you heard a flurry of raised agitated voices coming from the ships kitchen. You shrugged before making your way to the location of the elevated voices.

As you reached the kitchen, you almost clashed into the looming form of the injured swordsman as he exited the kitchen. He firmly clasped his left hand around your right wrist and spun you away from the door.

“You,” he grunted out, wincing slightly in pain as he maneuvered you away from the kitchen door, “are forbidden from entering that room until I otherwise command you, you hear me?”

Frowning in anger at his sudden orders, you whipped your wrist from his grasp and searched his aggravated expression for explanation.

You heard loud voices again from the kitchen, prompting you to turn your gaze from Zoro to the space the arguing voices were arising from.

“Don’t,” Zoro warned you, bringing your gaze back to his momentarily, “don’t go in there, I mean it.”

“You haven’t given me valid reason not to, swordsman,” you spat your rebuttal at him, still angry and confused by his sudden mood shift from earlier.

Zoro strung several expletives together, almost poetically as he again reached for your wrist and more gently clasped it this time.

“Control yourself this time,” he warned you in a low tone. Your anger shifted to puzzlement, your eyes flittering between his to find any hidden meaning behind them.

“Zoro,” you added before gently bringing your other hand to his and kindly unclasping his grip from your wrist this time, “I am always in control.”

He groaned slightly at your words before turning to follow the source of the noise.

Upon silently entering the kitchen, your eyes settled on the blonde chef who dutifully prepared you a coffee earlier in the day who alongside Usopp and Luffy seemed to be arguing with something loud atop the felt-lined hanging table attached to the rafters in the kitchen.

Something spherical: hues of blue, white and red seemed to be hopping slightly atop the table and hurl insults at the troop. You trailed your eyes over the form as it gruffly taunted your Captain with some kind of jest you couldn’t make out.

“You said you would cooperate,” Luffy warned the object as it halted its jumping and fixing it’s gaze on him.

“And I will, just as soon as I-,” he halted its speech as he turned again with a small jump, fixing his tourmaline eyes to rest on your form. All speech was removed from his thoughts as the very breath from within him was stolen away.

Your eyes met with his, your mouth became partially parted in shock at the sudden meeting of the current occupant of your fixation. His eyes flittered between your eyes and triangulating down to stop on your lips. You focussed on his gaze, noticing he seemed to be as bewitched by you as you had become by him somehow. You noticed a barely visible whimper hiss out shakily from his lips as he slowly blinked his eyes up to focus on your eyes once more.

Although initially incredibly frightened by the fact there was a severed head plopped unceremoniously atop the ships dining table, as soon as you noticed the figure the head belonged to, and the lack of gory blood and bits, you deduced this to be the detached head of the infamous clown captain, Buggy. You were entranced by the way he was looking over you with a combination of insatiable desire laced with desperate hunger, and the apprehension of a puppy being scolded for destroying a prized shoe while searching for forgiveness.

“Gee, if we knew all it took to shut him up was to bring her up here, we should’ve done it ages ago,” Usopp commented with a shrug. You snapped out of your moment, bringing your attention to focus on Usopp and shooting him with a slight disciplinary frown, scolding his words.

You brought your gaze back to focus on Buggy’s as he opened his mouth to speak again.

“I-,” he said in a serious tone for the first time, keeping his eyes locked on your own, “-will cooperate.”

Part 9

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#one piece #opla #x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #one piece live action #captain buggy #opla fic #buggy

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