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seraphdreams · 3 years

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Sakusa’s Little Cheerleader..

warning : smut, fem! reader, breeding kink, soft dom sakusa, MSBY team

wc - 2.5k

a/n - this is one of my older works, so the pacing might be a little weird but overall, enjoy !

summary : you’re a little cheerleader that’s so infatuated with Kiyoomi Sakusa

You’ve been a cheerleader for the MSBY Black Jackals for a few months now, but you couldn’t help but notice the quiet, stand-offish curly head. When the cheer squad and the volleyball team would have joint practices, you always caught yourself staring at him. The way his black hair swished at every move he made and how he’d avoid the other players. It wasn’t until a big win that you finally decided to talk to him.

“You guys did great!” you say in an overexcited tone. “Oh, thanks y/n-chan” Atsumu says as he wraps his arm around your neck. Atsumu was always a touchy person towards you. Some days it was more flirtatious and others, friendly. He smelled like sweat and you couldn’t wait to be released from his grip. “You too, Sakusa” you say in a quiet voice, the man slowly turning around as he was walking out of the locker room. His hair was wet and he was wearing sweatpants with a black t-shirt, he most likely showered after the game. “Thanks” he hums, sounding a bit muffled under his mask. “Hey! Hey! Hey! We should definitely celebrate this” Bokuto exclaims in an overconfident tone. “Let’s go out to eat! c’mon y/n” Atsumu says. this is exactly what you wanted, an opening to talk to Sakusa, to know more about his personality. “No” Sakusa says quickly as to shut them up when he walks out of the venue and into his car. “Don’t worry, he’s definitely coming”Hinata says as he appears from nowhere.

“What do i wear? Is it a formal event? Casual?” You thought to yourself. You wanted Kiyoomi to notice you, but what if you looked to sexy or too bummy. You settle on a white silk tight, mid thigh dress. The back was strappy and the front lifted your breasts nicely while still being modest. Your phone suddenly dinged.

“hey best friend! we’re coming to pick you up in about 10 minutes” The text read. You honestly didn’t know why Atsumu referred to you as a best friend but it really didn’t bother you. Your heart was racing, finally a night with Sakusa. A loud honk of a car startled you, making you come out of your thoughts. You quickly grabbed your purse and phone and headed out.

“Sit in the front seat!” Bokuto yelled out of the backseats car window. The wind chilly on your skin as you walked to the car. It was dark outside and the only thing you could see were the streetlights and the black car in your driveway. You opened the car door and to your surprise, Sakusa was in the drivers seat. You shyly sat down, as your heart almost thumped out of your chest. He looked so sexy in his black suit. His hair was slightly gelled back but still curly and the white mask he was wearing added the right amount of contrast to his outfit. He drove off as Hinata, Atsumu, and Bokuto were bickering in the backseat. Every so often sakusa would take glances into the rear view mirror.

“How come i look like a squirrel and Omi-Kun over here looks like a god” Atsumu complains as he fixes up his suit jacket. You chuckle to yourself at Atsumu’s comment. Sakusa takes a quick glance at you. You feel his eyes go from your pretty face down to your exposed thighs. He reaches for the volume nob to turn the music up and drown out the sound of the backseat.

You finally arrive at your destination. It’s a fancy looking restaurant with many people waiting outside. He puts his arm behind your seat as he tries to back into an open parking spot. You try not to let your eyes trail on him for too long, fearful of if he caught you. He finishes parking and you grab your purse about to open the door until you hear a “wait” from Sakusa. You do as the tall man says, watching as all four men get out of the car.

Sakusa walked around to the front of the car then to your door. He opens it for you and grabs your hand as you step out. “Thank you” you say to him, finally taking in his scent. He smelled so clean, with hints of strong expensive Versace cologne. “Thank god i got a reservation” Bokuto states as all five of you walk towards the front of the restaurant. “Right, this place is packed” Hinata replies. You look down at your outfit as you walked next to Atsumu. He nudged your shoulder, noticing you being a bit more timid than usual. He moves from your side to behind you gripping you into a bear hug. “ahhh y/n! why are you so quiet!” You couldn’t help but laugh at the feeling, he eased your stress.

“Stop being so loud and walk” Sakusa says, annoyed. You arrived at the doors of the restaurant. The inside was classy and was dimly lit. You followed behind the host as she took you to your seats. You sat near the wall in the booth with Atsumu on your left side and Sakusa across from you. He looked so handsome, just sitting there looking at the menu.

After you placed your orders and talked for a while, you feel arms wrap around your waist tickling you. It was obviously Atsumu who couldn’t stop himself from being childish in a public setting. “Stop. Obviously she’s uncomfortable” Sakusa says in a gruff voice, face still fixated on the menu in his hands. “No it’s fine, you don-“ You try to say before Sakusa cuts you off. “I’m sorry, he doesn’t know how to behave” He says now looking out the window of the booth. “Oh chill out, Omi-San” Hinata says in a playful voice that lifts the mood.

____________________________________

After you’ve all ate and paid for your meal, you load back into the car. Sakusa opening your door once again. The drive home was much more quieter now because the energetic crew was sleeping. “You seem responsible” You say to Sakusa as he drives. “I guess. I have to deal with these idiots most of the time”. You chuckle as the words roll of his tongue. A smile creeps from the corners of his lips as he hears you laugh. “How long have you been cheering” He asks, taking a glance at your thick thighs. “Ever since i was in middle school. I took a small break in highschool but decided to try again. How long have you been playing volleyball?” you ask him.

He starts talking about how Komori got him into it. His voice was as light as whipped butter and soothed your soul. He grabs his phone to look at his GPS, helping him find his way to drop off the sleeping idiots in the backseat. One by one, he dropped them off home, starting with Hinata, then Atsumu, to Bokuto. “Thanks bro!” Bokuto says as he steps out the car rubbing his sleepy eyes.

“It’s still kind of early, do you want to talk a bit more at my house?” Kiyoomi offers. “Sure, why not” You reply. You were honestly confused about what the outcome of this night would be.

—————————————————————

He unlocked his front door and invited you into his home. The interior was what you’d expect from him, big and dark. The living room was spacious with a black couch and atleast a 135 inch TV built into the wall. The kitchen had dark marble and there were so many rooms, obviously all being clean. He directs you to his couch and picks up a bottle of wine with two wine glasses. He lights a candle on his coffee table. You looked up at the high ceiling, as he poured your drinks. He handed you your glass as he questioned.

“I hope you’re okay with rosè”. You nodded cutely and chucked. He sat down next to you, cautious of personal space. The night went on as you two chatted about almost anything possible. He was unusually bubbly, adding to his sexy allure. “Wait, you haven’t dated anyone in how many years?” He asked slightly buzzed from the wine. “Four” You answer with a giggle. His eyes widening. “I refuse to believe that.” He says, realizing he might’ve said too much. He slowly moves closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as he looks you deep in your eyes, taking a sip from his glass. Your heart starts pounding a bit too hard and you feel pounding somewhere else as well. He sets his glass down. “Please tell me you’ve been touched atleast” He says in a low tone. “Maybe....” You tease.

He stands up, his dark figure looming over you. He grabs your hand and leads you upstairs. It was so dark but somehow he knew exactly where he was going. He opens a tall door and there it is, his bed. A california king, so obnoxiously large for no reason. He drags you to the middle of the end of the bed.

You sit down as he stands in between your legs. He lightly taps your shoulder, indicating for you to lay down. He slowly creeps atop of you, kissing your lips once meeting your face. His kisses were sloppy and tasted of alcohol. He couldn’t possibly be this drunk. You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and playing with the curls at the nape. You let out a light moan as he starts to kiss your neck. You could feel his cock harden as it brushed against your pathetically clothed clit. He lifts himself up ever so slightly. “Do you want me to stop?” He questions, big dark brown eyes lidded with lust. You shake your head and pull him down to kiss you more. His hands roamed around your body, his fingers meeting the lace of your panties.

He slowly slides them down your thighs and onto the floor. He motions for you to put your arms up as he removes the small silk dress off you. You were in nothing but a bra, feeling so pathetic and small under him. You sit up and take the bra off before laying back down.

His eyes trail down to your now glossy cunt. He dips his head down and wraps his tongue around your clit. “Kiyoomi” you moan. He sticks in a long finger, swirling your slick around your walls. The pleasure is unmatched, everything about this man was so perfect to you. He starts to pump in and out, curling his finger to find your sweet spot. He adds another, keeping the rhythm. You started to clench down on him as his pace fastened. His fingers were so long and they were drilling that sweet spot of yours.

You felt the knot build in your stomach as he kept swirling his tongue around your clit and pumping his digits in. You attached your fingers into his hair as you felt your orgasm wash over you. He looked at the mess you made on his fingers and slipped them into his mouth. “You taste good” He says landing a gentle kiss on your forehead. You pant softly as you watch him undress, his body even sexier than you imagined.

He gives his cock a few quick pumps before aligning himself with your entrance. He was just the right size, and so thick. All you wanted to do earlier was get to know him but now you’re sprawled out in his bed about to take his inches. He slowly pushes himself into your sopping wet cunt, hissing at the feeling of you tightening around him. The stretch felt too good, you were for sure you were going to cum right then.

He starts to thrust, grunting as he kept bruising your cervix. “k-kiyoomi” You say through pants and breaths. He was pounding you so good, you felt your body lax. “You’re taking me so well, baby” He says leaning into your ear. Moans and skin slapping filled the large room. You couldn’t even manage to say anything but words along the lines of “omi, please”. He kept going, even harder this time. You cup your hand over your breast and play with your nipple, pinching and rolling your thumb over the bud. You felt a sudden force on the back of your thighs. Sakusa now had you folded like pretzel and he kept thrusting. It hurt but you loved the pain.

His grunts and groans making you feel hot and flustered. He rested your legs over his shoulders as he gripped your waist. His thrusts getting sloppier. You wanted to cum, you were almost there, then he reached down to your clit. He rubbed it in small circles. You felt were so close to releasing. Just a few more thrusts and you creamed all over his cock. He groaned at the feeling. “Please let me fill you up” Sakusa moaned as he was chasing his own high.

You didn’t know what to say, you were already fucked out and too hazed to even think. You nodded. He slowly pounded deep into you as he let his seed coat your insides white. “Cumming” he groaned, balls deep.

You both waited to catch your breaths. He grabbed the baby wipes on the dresser behind him and clean you both up. He was really thorough, as you expected from him. “We should probably shower” He suggests as tucks his cock back into his underwear. He runs the water in the shower. He picks you up bridal style to the front of the shower, where you both undressed and cleansed yourselves.

After the shower, he gives you his MSBY practice shirt and boxers to sleep in. You walk into the bathroom as you watch him do his skincare routine. There were so many steps but it was all so fascinating. He looks at you with a light chuckle. You sit down on the stool in front of the mirror, resting your head in your hands. “You look nice with that on” He compliments. You let your tired eyes get the best of you as you drift off to sleep.

He finishes his nightly tasks then picks you up and brings you to his bed, where you both snuggled until he fell asleep.

side story:

“Ding Dong!” You both jumped up at the startling sound of someone outside. Sakusa puts on his sweatpants and jogs down the stairs, you follow behind. He opens the door, slightly peering through. “Hey, i left my wallet in your car oh-“ Atsumu says as he looks at the both of you. You were standing behind kiyoomi like a frightened dog. “What’s this” atsumu asks. Sakusa hands him the keys to his car, without saying a word. “No wonder you were so protective of her last night, Omi-Kun” Atsumu says as he walks away from the door and walks to Sakusa’s car.

Kiyoomi turns to you with a chuckle.

#sakusa smut #sakusa x reader #sakusa x reader smut #sakusa kiyoomi smut #sakusa oneshot #sakusa fic #haikyuu smut #smut fic #kiyoomi sakusa smut

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fuckyeahharryhart · 3 years

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THE ART OF SEDUCTION Reader Insert

After working months at his side, whether it be in the field, during training, debriefing in his office, or simply occupying the same space in quieter moments- reading in the lounge with a cup of tea, enjoying a few precious moments of peace, you were no closer at deciphering the gorgeous mystery that was Harry Hart. Your time with him merely reinforced what you already knew. And what you knew had, much to your chagrin, become increasingly and disconcertingly distracting with every moment you shared space with him. Harry was beautiful, obviously. You determined that the moment you saw him. Even from a distance, he cut a striking figure. But it was the understated way he acknowledged his own appearance, knew that it was pleasing and accepted it with grace, dignity and a matter-of-factness, that only made him more attractive.

Harry Hart’s appeal wasn’t just based on his good looks. There were other men who had more classically balanced features. It was significantly more than good genes or the symmetry of bone structure. Not that his purely physical attributes were lacking in any regard. You had already committed to memory every aspect of his form and figure, from his hair, with a distinguished flurry of silver, all the way down to his feet in their gleaming oxfords. No doubt polished with every wearing; they carried him with purposeful movement and long measured strides.

Harry Hart was a tall man. Often folding his legs as gracefully as possible under tables and desks that were just a breath too short to accommodate a man of his stature. He carried himself differently. Always with a posture, walk, a gait, that had a purpose. Never rushed unnecessarily, he possessed the ease of someone in full control of his physical body. His movements were light, sharp, and kinetic. When he was still, he held himself straight and tall, without strain. In more casual moments, his weight would shift to one side or the other, or he might lean against a support, breaking up the long, precise lines of his full height.

Mostly, this had to do with a hyper awareness of his environment and his place in it. If Harry needed to calm a new recruit, he might stand with authority, but tuck his hands in his pockets, conveying a sense of ease and familiarity. When confronting an adversary, his stature seemed to grow as he pulled himself to his full height. In those rare moments where he was free from personal and professional obligations responsibilities, as much as he could ever be, his figure would take on smooth curves and relaxed angles. The space he occupied was his to claim, mould, and manipulate. And Harry Hart did so with his body, his voice, his gaze, his way of dress.

Surprisingly, you discovered that Harry was a man who often communicated through physical touch. As a man of few words, who often guarded his privacy and personal life, you expected him to be even more reserved with his body language, to be even more wary of close physical contact. Quite the contrary, he was often more generous with a hand on the shoulder or a gentle pat on the back as a form of approval or encouragement. Sometimes, he would place his hand over yours as gesture of support and understanding. Harry was more demonstrative with contact and touch than he was with using words of praise or comfort. Even his proximity, whether it be as a figure in the distance or his physical closeness, could affect the energy of the room.

Rolling it over in your mind, you realised that it made sense that Harry would be comfortable communicating through touch. In some regards, he was a very tactile man, a sensual man, if not overtly so. He was a man that celebrated the senses.

In his office, though minimalist by Kingsman standards, austere even, there were touches of extravagance not influenced by tradition. All the furniture, as well as being beautifully made, focused on designs that were hospitable as well as functional. The chairs were comfortable. The lounge was upholstered in a dark, rich leather, well oiled and worn smooth by years of use. It was masculine, but also soft and inviting, a piece that you could relax and sink into. A sumptuous throw. Pillows covered in dark velvet that were actually soft, not just decorative.

The items that did adorn his office were obviously selected thoughtfully and with care. The enticingly smooth curves of a vase, seemingly out of place, brilliant jade against the subdued tones of hunter green, tartans and plaid and the deep tones of polished wood and leather. The delicate lines and breathtaking color of a framed butterfly. A small, sterling silver paperweight in the shape of a terrier. A cut crystal decanter, with matching tumblers, no doubt holding an insanely old and very expensive scotch.

There was an emphasis, not on the prestige or price of an object, but on its, color, texture, lines that were pleasing or challenging to the eye. Not as a flaunting of wealth, but a source of pleasure. It wasn’t an ostentatious display of the rich, it was the luxury of selection and taste. Any piece of clothing or fabric that touched his body directly was often luxurious, as well, scarfs, gloves, fine cashmere or calfskin leather. Though you had no way of knowing, you assumed his sheets would be of the highest thread count.

Harry’s manner of dress was immaculate and as precise as the polished, clipped tones of his aristocratic accent. He presented himself as a man who was self-assured with his appearance. Whatever he wore, he wore with confidence. He wore it well, without vanity, pretension, ego or conceit. Not that he needed the help of his wardrobe to face the world. His manner of dress seemed to highlight, magnify his innate sense of self. He was not a flashy man, but he appreciated the expert craftsmanship that went into a finely cut suit. That good clean lines, quality materials, understated but interesting details could be the final polish on an already finely honed presentation.

His clothing was the other area where he allowed himself some extravagance. A firm believer in the principle that if one’s self and surroundings are not only presentable, but impeccable, then one will always be prepared for what surprises life may decide to throw in one’s direction. In his line of work, unpredictability was as predictable as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. His wardrobe countered the erratic nature of life as an agent. Thus, his was a look of man who had his life in order.

Harry Hart was a man of consistency. His tie was an unfailing full Windsor, tucked under the spread collar of a pristine white shirt. An equally crisp pocket square, folded neatly, peeked from his breast pocket. French cuffs were secured with custom gold links, bearing the Kingsman insignia. His suits were mostly double breasted, in classic shades of black, charcoal, navy and grey and cut in a wool that was appropriate for the occasion, whether solid, pinstriped, or woven with a pattern such as herringbone, or houndstooth. After years as a Kingsman agent, he had amassed a considerable and varied wardrobe that consisted of classic suits, formal wear, overcoats, ties, scarves, for any occasion or any type of mission. Each Kingsman agent also wore a gold signet ring on the pinky of their dominant hand. Harry wore the ring on his right.

Kingsman suits were cut close to the body, but designed with allowances made to accommodate weapons, ensure maneuvrability and flexibility in all types of action. They were also bulletproof. It was a feature created after decades of experimenting with different textiles and weaves and exploring processes and techniques that would result in a material that could withstand the velocity and impact of of a bullet shot at close range. The lightweight, flexible lining was sewn into every Kingsman suit and many times proved to be a lifesaver.

Shoulder harnesses were used for carrying. Not belt clips. Belts constricted the body whereas a harness allowed freedom of movement. They were also easily and quickly detachable in case they needed to be removed. Belts, on the other hand, though they had their uses, could also cost valuable seconds when needed to be taken off. The carry position prevented printing and maintained the lines of Kingsman’s suits.

The fine, bespoke tailoring emphasized Harry’s height and build. Trousers were slim cut, long and hemmed with a perfect mid break. He preferred the simple Oxford rather than brogues. He styled his hair in a classic, handsome cut, and was always clean shaven, (unless in the field where there was no opportunity for a straight razor shave). His aftershave and cologne were unobtrusive but memorable. Rather than preceding him, the warm and masculine sent of woods and spices, with hints of cardamon, bergamot, the tactile sensuality of rich leather and suede, would linger after his departure, like a layer of warm dark velvet. Even his hands were beautiful. Beautiful but not delicate. Large wide palms, long elegant fingers, his nails were neat and clipped. They sometimes bore the marks of time spent in the field. They were strong and capable.

Overall, Harry Hart had the appearance of a man who embraced classics, honoured tradition, but defined his look with his own individual aesthetic personality and sense of style.

In quieter moments, when you had the opportunity to watch him without being too obvious or call attention to yourself, you allowed your curiosity to wonder over all the small details and mannerism that were unique to Harry. How his fingertips would gently find the arm of his glasses and rest lightly there, when he was thoughtful or pondering a question, as if it helped him focus or think. The automatic gesture probably developed after years of transmitting information through the eyeglasses, which also functioned as communication devices. Through your experience in human psychology, you recognised this as a self soothing gesture. Finding the comfort of something familiar. You were fairly sure that Harry was aware of this gesture and allowed himself some habits, that were, not particularly productive but, helpful nonetheless. Rubbing his thumb along the band of his signet ring. The way he would always shoot his cuffs when rising from his seat. Or run the palm of his hand along the back of his head, smoothing down the already polished hair.

Never had you met someone who had the ability to asses and evaluate any given situation as throughly and unerringly as Harry. Whether it entailed clearing a room, identifying a mark, or even just something as simple as slowing his pace when you walked along side him so you wouldn’t have to struggle to keep up. He was constantly aware of his surroundings and deconstructing what needed to happen to make the environment more pleasing, the conversation more engaging, the meeting more productive, the mission more likely to succeed. He was nothing if not thoughtful. Thus, when you walked with him, he always slowed and allowed you to maintain your own graceful stride.

His physical appearance, his exacting nature, his precise moments, his carefully maintained wardrobe, his formal patterns of speech, his refined accent, not to mention his good looks could intimidate even the most confident agent, let alone a green one. That was until the person in question realised that this outward perfection was merely the layer that he presented to the world.

It would seem impossible for man to be blessed with so many gifts, but Harry Hart proved to be the exception to the rule, for he was as charming and gracious as he was handsome. His quick wit, his clever way with words, as well as his dry, incisive sense of humor could enthrall even the most unwilling participant.

He could placate the most difficult handler, assuage the most reluctant agent, enchant the most reserved target, or ingratiate himself into the most inhospitable of circumstances. When Harry turned on the full force of his charm, the people he met, let alone the men and women who worked with him, frequently found themselves elevated in his presence, their own experience heightened by his vitality and charisma. They left the experience a little breathless, a little awestruck, a little seduced by Harry Hart. You were no exception. And you had been spending a lot of time with him.

————

You found yourselves alone one evening at the manor. In the lounge, when you both happened to desire a drink at the same time. Most of the Kingsman had already departed for the shop if they were returning to the city. The rest had dispersed to their own private quarters, or were participating in whatever activity they had planned for the evening. The lounge was quiet. They way he liked it. Apparently, it was the way you preferred it as well.

Harry spotted you the same moment you lifted your gaze at the new arrival. Your eyes narrowed slightly in pleasure at the sight of him. You gave him a small, but welcoming smile. The musical clink of crystal against glass as he poured a scotch from the fully stocked bar was the only sound aside from the cracking logs in the grand fireplace.

The club was a vast space with a vaulted ceiling. The stately fireplace stood on the far wall. Like most of the manor, it was dressed in masculine shades of dark brown and hunter greens, tartan and plaids. Polished hardwood furniture, mostly antique, and historical paintings, displaying the rich history of Kingsman, whispered class and wealth. In the center was an arrangement to accommodate a more substantial group with larger sofas and chaises surrounding a massive polished low wooden table.

Around the room were smaller clusters of tables and leather club chairs tucked into alcoves for smaller gatherings or intimate conversations.

It was at one these clusters that he found you, tucked in a quiet corner near the fireplace.

In the most relaxed arrangement Harry allowed himself while still on Kingsman property, he had his coat draped over his arm. Dressed in his shirtsleeves, tie and shoulder holster, tumbler in hand, he approached you, also with a pleasant but small smile. Pleased that you were the one that was sharing this space with him.

You were dressed quite differently from how Harry first remembered you. Well, your clothes hadn’t been memorable, but you had been. Since you were not a knighted agent, they weren’t quite sure how to classify you yet, you took the freedom to dress beyond the Kingsman uniform. Though always appropriate and surprisingly on brand, you were not quite regulation. If you were out in the field, you were in tactical, or the women’s version of the kingsman suits. You even had the shop tailor some custom pieces so you could have more diversity. When you were at Kingsman HQ or at the shop in support, you dressed appropriately, but in your own style. There were handfuls of fashionable men at Kingsman. You couldn’t turn around and not run into a gentleman turned out in Kingsman’s finest. But an attractive, stylish woman was a rarer sight. Even Harry noticed the heads that turned when you walked by.

Walking toward you, Harry took the time to observe your appearance, he told himself as spies always did out of habit. Today, you remained on the property. Without the need for being in the field, this would be your most proper look. You were dressed in a way that was very elegant, but sexy at the same time. Or, perhaps it wasn’t supposed to look sexy. Harry set that observation aside. Not the time nor the place, he thought to himself.

You were dressed in a slim, knee length pencil skirt in a very deep shade of oxblood red. It was velvet he noted when he saw the sheen of the fabric as you shifted your knees in his direction. A matching tailored jacket, that, like him, you had removed and draped over the back of your chair. Topped with a delicate, almost sheer silk blouse the color of sun bleached bone. It had tiny pearl buttons down the front, and lace detailing at the collar, cuffs and similar detailing along the button placket. A narrow dark brown leather belt circled your waist with a gold clasp rather than a prong buckle. Dark brown suede court shoes with a tall, but reasonable heel. Your makeup was minimal and natural. You looked like you had just somehow heightened your features, but in no discernible way he could describe.

As Harry got closer, he was able to notice even smaller details. Your beautiful hair, was twisted up and away from your face and secured in some secret way women have where it would stay perfectly in place by means he could never quite see. Your accessories were feminine and understated. Small gold earrings in the shape of teardrops, a simple gold cuff around your wrist, a Kingsman issue watch on the other. A signet ring on your own pinkie. Your nails were trimmed short and clean, either no polish or something bare. A thin gold chain around your neck with a small solid gold version of the Kingsman pendant.

Harry didn’t know what he wanted a woman to look like until he first saw you. The first time, on that first chaotic night, he had the same thought. He could give you a basic description of what you were wearing, but he could describe every feature of your face. The way you looked when you were reflective. The line of your jaw when you were determined.

And then, for the very first time he saw you, dressed, properly, walking down the long marble corridor of the HQ manor, when you had the opportunity to present yourself on your own terms. Harry thought, this is what I want a woman to look like. It wasn’t that you were model beautiful, or that your features were perfect. In London, on the streets, you could see plenty of models. They were beautiful, no doubt, and pleasing to look at, but once you were done, you were able to go about your day without a second thought.

Your beauty had substance. The fact that Harry knew what your skill set included, to know what you had overcome to be where you were, to be the person you were, made your beauty a real tangible thing, regardless of what you were wearing. Perhaps it was that, whatever you wore, you made it part of you. It wasn’t just a pretty skirt or a flattering blouse, it was the way you wore it that made him notice you. You could have looked completely different, with completely opposite features. Harry would have still have felt the same. And he would still say, this is what I want a woman to look like.

You posessed the capacity to stir his heart. Something that had been quiet and still for a very long time. Even something that Harry thought no longer had the desire to be moved. It was certainly not something he was seeking. He, long ago, had accepted the fact that the life of agent isn’t one that fosters lasting relationships. Relationships were based on communication and he had far too many secrets as a Kingsman.

Harry was beyond the time in his life for these kinds of thoughts. He knew he had been handsome in his youth. He had his fair share of relationships and much more than his fair share of sexual encounters. He was aware that his looks had carried him quite well as he got older and that if he wanted, there were women, very desirable ones, that would be more than willing to engage in a casual relationship. Harry was by no means vanilla. It wasn’t that he was prudish in the least, or one to deny himself physical pleasure. If you were not exactly who you were, then he would have most likely allowed himself to pursue you and enjoyed whatever that relationship had to offer. The crux of it was, that he would not be as attracted to you, or charmed by you if you weren’t exactly who you were. He would not want your as much as he did if you were any different.

——

Harry set these thoughts aside as he approached you. Even though it was obvious you were alone, Kingsman manners never failed. Never ask a lady directly if she’d like your company. Give her a polite way to refuse without making her say no. She will indicate if your presence if desired.

“Excuse me, miss.” he opened. “Is this seat taken?”

You awarded him with an amused smile. You always enjoyed his little game of manners.

You nodded toward the chair. Please.

Draping his coat on the back of his chair, just as you did, He adjusted his slacks so he could sit down comfortably and gracefully. The club chairs were low and designed to sink back into. Harry took his seat, adjusted a little until he, too, was settled in.

Since both of you were now relatively stuck in your respective positions, where you couldn’t move without significant effort, Harry simply raised his glass in your direction. You followed suit.

You were pleased when he was comfortable enough to sit in silence with you. It was one of the first tells you would look for in asset or mark. Did they have enough self assurance to be silent? Were they uncomfortable, awkward, fidgety? Did they try to fill the silence? Most often, if they lacked confidence, you would notice these tells immediately. One of your favourite activities was to sit in silence.

It was also one of your favourite activities to look at Harry Hart. The fact that he was handsome was no surprise. When you initially started at Kingsman, this was simply an objective observation, like masterful way he handled weaponry. Or the fact that he was right handed. The more you were partnered in the field, the closer you became, both in proximity and as colleagues, his physical attributes began to affect you in ways that continued to make you increasingly uncomfortable.

You were aware his body was that of a man that you admired and looked up to. Tall, broad shouldered, slim hipped. Strong, driven, powerful. You became aware of all the things that his body could do. You had the opportunity to observe him every time you were in the field, in combat, in action.

But you also began to discern a softness, a gentleness that he could convey when he gathered you up after a surprising blast had knocked you off your feet. Hands that smoothed back your hair from your forehead upon waking up in medical after a particularly dangerous mission. A warm hand on your shoulder as you successfully accomplished a challenging task.

You were aware that as your mentor, Harry had a responsibility to maintain a professional relationship. But with escalating frequency, you imagined how it would feel to have him pressed up against you, to feel his body, purposeful and confident.

————

The evening was relaxed. Both of you, without the urgency of an upcoming mission to prepare, took the opportunity to simply rest and unwind. A seldom occasion. Feeling more and more at ease when both of you were together, you allowed yourself a little space to test the waters. When engaging targets, if they seemed comfortable sitting in silence in your company, would they make direct eye contact? You took another small sip of your drink, savoured it for a moment, and swallowed.

Hmmm. You were very curious about HarryHart and you were feeling surprisingly playful. You wanted to try something. Let’s say an experiment in tradecraft. You waited until you caught his eye. Harry seemed amused and matched your eye contact with equal directness. You were pleased that he made eye contact and even more pleased when he maintained it. But he was a spy, after all. Making and maintaining eye contact would be elementary for him.

With a little cheekiness on your part, you raised your glass to your lips again and took a small sip. He did not waver. His eyes even took on a little bit of curious amusement. You held the scotch on your tongue, pulled it to the back of your mouth, rolled the scotch around a little bit longer than necessary, before you swallowed.

Neither of you would look away first. You gave him a half smile, half smirk, crinkled your eyes a bit in amusement. You seemed to be saying. Ok. Your turn.

Harry had never seen your in this kind of playful mood and he suddenly found himself enjoying this little match immensely.

He could more than participate in this game. He, literally, had decades more experience than you. An agent may be able to seduce. But a gentleman agent was a master at the art of seduction. And Harry Hart was the consummate gentleman agent. One did not get to where he was in life without knowing how to pleasure a woman. He was often told he had beautiful and talented hands. That may have been years ago, but those kinds of skills, they stayed with a man.

A quick raise of his brow. Darling, challenge accepted.

Holding your eyes with his, he lowered his glass just enough to where it was in your sight line, but slightly off to the side, at the edge of your peripheral vision. You would still be able to hold eye contact, but would have to make an effort not to glance down at his glass. Especially, when you saw what he was going to do with it.

Harry held your gaze suddenly with an intense focus you were unprepared for. Out of the corner of your eye you saw that he was holding his glass, cupping it in the palm of one hand. He began to simply roll it around gently, as one would while enjoying a proper scotch. He rolled it around harmlessly, in a slow, lazy, rhythmic pattern.

You had to concentrate a little harder not to look away, but you kept his gaze. If you were uncomfortable, you didn’t show it. You hoped your gaze held a similar intensity as Harry’s. His felt, well, piercing, for lack of a more appropriate word.

This was certainly turning out to be an interesting evening, Harry thought. You seemed determined to stick this through. He would be required to dial his technique up a notch. He nested the heavy base in the center of his palm and let it rest there for awhile without moving. Then, once again, he started rolling the glass in his hand, not to stir the liquid, but to feel the surface of glass itself. He bounced the glass, lightly, as if testing the weight and feeling the heaviness.

The movement was subtle, slow, and sensuous. He let his hand explore the texture of the smooth surface. The base of his thumb pressed against the glass in slow, languid circles, sometimes rolling on to the pad of his thumb, sometimes to his finger tip. But he did this as if he were doing it unconsciously, because he was staring at you with a focus and intensity that said you were the only woman on earth, and that he wanted you.

There was truth to the term, the male gaze. It was not looking at something through a man’s eyes, it was seeing into something as a man. There was a reason why they called this particular look penetrating. It was a gaze of desire, a singularly male want and need. If done properly, it was a way to make love to a woman without touching her. It was far beyond physical contact. It wasn’t hard for him to harness his essential masculine energy. Harry had done it for years on countless honey traps in his younger days with the agency. He hadn’t thrown the full force of himself to seduce in quite awhile and found that he was enjoying a little flex of his muscle. If desire had a name, at that moment, it would be called Harry Hart. He let his desire roll off of him in waves.

What you didn’t quite understand, was that the game you were playing with him, wasn’t about who could keep eye contact the longest. It was a question of who was going to be seduced and who was going to be the seducer. You were approaching what you thought was a staring contest as a battle of the wills, which was why you were going to fail. Making eye contact may be a test of power and confidence, but that was a quick, brief test. A simple meeting or a darting of the eyes. It was very easy to find out who was going to be able to make and hold contact. However, eye contact for a prolonged period of time, especially between a man and a woman? It became something quite different. It was a game of seduction. It wasn’t a test of power. It was a test of control. Control of two things in this case, the seducer’s own desire, and the desire of the other person. Could the seducer harness his own desire to control the seduced.

You had not faltered yet. He raised to single brow. Would you like me to keep going?

You narrowed your gaze. Please, do.

The expression on his face all but said out loud. “You asked for it.”

Harry saw the flush in your cheeks when you noticed what he was doing with his glass. Your breathing intensified. Your pupils dilated and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

They were very small movements, but very deliberate movements. He cupped the bottom of the glass in one palm, fingers spread as if he were holding up a small tray. Using only his middle finger, the rest of his hand now cupping the base, he began to stroke the center of the glass. Like he was using his finger to say, come here. In very slow, very deliberate, beyond suggestive movements. His other hand simply rested on the top rim of the glass. Gently holding it in place while he moved his bottom hand. He did this without twitching another muscle in his body, as if nothing had changed.

Your eyes widened. Holy fuck, you thought. With very exact and explicit movements of his hands, Harry was not just implying, but overtly demonstrating how he used them to give pleasure to a woman. The shock of seeing him within the frame of something so blatantly sexual, all the while looking at you the entire time? It was intensely arousing.

Harry was not only looking at you, he was positively devouring you with his gaze. You could feel him, his energy in pulses of heat. This wasn’t merely eye contact. This was something unexpected and you were not prepared for it. Harry was suddenly changed, maybe not changed, but different. He was harder, stronger, more demanding. He was more of everything. The polite, honorable, considerate gentleman was still there, but now he added an aspect of himself that you had never seen or experienced before. The man was still Harry Hart, but it was also as if a part of him had been unleashed, whatever primal energy that was held in check by the handsome suits and the manners and the chivalry, had been released.

You fought to maintain your composure. He knew exactly what he was doing. His hands moved expertly, and with ease. His gaze, became even more intense, if that was even possible.

Harry continued to play and to tease as he held the glass in his palm. You knew where he had his hand. You could feel the exact placement as if it were on your own body. The base of his palm would cup your center, with the rest of his fingers spreading between your legs. His middle finger was still moving in achingly slow circles, one direction, then slowly moving in the other direction. He curled his finger under, using his knuckle, rolling it in tiny circles. Not even really moving just shifting the pressure moving from one side to the other, from top to bottom.

You saw in his eyes, that he knew, that you were not only being affected by his movements, but you were feeling sensations as if he were touching you directly.

It was the most erotic experience of your life.

Here was this beautiful man, still dressed as properly as ever in his dress shirt and tie, his shoulder holster with his side arm. His perfect hair, his perfect face. With all his dignity and respect, relaxing comfortably back into his chair, his legs spread wide, an ankle crossed over his knee, one elbow resting casually on the arm of his leather chair. Radiating such a profound sexual energy, that without even touching you, had the ability to control your body with only his eyes and the the way he moved a glass in his hand. He was so confident in his movements. His expression said, however brief this moment, that he owned you, that you were his, and he knows that you wants it that way. He can see it all over your face. He can see it in your eyes.

——

Harry wasn’t even close to being done.

He took his other hand, laying his palm over the glass, as if it was resting there. On the other side of the glass, where his thumb fell, he began to roll it around in very explicit, very familiar circles.

He felt himself harden as his own arousal grew. He didn’t try to stop it. Instead of letting it distract him, he channeled that energy through him and into you. Allowing you to witness the physical evidence of his own desire would strengthen his hold. Never underestimate the power of the imagination. You would see it. Your mind would do the rest.

Harry saw your lips part, even the slightest bit. Your chest rising and falling under your ladylike blouse as your breath quickened. Your knees pressed tightly together. He watched your face very, very carefully and intently, watching the subtle changes in your expressions as he shifted the movements of his hands, knowing that you were feeling his movements in your body. Every time your brow would furrow, or you took a sharp intake of breath, or would clench your pretty hands, as he moved his own, he knew you were feeling pleasure. And that he was the source of that pleasure.

Harry knew that there were men who were turned on by violence. For him, however, there was nothing more erotic than the sight of a woman experiencing the pleasure that you were giving her. So, he was especially aroused when he was free to look at the nuances of your face and body freely and openly. Your pleasure had reached a constant as you moved almost imperceptibly to the consistent rhythm of his hand.

And you still did not drop your gaze. Harry knew, now that you were fully aroused, you would not break eye contact. You probably couldn’t at this point if you tried. For, half of your pleasure was a result of seeing the man who was controlling your pleasure. And seeing that you pleased him, that he was also sexually aroused, intensified your pleasure. And you wanted to offer that to him, very willingly. Harry was finding out much about you in these few moments. Things that he wasn’t even sure you knew about yourself. Very few women would have been comfortable enough with their sexuality to be purely on the receiving end of pleasure. In the intimacy of their own bedroom in a committed relationship. Let alone in an extremely public and therefore vulnerable way. With a man who may be, slightly off limits. Which, in fact, probably added to your pleasure.

To see just how much you were under his thumb, pun aside, Harry paused for a moment. He kept his hand, his fingers in the exact same place. He just stilled. And watched you. After a few moments he could see the tiniest furrow of your brow. When he continued to remain still, he saw the movement he waiting for. You probably didn’t even know you had made it. It was the slightest lifting and rolling of your hips. He didn’t realize he could be more turned on, but he felt himself grow harder. It was the motion every woman made, in his experience, when they wanted more, when they were asking for more, and when they were begging for more. The ability to actively listen and comprehend another person was the most profound influencing tactic one could hone in communication, and therefore seduction. Which is exactly what he was doing. In a very non verbal, very physical way.

Harry began his movements again, with more intensity and purpose. He let his finger, for the first time, slide all the way up the side of the glass, even letting it lift with the upward movement of his palm. He saw your body move as if you were receiving him.

He knew you were experiencing waves of intense pleasure. He could tell you wanted to close your eyes and tip your head back. As Harry witnessed your need, he went in for his last movements. His palm pressing up into the base of the glass, his thumb rolling in small firm circles and his entire middle finger along the entire length of the glass, the tip almost reaching the top of the rim. As if his finger were deep inside you, he made deliberate strokes while pressing into the glass, slow, but then gradually increasing in speed and pressure.

Harry knew, that you knew, the exact two parts he was pleasuring.

You lips parted, your breathing grew heavier. You had no idea what was going to happen next, all you felt were waves of pleasure. The only thing you could concentrate on was not losing eye contact with the man in front of you.

Harry knew at this point, he had let what was a silly, flirtatious game, go too far. He also knew this began as a challenge, and Harry Hart was never one to back down from a challenge. He also knew that he never purposely lost a game. If it took climaxing for you to break eye contact, then so be it.

Harry also knew he was mesmerized by the sight of you. He didn’t know if he could stop. But it didn’t matter because he didn’t want to. This moment had to hit the list of the top most erotic experiences of his life. Both fully clothed, siting in separate chairs, more than six feet apart. With only eye contact between you. He didn’t know if he’d experienced something more intensely arousing, knowing that he was the one you were feeling when you made yourself come.

Harry began to see the tell tale tremors, the quickening breath, your lips parting with cries that you desperately wanted to make that you would not let yourself, and still, you were trying to hold on. Psychologically you were making it harder for yourself, denying your own release would only make it that much more physically intense when you had to give in.

It was at that moment, that a door banged within the manor and someone appeared at the large entrance of the club room.

“Harry. That you?”

Damn it. It was Eggsy.

“Just headin’ out.” Eggsy called over. “What’s up? Looks like you two’re having a staring contest. Whose winning?”

“It’s a tie” Harry replied.

Eggsy held up his hand in a quick wave and left.

Harry gave you a quick glance, where you were still trying to maintain eye contact, wait no, you were just staring into the space behind him, concentrating on something he could not see.

——

You knew you had to stop staring at Harry, so you looked past his shoulder into the empty space behind him. At this point, even the sight of him might set you off. You were still right at the cusp of your climax and your body was still so aroused you were afraid that any movement could push your over the edge. You wanted to tell Harry to leave, but you couldn’t think of a way without embarrassing or offending one or both of you. All you could do at the moment was sit quietly. So that’s what you did. You were waiting for your body to catch up with the rest of you and settle down. Harry was waiting patiently until you were ready to move or speak.

After a bit of time, you glanced over at him, made sure it was safe. It was, and you began to relax a little, though your body still felt like a flame that was ready to ignite with any hint of friction. You just needed to stay still for awhile.

You saw Harry watching you, his face both concerned and amused.

He broke the silence.

“And that, my darling,” Harry said pointedly. “Is how one create’s an effective honey trap.”

In an attempt to further diffuse the situation, he wanted to be frank and direct with you and not to brush what just happened under the rug. That would be awkward for both of you. He did not want you to feel embarrassed or ashamed or uncomfortable with him or what had happened. The best way was to be as blunt as possible. He pushed down on his palms and rose out of his chair with minimal effort.

“My dear, I’ve been in the spy business for over 30 years. One does not get this far without knowing how to pleasure a woman.”

He winked at you.

“Not to worry, you’ll get there.”

Harry reached behind him for his coat, draped it over his arm, but not before you clearly noticed his own erection. Which before had just been a suggestion in the shadows. He’s hard.

The thought made you flame all over again.

“I need to take my leave. Will you be alright, here?”

All you could do is nod. You didn’t trust your voice yet.

Always the gentleman, he leaned over and brushed his lips against the top of your hair.

“Thank you for the lovely evening.”

You still couldn’t look directly at him so you turned your head slightly to the side and gave him a small nod. With a quick squeeze of your arm, you heard his departing footsteps. He was heading to the tunnels. He was going back into the city, He wouldn’t be staying at he manor. You didn’t know if you were glad or disappointed.

You were grateful to him for providing at least a somewhat graceful way to exit the situation, referring to the seduction technique that ALL agents are trained in. Harry was letting you chalk it up to a learning experience.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. You tried again.

“Fuck.”

It was the first word that you had said all evening.

——

“Fuck.”

Harry thought as he boarded the train back into the city. He had actually planned on staying at the manor, but with what just happened with you, he wasn’t sure if that would be the best course of action. It took all of his self control to remove himself from any temptation by leaving the place entirely. Making it impossible for him to act in a way that was inappropriate. Not that what had just happened would qualify as appropriate. At least it had the veil of a lesson on seduction. He wasn’t sure it would convince judges, but he found it a weak, but passable excuse.

No, the problem for the moment was that all Harry could see was your face as he pleasured you. How your lips parted, your breasts underneath your blouse, the flush of your cheeks. He wanted to hear what your cries would’ve sounded like. He wanted to be the one to make you cry out. His sex drive, always healthy, may have had a prolonged dormant period in recent times. But now it was raging like a fire that he unleashed and now he couldn’t put out. By letting the full force of it out this evening, it was fully awake and needed something to do. Harry had feared that if he had stayed at the manor even a moment longer, he wouldn’t have been able to help himself and would’ve taken you and had you right there.

If he could do that to you with his eyes and just the suggestion of his hands, he couldn’t imaging what it would be like pleasuring you with his entire body. Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he took care of himself, and when he did, he would allow himself the sight of your trembling, responsive, body underneath his own as he gave you the pleasure he knew you so desperately wanted, joined together as he felt your body shudder around him when you climaxed, feeling his own release as he heard you cry out his name in pleasure.

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captain-barnes-writes · 3 years

Text

Mafioso

Summary: Mob boss Bucky Barnes enjoys his vacation in Colombia in more ways than one.

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Latina

Warning: Language, mafia, maybe a little dark?, age gap, daddy kink (or should I say papi kink😏), unprotected sex. Smutttttt—18+

[one-shot with possibility of a second part...]

NOT PROOFREAD.

Word Count: 5.9k

The thick air under the Colombian night sky had made James Buchanan Barnes break out into a slight sweat. Trickles of perspiration stuck to his forehead and his perfectly combed hair was starting to falter under the South American hot breeze. There was something in the air that night, the air so warm it even made someone like him, someone of his stature, want to wear a pair of shorts and a tank top. He’d pushed aside those thoughts though and opted for a dark ensemble that for the first time in a long time didn’t include a suit. He put the choice on the weather, but knew it was a mere excuse to a much needed laxed relaxation--his muscular frame donned a fitted midnight blue polo and expensive black chinos. A pure gold chain with a thick round pendant hung from his neck. Despite the somewhat more relaxed clothing choice, it still spoke greatly for the person he was, for the power he bore in his hands. He was away from New York, away from his many enemies, yet despite that he couldn’t let his guard down even while in a beautiful place like Medellin, Colombia.

He was a mafioso. Leader of a renowned and feared mafia, James, or as many of his closest confidants called him Bucky, was powerful beyond measure. One of the most remarkable features of the feared man was the way his dark profession didn’t at all really relate to the way he looked. With sharp blue eyes and dull clementine lips, Bucky stood over six feet tall and oftentimes used his honeyed voice to get his way. It was a shrill contrast to the person he truly was with his enemies, or those he was not familiar with, a booming menace with toneless manners and gestures. A darkened soul.

More often than not, he would not be recognized or even thought to be a huge asset of organized crime. He was too handsome, too respectful and was a masked businessman to the public but a true bandit underneath. The way he looked and the way dressed so professionally and gallantly with perfectly tailored dark expensive suits and shiny black leather shoes was his greatest disguise. Unbeknownst to whoever that he carried a sharp blade and fully loaded gun with him at all times.

The work was tiresome, physically and emotionally draining. For a man who was so often toneless in the way he spoke of death, in the way he so often wished it and caused it on others, and emotionless with tragedies, he was still a person beneath all the darkness—all the guns and all the violence. Upon a tormenting year filled with too much bloodshed, he’d decided to take some much needed time for himself in a place where there’d been similar violence and crime to that which he was partially responsible for back in the states, but still felt like a secluded place away from absolutely everything. With his turf being monitored by those he trusted most, to some extent he felt free.

For Bucky, Colombia had felt like an excellent choice upon making it and planning the trip to the t a few weeks prior. It’d taken so long to arrange in order to leave things in place and to choose those who were best skilled for the arduous job that was keeping order to such an unbalanced thing that was the mafia. He’d lied about his whereabouts to many, not wanting to compromise everything he’d worked so hard for.

Now Bucky was in the city of Medellin—rich in culture, food and most importantly filled with women. It had barely been his first day and he’d already eyed far too many beautiful women with their dark features and alluring accents. It was nighttime, past 9 pm and he’d just taken a seat under an umbrella-ladden table with a few of his many bodyguards. They were brooding and menacing figures in dark attire. They were simply doing their job, but Bucky wished they’d take it down a notch especially in a bar where nobody knew who he was and what he stood for. Though he couldn’t say that to them because letting his guard down meant showing weakness and he couldn’t have that. Not now, not ever.

The vibrant graffiti art on the rustic building the restaurant and bar was situated at went so well with the multicolor knitted flag garland that stretched from one side to the other. The twinkling yellow lights illuminating the beautiful scene before him; people dancing, foreign and natives of the land. Hands joined at the hip, on the shoulders, bodies moving one way to the other and faces etched with a liberating kind of happiness. It was a fresh spectacle he hadn’t witnessed in far too long.

The country that had birthed magical realism and the rhythm and sound of cumbia was lit with shining bulbs and people whose bliss was of no comparison and it was slightly, just slightly, rubbing off on him when he found himself with a small smile. The people dancing before him were in their own little world as the unfamiliar music emanated moves from them that he knew he probably wouldn’t be able to replicate.

And then there was her. A gleaming light of a woman with tan skin that glowed underneath the superficial lighting. Her face seemed to be in such a deep concentration that didn’t seem to emanate from stress or from taking on a hard task, but at the simple task of dancing.

She was the epitome of magic in his eyes—a Colombian who bore beauty so devastating it had dried his mouth. The tan skin, dark flowing tresses that reached her lower back and dusky inviting eyes. A charmeuse emerald green dress with a blood orange floral print design clung effortlessly to her body and much to his pleasure, the frill hem of the dress ended just above the middle of her smooth thighs. The radiant energy that emanated from her was more than Bucky could even imagine; she was more than he could even have imagined. Not that he had before. Compared to all the women he’d encountered during the last few hours he’d been on the foreign soil she took all the medals with her. She took absolutely everything and he wasn’t even near her, hadn’t even touched her, or felt the delicate skin of her neck or even felt the glossy lips that he felt desperate to take a hold of.

Her hips were shaking side to side, tips of her toes translating the music that she so deeply felt. Her bones were burning with the sound of her native music, the sound of Cumbia. Se me perdió la Cadenita’s tune playing in the background as the movements of her hips followed every beat far too perfectly.

She was dancing alone unlike the many people that surrounded the large dancefloor who had their partners. Many times, She found herself in this bar in the famous little plaza of Medellin. Frequented by locals and non-locals alike, it was always a party. The ambiance was a delicacy, the drinks were great and the music never missed.

Today, for the first time ever, she found herself arriving at the bar alone due to her friend ditching her for last-minute plans with her boyfriend. She understood, but still wanted to come out on her own for a much needed distraction because work had been hectic and her personal life was even worse. Drinks and a good sweat-inducing dance always did the trick. Just this time she’d have to dance with herself.

Or maybe not.

Y/N felt heavy cerulean eyes burning holes on her back. She’d peeked once or twice and was well aware of the handsome, well-dressed man sitting amongst a group of menacing looking men whom she could tell were most likely white. He was too, and while she wasn’t particularly attracted to white men, he was something else. Had a little kick, a little spice and how did she even know that? She didn’t, but the man was in Colombia so she’d deduced that he had good taste so far. Blue eyes, she’d noticed, short dark tendrils neatly combed and a trimmed beard. It wasn’t until she’d gotten lost in her own thoughts that her eyes lost sight of the alluring man and a flick of disappointment shot through her.

With a scoff, all her movements had come to a halt and she made her way to the bar area to get herself yet another drink. She’d had two so far and already felt the alcohol contents doing their godforsaken job, alleviating the stress from her shoulders,soothing her wracking brain and letting her have a form of tranquil fun. She wasn’t the best drinker and knew that two more drinks and she’d probably have blurry vision and slurred speech. Consumed in her own thoughts, she suddenly heard the bartender ask what she wished to order.

“Un mojito de aguardiente.” She responded.

“Yo tambien.” Me too. A voice chimed next to her. Strong and laced with a very thick accent that had almost made the words incoherent to any ear. It was the polo-clad man who’d been gawking at her from his table just a mere few minutes ago and now he was standing right next to her. He was so close, the skin of their arms were brushing against each other; she thought of how he felt so warm.

“Good choice.” She commented, eyes trailing up to meet his. An abyssal of blazing blue with a glint of mischief and many things she could not make of stared back at her. The crinkles at the end of his eyes came to shape as he offered her a small nod and smile. He was slightly taken aback at the way the English words slipped past the plumpness of her lips, slightly thick but still more than understandable. Far better than his Spanish.

“We both ordered the same thing so I think we both have great taste.” Bucky with all his influence and overwhelming power was overcome with a yearning for the woman beside him and felt as if he’d become prey to her. But he knew far too well that despite the confidence she so easily oozed and the way she had him almost salivating, she was the victim here. It would never be him.

When the bartender came back with both drinks, Bucky had immediately placed a one hundred dollar bill on his hand, paying for both drinks despite her protest, and told him to keep the change. The man’s face beamed and proceeded to thank him profusely to which he waved him off with nonchalance because to him a bill of such value was simple pocket change.

“You didn’t have to pay for me, really.” The woman pleaded, thick brows furrowed as she fumbled to get money from her purse. Bucky was amused as he placed his hand on her arm trying to stop her movements and at the sudden touch, her head snapped to look at him. It was then when her lips were agape with wide brown eyes that he thought she looked so young, and concluded that she was most likely in her early 20s. He became even more curious, pining to know little details about her.

“It was nothing. Just tell me your name, that’ll be enough.”

It was nothing. At this, she became a little nervous. She couldn’t deny he was really easy on the eyes, even that was an understatement, he was as handsome as men came. With the crisp and costly clothes he wore along with the heavy gold chain that adorned his chest and not to mention the fact that he had just carelessly spent 100 dollars on two drinks that couldn’t have cost more than twenty. And the burly men clad in black who stood at the far back of the large bar just staring at them, at him, not letting him out of their sight as if their lives depended on the very man himself. It warned her that he was a man of money and even the way he carried himself spoke of the probable immense power he held.

With a voice that faltered, accent heavy she responded with her name.

“Y/N.” He tried it, weighed it on his tongue and savored it because it complemented her so well. Said it loud so she could hear him and she did, becoming just a tad flustered as she opened her mouth and closed it again. No sound coming out.

“Such a pretty name, darling.” His honeyed voice caused a flutter in her stomach, but she put it on the alcohol and not at the way the nickname sounded too good coming from him. She felt flushed, and at the sensation that her face had become hot she placed her drink down and put her cooled hands on her cheeks. It was embarrassing that she’d become such a mess in front of him and to try to distract him from this she asked for his name too.

“Bucky.” He replied.

“Never heard of that name before...maybe just because I’m from here, um but is it short for something?”

Just like she had paused earlier when he asked for her name, he became slightly agitated too. He took a large sip of the drink, the aguardiente was a tad powerful but the anise accents mixed with lemon and mint were comforting and gave way to a refreshing taste. He turned his face to look at her after a few seconds, having mulled over the meek possibility of the girl recognizing him, elbows propped on the wooden bar counter.

“It’s just a nickname.” He finally succumbed to the way her doe eyes waited for an answer, but he’d lied to her face. It was actually short for Buchanan. Instead he would give her his first name, a simple name. He wished so ardently that she’d be moaning it in no time.

“My name is James.”

“Oh.” Was all that came from the beauty beside him as she sipped her drink. She didn’t seem to hiss at the alcohol and he deduced that she probably drank it quite often.

“How old are you?” Bucky enquired after she’d grown silent, seemingly too interested in the drink that was more than halfway gone. She’d had such confidence earlier on the dance floor, with hips that weaved and swung to the rhythm of the music and her face expression had been so jaunty. Carefree and relaxed. Now in his presence she seemed quite shy. He wondered why she’d taken on this form now, he didn’t think of himself as being too pushy. At least not now because there was no need, she was compliant enough. He only showed that harsh edge when necessary.

“22.” She uttered. He’d been right, she was in her early 20s. God, she was so young and he was already pushing 40. The age should’ve had him walking away, but he wasn’t at the thought of being between her pretty thighs savoring her, tasting her. He wanted to teach her a few things only men his age knew. Taking one last sip of her drink before placing it on the counter. Her waves cascading down to her lower back slightly moved as she yet again twisted to gaze up at him with burnt sienna eyes. She was sensual without even meaning to and he felt his pants tightening.

She adjusted her feet, feeling a slight ache at standing with the bronze pumps and placed a hand on her hip. The plunging neckline of the dress was enticing him. Smooth skin peeking at the bright material that complemented her far too well as if it was made just for her. He himself had just finished his drink as well, placed it on the counter and moved to adjust his pants. The pressure was becoming uncomfortable. He’d moved his gaze away from her to look at his surroundings, a mere habit of his. It was then that her eyes trailed to his hands and that the sleek black object caught her eyes. She stared intently, feeling herself more agitated, and the black metal gleamed as if to alarm her. She let out a small gasp and averted her eyes to look anywhere else, but him

She was panicking at being in such close proximity to a deadly weapon. It was normal to carry a gun and sometimes it did seem as a necessity to ward off danger, but it didn’t ease the discomfort Y/N felt. She placed a hand on her chest while placing the other on the counter and taking a deep breath. She was having an internal battle, one side was chastising her for judging Bucky for the simple act of carrying a gun while the other side was pleading with her to get away.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He whispered so softly in her ear suddenly. Hot breath fanning on her side of her face and goosebumps arising on her skin. She stuttered, not even coming up with a coherent thing to say. His hand found its way to hers, gripping it, and bringing it up to place his lips on it. His eyes ablaze that she felt them burning holes on her forcing her to yet again meet them.

“Come on, darling.” He hummed, waiting for a response. Her hand was still entwined with his but now he was just holding it at his side, not letting go. His other hand had fallen to the waistline of his dark chinos, the sleek object coming to view. Her breath hitched and she felt as if she was speechless. Had he done that on purpose? To show her that he had the upper hand and that she had no choice but to say yes.

In the most twisted way the one thing she was holding onto was the deep rasp and slowness of his voice and the mere invitation to leave with him had allowed a current of heat creep to her stomach, a pooling sensation in between her legs. She yet again put it on the alcohol because had she been completely sober she would’ve escaped already.

She blinked at him, words continuing to fail her. Bucky was growing impatient at the girl before him who seemed to be fighting with herself. He knew she’d seen the pistol hidden inside the waistband of his pants, but he didn’t even want to hurt her. Not like that anyway.

“It’s a gun, just for protection. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He defended.

She remained quiet and at the sound of no response, he let go of her hand and took hold of her face with both his hands. Gripping it, he brought his lips to hers in a forceful kiss. Her lips tasted like lemon and alcohol, so warm and soft he already felt addicted. She didn’t respond at first, her dainty hands coming up to grab the bottom of his arms to try to let go but it was no use because Bucky was far stronger. When his teeth lightly took hold of her bottom lip, she inadvertently let out a small moan. It was her first reaction and it had him wanting more. Groaning, he pulled away. Eyes filled with so much lust he thought it would seep out of him.

“Shit, come on.” His head turned to his men, signaling them it was time to go. She was going to come with him, she had to. He wanted her to grip the sheets of his bed tonight, bury her head in his pillows and moan his name. He gripped her hand again, dragging the girl through the exit of the bar. She wasn’t fighting, just struggling behind him with her bronze pumps.

In seconds, she was inside a sleek car with the engine revving and Bucky cruising through the Medellin streets. From her quietness, posture and the way her dainty hands fiddled on her lap Bucky deduced that she either didn’t do this often or at all.

In a haze, Y/N wondered what he did for a living. He had an expensive rental, donned tailored clothing of fine quality and had bodyguards for protection. They were trailing behind him in different cars, one in front and one at the back. With one hand on the steering wheel, Bucky rubbed soft circles on her thigh with the other . Her skin was smooth and it dawned on him than in no less than 5 minutes he’d get to have the woman next to him at his disposal. Completely naked and at his mercy. At the thought, he hardened.

“Touch me.” He commanded, voice laced with a yearning need it felt as if it was eating him alive.

“What?” Y/N sputtered, brown eyes growing wide. She wasn’t inexperienced, but this was a man far older than she’d ever been with. He seemed to be nearing his 40s with his fluffy locks already showing signs of graying. And she was still slightly scared that on the other side of his hip was a gun.

“Stop thinking about it. I said it’s not to hurt you.” He sounded slightly peeved, voice sounding a bit rough. He’d caught her eyeing his hip where his gun was. She nodded while taking a deep breath. She knew perfectly well what he wanted, her hands on him. With shaky hands, she began to unzip his pants and though he had groaned at the small action he stopped her with his hand.

“Just through the pants, baby. We’re almost at the hotel.” She blinked, pressing her hands to the prominent bulge on his black chinos. She began palming him through the thick fabric, feeling the ridges of his erection and she shameless bit her lip at the feel, at how big he felt. Through long lashes, she ogled at the man before her. Ruggedly handsome beyond words with a strong build she knew she’d be left aching. Even though she still felt remnants of uncertainty, she mostly felt a deep gust of excitement building within her.

Bucky’s mouth was watering at the actions of the young girl beside him, her small hand touching him in the most sensual way. And it felt like a huge step forward with her hands on him, but he also felt her lingering gaze. It prompted him to remove his hand from her thigh and accelerate on the roads he was not even familiar with but the need to get to his hotel was one of his top priorities. It was silent for the most part besides a few jagged groans that emanated from his chest at the way she was still touching him. It almost pained him to not be buried inside her yet. God, he just knew she'd be tight and sweet.

When they did arrive at the towering hotel building, he’d leaned over and wrapped her up in a sweltering kiss before he had her hand in his hand waltzing through the lobby and into the elevator. The tension was thick and he’d managed to get his hands on her waist pulling her closer to him. He knew better than to try anything on the elevator especially not with his bodyguards in tow.

With his key card already in hand, once in front of his suite, he hastily swiped it and dragged her inside. With a sigh of relief he pushed her against the door, shutting it. In a change of roles, she was the one grabbing at the collar of his polo and pulling him in her to crash their lips together. It was sexy in the nastiest way possible--mouths engulfing each other, him biting her lips, sucking on them and her fitting her tongue inside his mouth. It was sloppy and brought a wave of satisfaction, it just wasn’t enough.

With greedy hands he groped her ass, massaging the roundness through the soft charmeuse material of her dress before he lifted it up through her body forcing them to pull away in order to fully remove the dress. Once it had come off, he threw it in a heap on the floor and savored the girl in front of him. Lips swollen, cheeks flushed and her hair already in disarray she looked just about ready to take him. He could have just come at the sight of her with the pretty white lace set she sported. So tiny it barely covered anything.

“Look at you baby. You look so pretty, ready to take me huh?” He’d lifted her into his arms ushering her to wrap her tanned legs around him while his hands held the fullness of her bottom. She hated that he was fully dressed. She wanted to feel him against her, wanted to see the toned muscles of his torso and touch the bulge she’d had her hands just a few minutes prior, just this time without the thick material of his chinos.

She nodded at his question as a small yes fled from her lips when he brought their lips together again in another needy kiss. This time, he maneuvered through the large hotel room and finally dropped her on his bed. He’d stayed on his feet, removing his shirt and revealing his taut and strong chest.

“You look so good, Bucky” She hadn’t meant for her English to sound so thick, not only laced with a deep onset of lust but with complete delight at the sight of him. She blushed at the way she’d sounded, but he loved it. Loved the way his name fell from her swollen lips.

With a bite of his lip, he watched as her expression went from that of need to one filled with fear as he removed the gun from the waistband of his pants. The dark metal in his hand the only thing her eyes were focused on. He was amused at the innocence she carried. Even in a country like Colombia where crime and death rates were one of the highest back in the day because of people like him, she’d managed to keep that angelic essence. He admired her refusal to let go of it.

“I told you this is only for protection, baby. The only thing that’s gonna hurt you is this dick.” He was half joking, gun still gripped in his hand he walked around the side of the bed to place it on the white nightstand. It seemed as if even that wasn’t enough for her so with a roll of his deep blue eyes, he decided it was best he placed it inside the nightstand drawer. Sure, he had better access and more maneuver to reach for it if it was on top, but he wanted to fuck her so bad and wanted her to enjoy it not have a gun be the reason she couldn’t get wet over him.

She swallowed, a little more calm as she saw the weapon safely stored inside the drawer and offered him a timid smile. He chuckled at her newfound expression and felt the same yearning bubble up again. Desperate to feel her skin on him, he unbuckled his pants in a haste and threw them carelessly on the floor. If he wasn’t so damn hard to the point it pained him, he would’ve had her remove the pants with her small hands. Another time, he thought.

He climbed on top of her, expectant doe eyes staring back at him when his face prodded down at her. She reached her soft hands to touch his face and used it to pull his face towards hers. Lips meeting in a desperate kiss as if starved of human touch; so eager, so needy. His hands didn’t waste time exploring her body. They wanted to be everywhere at once, her breasts, her thighs and the sweet place between her thighs. For the time being, he’d stopped at the swell of her breasts, pushing down the thin lace cups and rubbing her perky brown nipples slowly. Fingers trailing on the smoothness of her areolas had turned to kneading. His lips had parted from hers and trailed down to the sensitive skin of her neck and made sure to take the skin between his lips. Sucking and biting at the skin until blood had risen leaving behind deep purple marks that looked rather painful. She was a withering mess underneath him, soft little moans falling from her swollen lips and thighs widening.

She was so compliant especially when he’d patted her thigh and she’d opened up to him without a single word. His fingers had grasped at the thin lace material of her panties too roughly and it had ripped. Y/N yelped and he didn’t know what to make of her face expression whether it was anger or disappointment that had shown, but he promised her he’d buy her more. Expensive lace just for his pretty girl.

Without waiting for a response, 2 fingers had slowly delved into her cunt. Long fingers forming a slow and torturous rhythm that had her wanting more. If this was his way of making her talk then he was on right track as her little whines grew the more he kept the same pace

“Faster.” Y/N pleaded, hands grasping at the sheets below her. He felt himself gloat as her soft voice egged him on, finally voicing out her needs. He’d given in, fingers pumping in and out of her in briskness all while loving the little sinful moans that she gave out. Within seconds, his tongue had taken place of his fingers licking a long patch of her pretty pussy before he brought them back inside her. Her cunt was soaking wet with her juices and she was so damn sweet. His tongue was swirling against her clit, a move that had her body shuddering in the process. His fingers continued their pace inside her while his tongue drew long licks on her little petal, sucking and swirling that within seconds she’d gripped his hair tightly and came without warning. She’d come right on his fingers, room filling with the sound of her cries. When he withdrew his fingers, glistening and sticky with her unbelievably sweet nectar, he licked a long stripe against her before coming up for air. He looked wildly erotic—hair unruly and mouth wet with the fruits of her orgasm.

When Bucky climbed his way back on top of her, she was breathing so hard her chest was heaving up and down, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to her skin, meanwhile her eyes were fluttering in the aftermath of her orgasm.

“Open your mouth.” Bucky ordered, voice laced with desire as he stared at the mess of a girl. Her brown eyes fluttered open again and with a bite of her lip, she opened her lips wide for him. Almost immediately his fingers were inside her mouth. He wanted her to taste herself, to taste how delicious she was.

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby. You like it? Like the way you taste?” God, he sounded so sexy. She hadn’t expected him to be such a talker, but he was making her skin tingle with just the sound of his voice and with the things he spewed out during their sinful acts. She moaned with his fingers in her mouth and gave a slight shake of her head to let him know that yes, she tasted damn sweet but that she was sure he tasted even better. At this thought, she grabbed hold of his arm and pushed his fingers out. Taking charge for the first time that night, she pushed him on his back. His olive skin meeting the black silk of his sheets.

Mischievous burnt sienna eyes peered up at him as she removed his boxers causing the thick bulge to spring out. He was so big and thick in her hands, and she thought of how much discomfort the stretch would be just taking him.

She tried to focus on the task at hand, dainty hand wrapping around the thick shaft moving up and down. He was groaning above, husky and loud. It drove her hand to move faster against him, a line of precum already seeping from the swollen head. It was so enticing seeing the milky substance leaking from him that her head bowed and lips wrapped around the very tip. Tongue swirling against the tiny hole before she sucked it savoring the salty taste of him. She began to bob her head down the thickness of his cock, unable to take him all but making sure what she couldn’t take her hand would. He was just so damn big, she wanted to take him all but when he hit the back of her throat her eyes had watered and her throat hadn’t allowed more to fit in. But he seemed satisfied as his hand tangled itself in hair, urging her to keep the same momentum. Her red lips sucking him , coating him in her saliva. Almost too soon, he’d pulled her off him and pushed her on top of him. Swollen lips meeting in the middle, fervent and needy. She tasted like him but he didn’t care.

She wrapped her hand around his shaft again, pumping him once more before she lined up to her entrance. She pushed herself down slowly, taking him inside her warmth. It was an uncomfortable stretch, the dull ache clear on her face as she grimaced. She took her time, barely moving for a good few seconds before she felt his hands on her hips. Kneading the soft skin there, almost as if pleading for her to move. With the tips of her feet on both sides of him, she began a slow up and down movement. He watched as her pussy devoured his dick, disappearing inside her.

Her breathy moans, shaky feet and slow movements were driving him wild. He wanted to fuck her until she screamed. Bucky’s hips had began bucking up, fucking into her desperate to feel more of her tightness. It wasn’t long before he’d taken the reigns again and her body was shaking above him, helplessly taking the deep thrusts.

“Fuck, that’s my good girl. Your tight pussy can take this dick right, baby girl?”

“Si papi.” Bucky’s ears had perked up at the naughty words. She’d called him daddy in Spanish and it had his dick twitching inside her. He could just cum at the sound of that word.

“Shit, call me that again baby girl.” He pleaded, breathing loud as his thrusts continued to piston inside her before he came to a momentary pause. He pushed her body backwards, her back hitting the silk sheets with a small thud. He lined himself at her wet pussy and drove forward again, feeling her tightness engulf him.

“Fuck me papi. Fuck me hard.” She was driving him wild with her velvety voice and the vice grip her cunt had him in. He began with full rough thrusts, the sound of skin slapping filling the large hotel room. Her breasts were bouncing before him, gaining the attention of his lips and his mouth wrapped around her nipple before he gazed at her neck. Ladened with purple marks from his mouth, he wrapped his large hand around it. He’d taken her aback, eyes rolling as her breathing was slightly restricted. He was still fucking her to the brink of insanity and with the added pressure on her neck, she felt the familiar heat building within her stomach, balling up in a crazed manner. He pushed himself inside her with need, wanting her to break apart in front of him so he could follow suit with his own pent up orgasm.

“Oh shit, I’m cumming.” She yelped, voice hoarse with his grip on her neck. She was spasming underneath, tears rolling down her reddened cheeks as she felt the wave of ecstasy shake through her. Her cunt had tightened around his dick, still moving inside her, but the constriction had unexpectedly gotten him to the edge too. He felt himself come with hot spurts inside her, a loud groan slipping past his lips. His stomach shuddered, heaving heavily. He felt as if she’d milked him of all he had.

She grimaced when he pushed himself from her and collapsed beside her. She was spent, sore limbs and a terrible ache between her thighs she knew she’d be spending the night. There was no way she’d make it home without falling asleep. She turned to look at him, and he did too , sharing drained smiles. Noticing her eyes fluttering close, he pecked her lips softly, a stark difference from the roughness of their previous acts.

“I’ll take you to buy new panties tomorrow.” Was the last thing he said, before she succumbed to sleep.

oooooof, this took me hours to write but I felt so inspired. I watched the devil all the time and I, Tonya again (the mustache really does it for me honestly, he’s so hot) and I was like lemme just write a mob bucky one-shot.

Any tips or comments, lemme know. Hope you guys enjoy!

P.S. can someone please tell me they’re as disgustingly obsessed with Lee Bodecker as I am, I’m literally burning inside. The little pouch and the PEPSI CUP. OMFGGGGG

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moronic-validity · 3 years

Text

The Vincent Sinclair’s Boot x Reader Fic

okay so a few notes!

1) Reader is a trans guy (like your’s truly)

2) This is smut for the sake of smut, plain and simple.

3) I finished this at 2:30am and I have to be at work at 8.

This Contains: dubcon/coerced consent, drugs, bdsm, dom vincent, a boot kink, typos, almost murder, masturbation, and car problems! Everything under the cut is 18+!!!

As the temperature gauge crept higher and higher, [y/n] had to kick himself. He had been told to check his oil periodically through the road trip, but more than that, he had always been told to keep an extra thing of 5-20 in his car. Both pieces of advice went in one ear and out the other.

Which left him here, in the middle of nowhere Louisiana, 30 miles shy of Baton Rouge.

The immediate reaction was to get out of his car and scream. Sure, it was near midnight, but there wasn’t anyone nearby, so what was the worst thing that could happen. The flash of headlights on him and his car answered his question.

Great. Fantastic. Cool.

“Hey, sorry about the yelling,” he called out in the general direction of the headlights. “Any chance you have some 5-20, I’ll be right out of here if you do!”

No response. [y/n] sighed and sat on the hood of his car and watched the car. It was the middle of the night and it was still hotter than hell and humid to match. Without giving it much thought, he pulled his t shirt over his head and sat it on the hood next to him. What did it matter, he had a binder on anyway. Not like anything was showing.

The mystery driver flashed his brights at [y/n], then threw it in reverse and went back to where he came from.

Well that’s fantastic. I’m in the middle of nowhere and someone knows I’m stranded here. Perfect.

Without giving any more thought to it, he got back into his car and went to sleep, his t shirt thrown over his eyes.

The sun didn’t wake him up, the tapping on his window did.

[y/n] scrambled into an acceptable position and pulled his still damp t shirt on. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he was able to see the man standing near his window. The man wasn’t intimidating or anything, but the situation was odd and [y/n] was immediately warry.

“Sorry ‘bout that, didn mean to startle ya or nothin,” The man with the green hat said with a small laugh, “it just looked like ya might need some help, most people don like sleepin in their car this time a year.”

[y/n] squinted at the guy. It wasn’t due to the accent or the look of him, the sun just happened to be right in his eyes. The perfect start to another fantastic day.

“Uh yeah, I’ve definitely had better days. Any chance you know where to get a quart or two of oil?” He asked, ending it with a still tired yawn.

“I could give ya a lift into town, ‘m sure Bo will help you out at the station,” The green hatted man offered helpfully.

“Actually, that’d be wonderful, thank you…” [y/n] realized that he just accepted a ride from a man who’s name he didn’t even know. His mother would be so proud.

“Lester, Lester Sinclair,” Lester said with an extended hand.

“[y/n], [y/n] [l/n]” He took the other’s hand and gave a firm shake. [y/n] was acutely aware of the tacky reddish-brown smudge that was now on his hand.

The ride into town was quite, aside from the rumble of Lester’s truck and the sound of tires throwing rock.

“So where’re you headed?” Lester asked, glancing over at [y/n].

“Ah, no direction, wanted to go up, down, coast to coast. Want to see a little bit of everything, I guess,” [y/n] picked at the skin around his index finger, “I’ve only broken down once, so I figure I’m doing okay.”

“Welcome to Ambrose, I know it probably isn where ya wanted t’ go, but there are worse places.” Lester said cheerfully.

The ride went back to being quiet.

“Oh shit,” Lester whined, more to himself than anything else, as he threw the car in park and jumped out, “ya wouldn’ mind givin me a hand flipping the hubs, would ya?”

What the hell does that even mean? {y/n] thought to himself as he hopped out of the car to help Lester with the task anyway. Help was a bit of a strong word for what [y/n] did, it was more get in the way and offer moral support. Lester appreciated the gesture and the company. Most people jumped out of the car and fled into town by this point.

The two got back into the truck and drove right on into Ambrose and parked in front of the service station.

“Now, you wait here, Bo ‘ll be ‘round soon,” Lester dropped [y/n] off with a wave then drove off to wherever he worked. It occurred to [y/n] that he never thought to ask.

It also occurred to [y/n] that he’d have to walk back to his car or hope that someone in town would be willing to give him a ride. Just one more thing. He sighed and sat with his back against the wall of the station.

At least there’s shade. It’s already starting to feel like the devil’s armpit, but at least there is shade.

Time passed, could’ve been hours, could’ve been minutes.

No, it was definitely hours.

Around the point [y/n] was sure that this Bo guy would have to pry him off the cement with a spatula, Bo happened to come down the road and up to the door of the station, near where he was sitting. Bo stood within arm’s distance as [y/n] pushed himself up off the sidewalk.

“I take it you’re Bo? [Y/n] [l/n], Lester said you might have some oil?” [y/n] offered the man he assumed to be Bo his hand. Bo flashed [y/n] a smile that seemed to try to hard to be charming.

“Well, I’d introduce myself but you already know who I am,” Bo chuckled. He was in a suit and tie, didn’t seem like he was dressed for his line of work. “ Let’s see if we can’t get you back on the road, hm?” He hummed to himself as he unlocked the door to let the two men into the store.

There was no AC, and that was the first problem [y/n] had with the station. The second problem was that there appeared to be no oil. Anywhere.

What type of station doesn’t carry oil. Oil. OIL. Walmart carries oil, DG carries oil. Why does this man not have oil.

“Uh….Hey Bo, any chance you have some oil in the garage that you’re willing to part with?” [y/n] asked, while squatting and looking at another shelf devoid of oil.

“I’m sure I could check,” Bo said, his voice drifting further away. [y/n] kept looking.

“So I’ve got some bad news, I don’t have any oil down here;” ,” Bo said as he re-entered the store, wiping his hands down on a grease rag, “Good news though, I got my restock shipment in yesterday and just haven’t gotten around to bringing it down from the house. I’m more than willing to let you wait here while I go up to to get what you need, but you look like you need something to drink.”

[y/n] thought it over. This would mark the second time in less than 24 hours that he went somewhere with a random stranger, but at least this time he knew the guy’s name.

Well, the south is known for its hospitality, so I might as well go and get something to drink.

“I’d really appreciate something to drink and thank you so much for the help,” [y/n] said, suddenly aware that his mouth felt like it was full of glue.

The pair were about halfway to the house, when [y/n] finally felt the need to ask about the suit.

“Okay so, I know it’s absolutely none of my business, but why are you wearing a suit? Isn’t it a bit hot for that?” Bo stopped moving at [y/n]’s question and seemed to consider a few possible answers before he nodded to himself and kept walking.

“Well, it’s not the heat that gets you, it’s the humidity,” he chuckled to himself, “and uh,” he paused to clear his throat, “My mom passed on, was at her service.”

“Bo, I am so sorry. If you don’t mind, I’ll be sure to pay my respects before I leave town,” [y/n] couldn’t help but feel intense sympathy for Bo.

He left his mom’s funeral to help me get some oil so I can get back on the road. Holy shit.

They walked in silence for the rest of the day, [y/n] was unsure how to comfort this stranger, so he just followed the other man’s lead. Silence.

Bo unlocked the door when they got up on the step and lead [y/n] into the house.

“Washroom is down the hall if you need it, the door should be open,” Bo motioned towards the washroom, “Make yourself at home.”

With that, Bo was in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of sweet tea. [y/n] decided to take Bo up on his offer of a washroom. Once the door was shut, he fought with his binder for a minute, before finally getting it off his chest, letting it hang loosely around his neck. At this point, it just felt good to take a few deep breaths. After a few minutes passed, [y/n] pulled his binder back into place, swore he’d keep it off until he hit the next rest stop, then went back out into the house and met Bo in the kitchen.

Bo handed [y/n] the glass of sweet tea, condensation already beading on the sides. Nice and cold and incredibly sweet, it even tasted southern. And a bit salty. [y/n] had never had homemade sweet tea before, so he assumed that maybe that just happened sometimes with the tea when it cooled.

The room started to sway.

“Hey, [y/n] maybe you should sit down, looks like the heat is getting to you,” Bo said, worry in his voice, but a smile on his lips, “maybe you ought to lay down for a bit.”

Not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.

That was weird, he tried to say it out loud, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Bo helped [y/n] to sit on the couch and as his vision started to darken, [y/n] swore he saw another person enter the room.

When [y/n] came to, he realized a few things in short order. It was much darker, he was not on the couch, and he was restrained to the metal table he way laying on. Ever the optimist, he was thankful for the fact that he still had his clothes on and also for the fact it was much cooler wherever he was.

A tall man with long dark hair entered his line of sight. [y/n] had a few ideas of things to yell at him, but instead, took a different approach.

“So, either I’ve been asleep for a really long time, or you’re not Bo,” [y/n] said, turning his head to get a better look at the man. The man’s shoulders shook, like he was laughing without the noise.

Okay so he can’t talk. Noted.

The man turned around to face the table and made sure his hands were in clear view as he signed, “Vincent.”

The motions were smooth and [y/n] caught it near immediately.

“Vincent is a nice name,” he mused, giving Vincent a charming smile of his own, “I’m [y/n]. Now, I do have a few questions, mainly, why am I tied up?”

Vincent turned his back on [y/n] and went back to preparing the paralytic, deciding to make it a bit stronger so the man on the table wouldn’t have to be awake for the worst of it. When he turned around and [y/n] saw the needle, the reality of the situation began to sink in and things snapped into focus.

“Hey Vincent, I don’t know what’s in that needle, but I promise you don’t have to do whatever it is you’re about to do,” [y/n] tried to keep his voice level as he squirmed and fought against the restraints, “I know we don’t know each other, but I swear you don’t need to do this.”

Vincent watched him writhe on the table and considered his options.

“Please, can we talk this out, please,” [y/n] continued to beg, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and bruises already forming at both his wrists and his ankles from the jerking around. Desperation in one hell of a drug, because in no other situation could [y/n] see himself saying, “I’ll do anything to convince you.”

Vincent set the syringe back down and walked up to the head of the table and gripped [y/n]’s jaw and turned his head to make sure he saw when he signed “Are you sure?” he drew it out to emphasize the importance of the question.

Was [y/n] sure? No. No he wasn’t, but he wasn’t in a place that allowed many options. Behind door one? Death! Behind door two? A questionable fate that could very well still end in death!

Yeah, I’ll go with door number two, please.

[y/n] nodded, Vincent’s hand still not leaving his jaw.

Vincent considered the situation for a moment. He considered the number of girls that Bo had brought to him after he had had his way with them at the station. Girls had never really been Vincent’s speed. There were plenty of attractive guys who had come through, but mostly they were either already dead or just spit curses at him. [y/n] was different. No threats, no insults, he was shockingly calm, all things considered. Vincent stroked up and down the side of [y/n]’s face, bringing his hand into the smaller man’s hair and pulling, eliciting a soft whimper.

“I want you to show me,” Vincent signed before undoing the restraints at [y/n]’s ankles. As for his hands? His hands were going to stay bound, but a change of position was still needed. Vincent kept eye contact with [y/n] as he undid his wrists.

[y/n] sat up on the table, moving slowly as to not startle Vincent. The last thing he wanted was to scare the guy who probably had a half dozen ways to kill him in arms reach. His wrists ached and were bleeding in some places. He rubbed at his sore joints before Vincent snapped his fingers, pointed directly at him, then down at the floor near his boot clad feet.

[y/n] had the opportunity to make a run for it, but instead knelt at Vincent’s feet. Vincent put his hand out and without thinking, [y/n] rested the side of his face against it. Vincent’s face burned beneath his mask, that was not what he needed the man to do. He pulled his hand away and gently slapped at the kneeling man’s face, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough for him to know that that was not the desired action. The kneeling man was a quick learner and when Vincent put his hand out again, he reluctantly placed his wrists in the larger man’s hands.

[y/n] was not thrilled at this situation, but he was also a simple man, and for all the terror in the situation, Vincent was a large man with shockingly soft hands that were big enough to envelop both of his wrists, who had complete control over the situation. Should he be getting wet due to the situation? Absolutely not, but in the one psychology class he took in high school, it was mentioned that fear and arousal were close together in the brain.

Vincent saw the bruising and blood on the smaller man’s wrists and was careful when he rebound them. Sure, he was planning on killing the guy, but his plans had changed. He threaded a rope and carefully suspended his wrists so that his wrists would remain above his head.

[y/n]’s first thought was that Vincent wanted head. Most guys he had met enjoyed getting head, so it did make sense. He carefully pressed his cheek against the man’s crotch and nuzzled against it, then looked up and into Vincent’s eyes for any sign. Instead, Vincent just lifted his knee and pushed [y/n] off of him like he was a disobedient dog.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as to what he wanted, if not a blow job. He was further confused when Vincent lifted his boot clad foot and pressed it into the smaller man’s pelvic bone, hard.

Oh.

The pressure of it was enough to lift him up just a little bit more and it had him wetter than he thought he could be in a situation like this. He pressed down onto the shoe and began to grind against it, shamelessly chasing the friction it created.

Vincent groaned. His cock twitched as he watched the man’s lewd display. He didn’t want [y/n] to touch him, not yet. There was still the chance that could go horribly wrong, what Vincent wanted was to see exactly how desperate the man was. Vincent began to palm himself, stroking through the fabric of his pants while he watched.

The answer was very. [y/n] was very desperate. [y/n] was desperate not to die and now, now he was also desperate to cum. He pressed himself harder against the toe of Vincent’s boot and rutted against it, groaning loudly when it pressed up against that bundle of nerves. He began to fall into a rhythm that hit every sensitive spot he could reach.

Vincent’s hand was now in his pants as he stroked himself to the same rhythm [y/n] was fucking himself to. God, Vincent thought to himself, this man was making an absolute whore of himself. It might not be a bad idea to keep him around. Could make work slightly less taxing. Then the bound man made a sound that snapped Vincent out of his thoughts and almost made him cream his pants.

He was getting so close, he had thrown himself so into chasing his high that he almost forgot that the circumstances that brought him to this were less than desirable. He pressed began to rotate his hips so that bundle of nerves caught significantly more pressure and more friction. He let out a loud, needy whine.

“Please Vincent, please tell me I can cum, I’ve been such a good boy, please God, Vincent,” the words came tumbling out of his mouth, he was babbling and begging for a different release now. Vincent bucked into his own hand, listening to the whines and pleas.

Tears were starting to form in [y/n]’s eyes again, he was trying so hard to be good for Vincent, trying so hard to be his good boy. Sure, less than an hour ago, he wanted nothing more than to be as far from him as possible, but God, he was so close to cumming and he just needed Vincent to tell him he had been good. Hadn’t he been good enough to deserve release?

Vincent pressed his crotch against [y/n]’s face and continued to jack himself off. He didn’t want the man’s mouth, but he wanted the proximity. He was so close to his own release. So so close, all he needed was-

“Oh GOD, sir please, I’ve been so good for you, please sir. Tell me I’ve been a good boy for you, tell me I’m your good boy, please sir; oh my God, please, please,” [y/n] continued to babble, now crying for release against Vincent’s aching cock.

Yeah, that just about did it for him. Vincent’s orgasm took him hard and left a sizable stain that leaked into the front of his pants and against the begging man’s face. Vincent closed his eyes, lost in his own release. When things snapped back into focus, he realized the other man was still whining pitifully, still having not came.

Vincent had to admit, he was impressed at the man’s willpower, it was oddly attractive to him that the man refused to grant himself pleasure without permission. This could actually work out wonderfully, Vincent thought to himself.

He took the rope in his free hand and yanked on it hard enough to knock the [y/n] off balance. He looked up at Vincent as he tried to regain balance. Vincent let go of the rope and let him drop onto his knees, but his eyes were still locked on his masked face.

Vincent thought about it for a moment before signing “I want you to cum.”

That was all [y/n] needed to hear before going back to rutting against the shoe, quickly going over the edge and coating the toe of the boot in his fluids. He braced himself against Vincent’s leg, mumbling thank yous as he came back down. Vincent allowed this to go on for a short while, before cutting the rope and pressing [y/n]’s face down to the still wet boot.

Vincent used one hand to yank [y/n]’s hair to make the blissed out man look up at him, with the other hand, he calmly signed “Clean it up.”

#slasher fucker #vincent's boots #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent x reader #house of wax #nsft #I haven't written a fanfic in years #fanfic #theo writes #theo's thoughts #teddy talks #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #sinclair brothers

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sassyhobbits · 3 years

Note

hi julia 💙 tinder au? i have just fallen in love with it

ok yall. here it is. the highly requested and long awaited tinder au. i probably have like 20 messages on my inbox rn asking for this.

anyway, here's day 3 for yall!! enjoy!!

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3 // pt 4

~~~

Rowan Whitethorn was the mastermind behind his own misery.

He had been kicking himself for his stupidity for the past week, ever since that godsdamned wedding he had gone to with Aelin. The event had confirmed his suspicions: he liked Aelin Galathynius. A lot.

And it was his own fault that he hadn’t asked her out.

He had been the one to say that they should remain coworkers and nothing more. He had just been so shocked to see the woman he had matched with on Tinder at his place of employment he hadn’t really known what to do. So, he said something foolish.

For a while now, Rowan’s attraction towards Aelin had been growing. It had been easy to ignore at first, brushing it off and contributing it to the fact that she was a pretty woman. But, even in those months where Aelin had enraged him, she still managed to enthrall him. He thought about her smile far too often. About the dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose, the sound of her laugh, the smell of her perfume. Mostly, he thought about the dances that they had shared at that wedding. A small taste of what could have been if Rowan hadn’t been such a rutting idiot.

If he could take back that foolish decision, he would.

Now, his choice haunted him everyday. He would watch Aelin at work, see other men and women give her appreciative looks and flirty smiles, leaving Rowan in a constant state of morbid anticipation, waiting for the day she reciprocated some of that attention and he would be left behind.

Rowan lingered by the personal training desk, knowing he should be planning the workouts for his clients for the week, but his attention was pinned across the gym. Aelin was working today with a new client that he had never seen. He was in his mid-twenties, tall, blonde. Good looking, and obviously very smitten with his trainer. Rowan ground his jaw as the man sent a charming smile to Aelin. He wished her back wasn’t turned towards him so he could have seen how she responded.

“Keep on clenching your jaw like that and you’re going to break a tooth,” a feminine voice said teasingly.

Rowan tore his gaze away from Aelin, finding Lysandra leaning against the desk, ivory cheeks flushed pink from her own workout.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lysandra scoffed and rolled her eyes at the obvious lie. “You may be fooling yourself, Rowan Whitethorn, but you’re sure as hell not fooling me.”

Rowan pressed his lips together tightly, looking back at his clipboard and trying to ignore the woman beside him. However, that wasn’t suitable for Lysandra.

“If you ask her out she’ll say yes,” she said casually.

Rowan scoffed. “She seems perfectly happy with that pretty-boy over there.”

“She’s settling for that pretty boy over there because you aren’t giving her the attention she deserves.”

Rowan sighed and looked back at the woman beside him dryly. Her dark brows were narrowed, lips pinched in annoyance. It was clear she wasn’t happy with him.

“Listen, Rowan,” she continued, “I’m not going to tell you what to do. But I will tell you that if you don’t get your shit together and finally ask Aelin out, she’s going to move on. And you’re going to make yourself extra miserable.”

Rowan didn’t have a response for that, simply holding Lysandra’s gaze more a moment longer before she stomped away towards the locker rooms, leaving him alone at the desk.

Deep down, he knew that she was right. Just watching Aelin conversing and mildly flirting with another man was driving him crazy. He didn’t know how he’d feel if she actually returned one of her many admirers' sentiments. Pissed off, most likely, that he had missed his chance. And that he had no one to blame but himself.

That was likely the thing that had been holding him back for so long. Admitting that he had been wrong. Gods, there was nothing worse. Absolutely nothing.

Rowan didn’t want to admit that he was biding his time, but he was. Waiting for Aelin to be finished with her client so that he could make his move. And potentially suffer a thorough tongue-lashing from the object of his desire. He couldn’t imagine that she would find it amusing that he was coming crawling back after being the one to request the space between them in the first place.

After what felt like an eternity, Aelin and her client finally made their way off the gym floor. They stood not too far away from him, but with the music and the sound of others chatting, he couldn’t really hear what they were saying. He pretended he didn’t notice them, anyway.

Eventually, they said their goodbyes, the man sending Aelin one last flirty smile until he swaggered off in the direction of the locker rooms.

Luckily for him, Rowan didn’t even have to muster up the courage to go up to Aelin. She instead came over to him, leaning over the desk and grabbing her own clipboard. What pissed him off was that she barely even seemed to notice him.

“Hey,” she breathed casually, jotting something down.

“Hello, Galathynius.” Good gods, why did he sound so stiff?

He waited a few more heartbeats, hoping that she would strike up a conversation, but she was terribly focused on whatever it was that she was writing.

Rowan quickly grew tired of waiting.

“Are you going out with that guy?”

Aelin’s pen froze mid stroke, and Rowan’s instincts told him that he had said something wrong, and danger was lurking near. She looked up to him, a wicked tilt to her golden head.

“Would it be a problem if I was?” she drawled.

Rowan ground his jaw, refusing to back down at the fire in her eyes. “Don’t go out with him.”

Aelin blinked once before scoffing. She tossed her clipboard to the side, spreading in legs in what Rowan could only describe as a fighting stance and crossing her arms over her chest. “You cannot be serious right now.”

Rowan stood straighter. “I’m completely serious. Don’t go out with him.”

“You must be smoking something if you think you have any say over who I do or do not go out with.” She pointed a well-manicured finger at him. “Let me remind you that you were the one who said we should just be coworkers.”

“Believe me, I remember.”

“Then what changed your mind so suddenly? Huh?”

“You did, Aelin.”

For once, it didn’t seem that Aelin had a snappy response up her sleeve for this one. Rowan seized the rare moment of silence, taking a deep breath to steel himself before moving closer and continuing.

“Aelin… I really like you,” he began. “I have since we met. Before that, even. I had been so excited to meet you in person after talking that night and then you were here and you were my coworker and I… I reacted stupidly.”

Aelin’s lips were pressed together tightly, a sign that she wouldn’t interrupt until he said what he had to say.

“I was afraid of what might happen if something went wrong,” Rowan admitted. “If we went out and you realized you didn’t like me as much as I liked you, and I had to see you every day at work and be reminded of that. I was a coward because I didn’t want to face that particular torture. But… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. And I know that if I never admitted it, I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

There were a few moments of painful silence as Aelin considered his words.

“So, what?” Aelin said. “You just expect me to jump into your arms now that you decided you were finally ready to grow a pair and ask me out? You think I was just going to wait for you?”

“No. I know you’d never wait for a man. I know that you’re strong and independent. I’d never expect that from you but…” Rowan reached out slowly, taking her hand into his and giving her fingers a firm squeeze. “I hope that you’ll be able to forgive my stupidity and let me take you out on a real date soon.”

For a few, too long heartbeats, Aelin stared down at where he held her hand. Rowan had never felt more nervous than he had in that moment. It was maddening.

But, she eventually tilted her head up, and her face had softened, a smile on those full lips of hers. She gave his hand a squeeze.

“Gods, I thought you would never ask.”

It was Rowan’s turn to smile, beaming at the woman before him. “So, that’s a yes?”

She nodded once. “It is. You can pick me up at eight tonight. I expect something nice, I want to dress up.”

“I look forward to it.”

Aelin laughed, a beautiful sound, before she closed the distance between them and brushed a soft kiss against his cheek, thoroughly stunning him as she slipped away, smiling at him the entire time.

“And don’t forget the flowers,” she called, striding across the gym. “Kingsflame are my favorite.”

“Noted.”

Aelin held his gaze for another wonderful moment before she turned, striding over to meet with a woman he recognized as one of her regular clients. Once he was sure she was no longer watching, he brushed his fingers over the spot where she had kissed him which still burned pleasantly.

He would make sure everything went perfectly tonight. There was no way in hell that he would mess it up and ruin his chance with this amazing woman. Aelin was unlike anyone he had ever met before.

He knew one thing for sure. Aelin Galathynius was the one for him.

#rowaelin #my writing #tinder au #tog

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jedimaesteryoda · 3 years

Text

Brienne’s Off to See the Wizard

I’m feeling a little silly right now, and in that spirit I’ll say that Brienne's journey in A Feast for Crows draws a bit of The Wizard of Oz: a girl dressed in blue travels with three dudes and a dog along a road on a quest to return a girl home.

Brienne is Dorothy, the protagonist who dresses in blue (armor), and is given Oathkeeper which is sword studded with rubies in place of ruby slippers. At the start, she is accused of killing Renly when she was actually at the wrong place at the wrong time just like Dorothy with her house dropping on the Wicked Witch of the East. Dorothy ends up in Munchkinland of the diminutive Munchkins while Brienne travels through the riverlands which is predominantly made up of smallfolk. Dorothy was brought to Oz by a tornado while Brienne is from the stormlands. Brienne is sent on her mission to return a girl home by Catelyn, the Lady of the North in place of Glinda the Good Witch of the North.

Professor Marvel: I see a woman. She's wearing a polka-dot dress. Her face is careworn. Dorothy: That's Auntie Em. Professor Marvel: Her name is Emily. Dorothy: That's right. What's she doing? Professor Marvel: Well I, uh, I can't quite see. Why, she's crying. Someone has hurt her. Someone has just about broken her heart. Dorothy: Me? Professor Marvel: Well, it's uh, someone she loves very much. Someone she's been very kind to. Someone she's taken care of in sickness. Dorothy: I had the measles once and she stayed right by me every minute. What's she doing now? Professor Marvel: Well, she's, uh...What's this? Well, she's, she's putting her hand on her heart. Oh, she's, she's dropping down on the bed. Dorothy: Oh, no, no, no. Professor Marvel: Uh, that's it, the crystal's gone dark. Dorothy: You don't suppose she could really be sick, do you? Oh, I've got to go home right away.

Go home, child. You have a home, which is more than many can say in these dark days. You have a noble father who must surely love you. Consider his grief if you should never return. Perhaps they will bring your sword and shield to him, after you have fallen. Perhaps he will even hang them in his hall and look on them with pride . . . but if you were to ask him, I know he would tell you that he would sooner have a living daughter than a shattered shield."

"A daughter." Brienne's eyes filled with tears. "He deserves that. A daughter who could sing to him and grace his hall and bear him grandsons. He deserves a son too, a strong and gallant son to bring honor to his name. Galladon drowned when I was four and he was eight, though, and Alysanne and Arianne died still in the cradle. I am the only child the gods let him keep. The freakish one, not fit to be a son or daughter."

- A Feast for Crows, Brienne VI

Brienne meets people along the way. Elder Brother tells her to abandon her quest, and think of her father who likely misses her while she is away from home just as Professor Marvel told Dorothy to abandon running away and go back home. She also comes across three people and a dog along her quest who end up accompanying her.

Septon Meribald is the Scarecrow. Dorothy meets him in the country where he wants a brain, yet throughout the film demonstrated himself to be intelligent and good on his feet. Meribald is from the country, and at first appears country bumpkin-esque, but actually proves himself to be intelligent with his Broken Men speech. His knowledge of the riverlands also proves to be useful to them throughout the trip.

Hyle Hunt is undoubtedly the Tin Man. Hyle Hunt’s body is covered in the metal of his armor like the Tin Man, and not having a heart appears to describe him pretty well. He calls Brienne ugly to her face when we see him first talk to her. He wants to find Sansa so he can sell her to the Lannisters. When Brother Gillum shows that a horse bit off his ear, Hyle responds by joking about it. When Brienne expresses sympathy for the children at the inn having lost their parents, Hyle’s response is to roll his eyes and mock her for her sympathy. He comes off as an insensitive prick who doesn’t seem very caring towards anyone. However, we are first introduced to him when he defends a smallfolk couple and Brienne from Tarly’s guards, and actually defends Brienne against his boss and liege, Randyll Tarly, which cost him his job. So there might be a heart to him somewhere after all.

Podrick Payne is the Cowardly Lion. Pod served lions, the Lannisters, and with a name like Payne with his distant cousin being Ser Ilyn the King’s Justice one would expect him to be more aggressive and intimidating. Yet, he is described by every POV character that meets him as timid, with Sansa noticing he blushes and stares at her feet every time she talks with him. He is clearly shy, but he rams himself into Mandon Moore just as he is about to kill Tyrion, and then pulls Tyrion to safety from the raging inferno on the Blackwater, saving his life. He later helps Brienne against the undoubtedly dangerous Bloody Mummer deserters. The boy can be shy, but deep inside is brave.

She finally comes across one figure who has gained repute in the land for his ostensible magical ability.

“Oh, no, my dear, I... I'm a very good man - I'm just a very bad Wizard”

"The pink pretender, rather. I am Thoros, late of Myr, aye . . . a bad priest and a worse wizard."

- A Feast for Crows, Brienne VIII

Brienne eventually meets a man called the "red wizard," Thoros and just as the Wizard was just an ordinary man using smoke and mirrors, Thoros’s magic is usually just pyromancer tricks. Even he admits he isn’t really that much of a wizard or a red priest. But Thoros is a man who spent the entire war aiding the smallfolk of the riverlands, so while not much of a sorcerer, he still is at heart a good man.

Auntie Em: You just had a bad dream.

Dorothy: But it wasn't a dream. It was a place, and you and you and you ... and you were there . . . But you couldn't have been, could you?

Auntie Em: We dream lots of silly things when we...’

Dorothy: No, Aunt Em. This is a real, truly live place. And I remember that some of it wasn't very nice. But most of it was beautiful. But just the same, all I kept saying to everybody was, 'I want to go home.' And they sent me home.

“This is an evil dream, she thought. But if she were dreaming, why did it hurt so much?”

. . .

This time she dreamed that she was home again, at Evenfall. Through the tall arched windows of her lord father's hall she could see the sun just going down. I was safe here. I was safe.

. . .

"I saw him. In the woods."

"A fever dream, my lady."

"He said that he would hang me."

"Even dreams can lie. My lady, how long has it been since you have eaten? Surely you are famished?"

-A Feast for Crows, Brienne VIII

At the end, she wakes up from a dream, and while in the film, Dorothy is finally home, and her journey was revealed to be a dream, Brienne is far from home in the cave of the Brotherhood without Banners and she wakes up to a living nightmare. Brienne is reunited with the Lady of the North, though unlike in the film with Glinda, it is not a happy reunion, as she is accused of betrayal and her ruby studded sword given to her is used against her as opposed to helping her.

“Bring me the broom of the Wicked Witch of the West.”

"She wants her son alive, or the men who killed him dead," said the big man. "She wants to feed the crows, like they did at the Red Wedding. Freys and Boltons, aye. We'll give her those, as many as she likes. All she asks from you is Jaime Lannister."

-A Feast for Crows, Brienne VIII

After finding the titular wizard, Dorothy in the story has to go on a side quest to complete her goal of returning home. Brienne finds the red wizard and is now told to prove her loyalty by bringing to them in place of the broom of the Wicked Witch of the West, Jaime Lannister, the twin brother and Lord Commander of Cersei’s Kingsguard sent to pacify the riverlands.

“I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog, too!”

The queen regarded him coolly. "I had not thought you so niggardly. The king I'd thought to wed would have laid a wolfskin across my bed before the sun went down." Robert's face darkened with anger. "That would be a fine trick, without a wolf." "We have a wolf," Cersei Lannister said. Her voice was very quiet, but her green eyes shone with triumph.

-A Game of Thrones, Eddard II

As for Cersei, well, she is associated with the color green, is very vindictive and cruel, often associated with wildfire and comes from the westerlands. She also starts at the beginning of the story by having a girl's innocent dog, Lady, killed. Her subordinates are referred to as monkeys with Tyrion, her Hand, being called “a twisted little monkey demon,” Lancel, who served as her sword, is compared to “a mummer’s monkey” and she thinks of Falyse Stokeworth, whom she tried to have kill Bronn, as a “grasping monkey.” Cersei is also looking for the same young girl Brienne is, someone she blames for the death of a relative, and had imprisoned in her castle.

Just who could Cersei's parallel be?

#a feast for crows #brienne of tarth #jaime lannister #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #wicked witch of the west #dorothy #wizard of oz #the cowardly lion #tin man #oz #the riverlands #thoros of myr #lannister #cersei #cersei lannister

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fictionadventurer · 3 years

Text

So Strong as Gentleness; Or, Powers and Prejudice 2/?

Chapter 2: Immovable Object

For generations, the Bingleys had been the staunchest allies of the city’s superhumans, and the current generation had lived up to the family legacy. It was commonly conjectured that Charles Bingley himself numbered among the city’s masked superheroes--that he was the alter ego of the Storm King or the Nighthawk or the Blur--but it was just as commonly argued that this would unite too many blessings in a single man. Charles Bingley was good-looking and gentleman-like; he had a pleasant countenance and easy, unaffected manners. He united personal fortune with personal charm, and he had no need of superhuman talents to make him one of the city’s most extraordinary citizens.

It was with great astonishment that Jane noted his presence at Bingley Enterprise’s headquarters when she and Lizzie arrived at the recruitment event. The crowd was vast, but Mr. Bingley darted through with astonishing speed, shaking hands with everyone, delighted by the day and pleased by all in attendance. Though the strictures of the event required Jane to spend most of her time filling out forms and conducting interviews with middle management, she received a moment’s attention from the man himself. He approached her just as she was departing from an informational table, offered a handshake, and desired to know her opinion of the event, her occupational and educational history, her opinion of Netherfield, her favorite popular musicians, and if she had noticed the heavily laden refreshment table in the main lobby. Jane provided all the information desired and was surprised to find Charles Bingley genuinely interested in the answers. A few moments of conversation left her convinced that Charles Bingley was all that a young man ought to be--sensible, good-humored, lively. She had never seen such happy manners--so much ease, with such perfect good breeding.

It was not until she caught sight of Lizzie--reapproaching her after they’d been separated by the crowd--that Jane remembered their mother’s purpose in sending them to the event. But by this point, Mr. Bingley was already being pulled away from the conference.

In the course of the day, Mr. Bingley had gained a shadow--a tall, dark-haired young man who was as aloof and elegant as one expected the heir to a corporation to be. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was head of a Pemberley corporation, with fortune and fame for such that eclipsed the Bingley reputation. He rarely left the city of Pemberley, and Jane could not fathom why a Bingley event had drawn him away from his own business concerns.

It seemed that Mr. Darcy had similar questions for Bingley, because after Darcy had pulled him a few steps away, Jane overheard him scolding his friend. “You shouldn’t waste your time with this nonsense.”

“Nonsense? Darcy, you know as well as I do that vetting future hires is a prime security concern.”

“You are socializing when you’re needed elsewhere.”

“Caroline has it well in hand. If my help is needed, I can rush to the rescue, but until then, my time is as well spent here as anywhere. Bingley Enterprises is a powerful force for good in this city.”

“Not as powerful as some.”

“Don’t force me to modesty, Darcy. I know our organization is primitive compared to what you have in Pemberley, but our strategies are effective for Netherfield, and if you could just trust...”

It was at this point that the two men moved too far away from Jane for her to hear any more of their conversation. Turning to her sister, she asked, “What do you make of that, Lizzie?” Her sister had undoubtedly overheard the same conversation--perhaps was hearing it still, as her senses retained some of their animal acuteness even in human form.

“Is it not obvious?” Lizzie said with a laugh. “It appears our company is not exalted enough for the grand Mr. Darcy. In the heights of his villainy, he has deprived you of a charming conversational partner and destroyed your chances of personal happiness.”

Jane sighed. “Mother will be disappointed. I made no mention of--”

“This has nothing to do with our mother. I was speaking of your obvious infatuation with a certain philanthropist.”

Jane had, from a young age, trained herself out of all outward displays of emotion--a necessary habit when any physical outburst had the potential to tear down walls--and she was proud that she did not so much as blush in response to Lizzie’s insinuation. “He is very charming. But I do not think five minutes of conversation is enough for you to pin all my happiness upon him.” She watched the two men disappear further into the crowd. "Perhaps, if my application is accepted, we can renew our acquaintance, but I have have lost my chance today.”

In this, Jane soon found herself mistaken. As the event was ending and Jane and Lizzie were exiting through the revolving doors of Bingley Enterprise’s main lobby, she found their compartment suddenly shared by a third person, who was none other than Charles Bingley himself.

“Miss Bennet,” he said. “I am glad to have found you. I wished to apologize for my abrupt departure from our earlier conversation.”

Jane found herself stunned by more than the sunlight as they emerged onto the sidewalk outside. “No apology is necessary. I understand you have many other concerns.”

“That is no excuse for uncivility,” Bingley said, “Though Darcy would argue otherwise. He is always telling me to devote my time to more serious matters, but I say it is always worthwhile to be on friendly terms with our neighbors.”

Lizzie said, “It seems Mr. Darcy is uncommonly conceited.”

“No better man in the world!” Bingley said, rising to a good-hearted defense of his friend. “Only too apt to take the weight of the world on his shoulders and demand that I carry the same burden. I dare say he has a point, but one can better do good in the world by knowing the people within it.”

“A sensible philosophy,” Jane said.

“And apt to make you much more popular with us common citizens,” Lizzie said.

“No one is common,” Bingley said, “especially in Netherfield.”

Jane was struck by the fear that he was about to realize just how true that statement was. For Lizzie’s attention was suddenly riveted to the bank across the street, and her pupils had already turned to cat-like slits.

“What is it, Lizzie?” Jane asked, hoping by conversation to keep her sister tethered to her human form. Lizzie had gained a great amount of control over her transformations, but the jaguar was likely to emerge unbidden in moments of danger. Lizzie had never transformed in so large a crowd before, and Jane did not know, in the case of disaster, if the jaguar could distinguish threats from innocent bystanders.

“Something is happening,” Lizzie said. “At the bank. I think there might be--”

Her words were drowned out by the explosion. The facade of the bank erupted into flame, and debris was headed in their direction. Jane tried to position herself as a shield to Mr. Bingley and Lizzie, but the sudden movement left her off-balance and falling.

Before she could right herself--before she could even see the results of the explosion--Jane suddenly found herself standing in an alleyway two blocks distant from Netherfield Enterprises. Mr. Bingley was at her side, bent over to catch his breath, with the blue half-mask of the Blur half-pulled over his face.

“Mr. Bingley?”

The man turned away, shielding his face with his hand. “You weren’t supposed to see--I’m usually gone by now, but you--you’re heavier than you look.”

Most other girls, perhaps, would have been offended by such comments, but Jane was merely impressed that he had moved her at all. If she hadn’t been falling, he wouldn’t have managed it--she had been told that trying to move her from where she was standing was like running face-first into a steel girder.

“What’s happening?” she asked, helping Mr. Bingley to straighten his skewed mask. The daughters of Mrs. Bennet knew that there was nothing so important to the average hero than the secret of their identity.

“Heist of some kind,” Bingley said. “We thought there might be villain movement today, but didn’t think they’d strike so close to the Enterprises building.”

“We have to go back!” Jane shouted, dashing out of the alley. “Lizzie!” There was no doubt that the jaguar was loose, and Jane was best able to keep her sister in control of her humanity.

“Wait!” he shouted in alarm. “I can go back to help her, but you mustn’t endanger yourself.”

Jane continued another city block, unheeding. She could see the bank now, chaos erupting as crowds fled from the disaster. From the destroyed facade, some variety of spidery, villainous robot had emerged, tossing aside people and vehicles that hindered its attempts at escape.

“Miss Bennet, please!” Bingley was at her side, apparently attempting the same rescue he’d completed moments before, but unable to budge her an inch.

“Help them!” Jane said. “I’ll be fine!”

At that moment, the rampaging robot picked up a green sedan and tossed it over the crowd, directly toward Jane’s position. Jane lifted both arms and caught the car by its front bumper. She held it aloft until she was certain the sidewalk before her was clear of bystanders, then she set it lightly on the ground.

She turned around to see the Blur, Netherfield’s most famous speedster, standing motionless, his jaw slack.

“I see,” he said, gathering his composure. He stepped toward her. “I must apologize. It appears you were not in want of a rescue. But if I may ask, are you in possession of a good mask?”

#adventures in writing #so strong as gentleness #powers and prejudice #pride and prejudice #superheroes #jane/bingley #jane austen #pride and prejudice superhero au #here it is!#for what it's worth #which is admittedly not much but hopefully it's a little fun?#the bingley rescues civilian jane is probably a textbook darling in need of killing #because i had to invent this vague and implausible scenario to get civilian jane in bingley's presence #but it's still a fun scene and i can do what i want with this story #this story is an exercise in writing garbage #i am purposely releasing short segments without anything but the lightest of line editing so i'm forced to keep moving forward #if i hadn't been doing that i probably would have already rewritten that opening segment in different styles at least three more times #it's certainly a choice and i'm having fun with it #but as you can see the austen style is probably going to have to relax as we get more overtly superhero-y scenes

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the-silentium · 3 years

Text

Home Sweet Home

Masterlist - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Fors is an Original planet. I do not give permission to people to use it for their own fics, the planet, the animals, the Nightmares, the lore or anything related to Fors. Thank you.

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader

Words: 7569 words

Warnings: Angst, sexual innuendos.

A/N: Last “soft” chap before the action come back ~

**Words in bold are words said in French, which means the clones can’t understand it.**

Taglist: @clone-rambles / @mandaloriandin / @apathetic-catastrophie / @jenstar1992-2 / @haloangel391 / @lightning-wolffe / @cherrydemon5 / @and-claudia / @lackofhonor / @gaymasonjar / @depthsreturn / @koskareevesismyqueen / @leonidas-banana-phone

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Nothing changed. Not the obnoxious people, not the earthy smells, nor the heavy atmosphere. The loud locks of the gates closing behind your group still resonated through your ears, sounding too much like the last nail sealing your coffin shut and not like a protecting device. Was it your instincts telling you that you made the wrong decision? Or was it just the dread of returning somewhere you never wanted to return? Either way, it was clear that you didn't feel any bits of nostalgia at being back between these rocky walls.

Hells, even the council's room was giving off unpleasant vibes with its tall bookcases carved directly into the walls that protected way too many old books that weren't all redacted in French nor in Basic. A map of the planet hung on the furthest wall of the room, the different villages identified with their respective symbol to help with trades, hunts, fights. Frabas' name crossed out in blood-red ink to remind everyone of the overnight genocide that happened there.

The lanterns were the only nice things in the room. The soft green and blue crystals contained within the glass enclosure bathed the whole room in their light. Maybe if you focussed on them long enough their glow would soothe your mind.

"Excuse me? You spit on it?" Tech's sudden high pitch tone was surprising enough to pass through your incessant flow of thoughts

"Yeah. Right there." He pointed at an intergrown knot close to the far extremity of the table where the heads usually sat. "What? Did you want me to piss on it? That's a bit too animalistic." Kayden added as soon as he noticed Tech's offended expression that quickly morphed into a disgusted one.

"Honestly, with you people, I wouldn't have been surprised." Crosshair's jeer traveled the room in a second. It took even less to drop Kayden's mood.

His hand tightened around yours and without losing a single second, you matched his grip to keep him from expressing his frustration through anything physical. Now wasn't the time to start a fight between your own team members when several other players might want to hurt you.

If tonight's bad luck could turn into good fortune at least once, now would be the time. The 'diplomats' were out of harm's way, Kayden had technically done what he was told and thus was not considered a traitor, leaving you alone on the spot.

"Look who just found his voice again." He caught your message and used his words instead. "I was sure you'd swallowed your tongue when you ran like a chicken back there."

"And who ran the fastest in the group eh?" The sniper walked to the table. His hands fell flat on the wood to support himself as he leaned forward, daring the brunette at your sides to make a move.

"The fastest is usually the one to survive." He pointed out as he scratched at his clothed chest with his free hand, his right one still prisoner of your grip.

"Crosshair." Hunter slightly pulled him backward by the pauldron and away from the incoming confrontation. "Enough." He added with a growl, clearly remembering how this wasn't his brother. Not fully.

Against all expectation, Crosshair did back off, although he quickly moved his animosity towards the new source of irritation, clear proof that this wasn't the man with whom Hunter had shared so many memories, good or bad. He was a total stranger that didn't respect him at all and lived to push his buttons. Why he stayed with you all was a mystery, although you weren't complaining. Keeping him restrained while in the jungle would have been a true challenge.

It was like waiting for a storm to explode. The dark grey clouds were there, the strong winds blew away everything in their wake, the thunder resonated in the distance, yet there wasn't any droplet of rain. The men faced each other just like in the cave, mere centimeters separated their chest plates and anytime now, the first blow would mark the start of a colossal downpour.

It was nerve-wracking. Even Wrecker and Tech were watching, clearly pondering if they should intervene or if by doing so they would aggravate the situation. You started getting up as the door opened and startled you into seating down again.

Never had you thought that seeing Arlan enter a room would make you feel relieved, yet, this was exactly how you felt at the moment. It seemed like the sudden entrance of an outsider was enough for Crosshair to back off. You subtly crossed your fingers that he wouldn't lash out at the leader even though the scene would very probably make you feel so much better. The consequences of going against Arlan just weren't worth it.

Before the dark-haired leader could notice it, you separated your hand from Kayden's, both your backs straightened and your unbothered masks came back on. Wearing the well-worn suit of this fake cocky personality was deeply uncomfortable but truly necessary. Over the years it became your best shield and Kayden your best ally.

"Take a seat." Arlan waved towards the table as he walked deeper into the room, passing Hunter and Crosshair like they weren't even there. It took years to be able to read the black-haired leader, but it definitely came in handy now.

His calm tone hid a deep irritation that showed through the tightness gripping the muscles around his eyes. He quickly tamed his features as he took place at the end of the table, his elbows immediately meeting the hardwood of the armchairs to allow his fingers to interlace before him.

Soon the 4 seats opposing you were occupied with rigid troopers. Their helmets still firmly on would have been seen as an enormous lack of respect if only Arlan's attention wasn't already focussed on two nasty boots dripping mud onto the piece of art that was the table.

Arlan only needed one look to communicate thoroughly his thoughts. The hard gaze that could easily be misinterpreted as a constipated one transpired enough threats that Kayden removed his boots without any further delay. The ultimatum was clear and you both knew that there was nothing Arlan despised more than repeating himself. Well, maybe you two were the firsts on his list, but that was especially because you loved to make him repeat himself.

If only he didn't look like there was an entire fire-ants colony in his pants, Kayden would have kept his feet up for a bit longer just to raise the man's blood pressure a little. You swore he got more grey hair each time he had to talk with the two of you.

The disapproving sigh accompanying the stormy grey hues boring deeply into yours was a true gift to Kayden whose smirk widened in consequence.

"Do you know why you're here?" The question resonated within the room with utmost seriousness, a seriousness that you forced yourself to shrug nonchalantly in response.

"Surely not because you missed me." You placed a smirk on your lips to copy your sidekick and complete the infernal duo act.

His dark-grey sleeves rode up his arms as he bent forward, his elbows now resting on the table, to get a closer look at you, 3 chairs away. Whilst being very tempting, flinching under his hard stare was out of the question. Four months in a medbay with kind people almost made you forget what the world was really made of; selfish people who always looked out for weaknesses to exploit and were eager to beat others down in hope to raise themselves up.

"We are here to talk relations between the Republic and your planet." Hunter sharply stated, cutting short the staring contest. "My team was sent in a preliminary manner to inform you of the Republic's intentions seeing as your representatives couldn't be reached through official channels. In the following days, two senators will be coming here with adequate troops to talk in the Senate's name."

How the room got hotter in a second was a mystery. All you knew was that even though his tone was borderline too crisp to be qualified as diplomatic, Hunter's words were so perfectly chosen that you wondered if he'd done this kind of job before.

As the silence following Hunter's declaration stretched, Arlan's gaze moved to the hard visor of the commando trooper. The intensity of his stare left you thinking that maybe he was able to see through the shade. Unfazed, Hunter stared right back as you did just moments prior.

You nearly missed it. If you hadn't been watching Arlan as intently as you were doing, the minuscule flash in his eye would have been overlooked. A muscle jumped in his jaw, filling you with dread. Something was wrong. Somehow he had the upper hand and he was internally relishing his win.

"A very well executed lie, but I am sorry to announce you that the Republic won't come here, Sergeant. Not after the Jedis signed a treaty to never come on this planet ever again." You were sure he paused just to get a reaction out of the commando. Hunter's helmet hid his expression perfectly. If he'd reacted or not was totally lost on everyone, unfortunately, it wasn't the same for Kayden whose eyes grew as big as saucers. "No Jedi, no clone, no senator, no Separatist, no outsider is welcome here."

Say what now? Never before had you ever heard of Jedis ever landing a foot on Fors, even less signing a treaty.

Hunter's helmet slightly dipped in your direction, surely to get some answers through your body language. Surely, he got the message when you gulped, wariness filling your eyes as you continued to stare at the man in his mid-50s. His message had been pretty clear from the very beginning. That he felt the need to add that the clones weren't welcome caused doubts in your village ethics to creep into your mind.

As far as you knew, no one had ever been executed in cold blood. Sure, you'd heard stories as a child about how people who were a tad bit too disturbing in the community would vanish overnight, obviously thrown out into the jungle to be feasted on by some hungry creature. Without knowing if they were true events or simply a way to make children behave, you took a habit of sticking with Kayden as soon as the firsts Furants that created their nests in the crooks of the walls circling the village entered the gates to hide, signaling that 7 pm had recently passed and the Nightmares would show up in under an hour. After all, there was no better nuisance in Alryan than the two of you.

Knowing that Arlan's smugness was carefully hidden under layers of practiced indifference, a very tantalizing urge to break your knuckles once again send tingles into your dominant hand. Breaking his nose for a second time would definitely help your mood as well as everyone else's in the room, you were sure of it.

"The- the Jedis? But they never-"

"It is not common knowledge." Arlan archly cut Kayden short and rolled his eyes with that very particular expression that made you feel like the stupidest idiot in the galaxy. In response, the tingles in your hand intensified. "This treaty is way older than me after all. We never needed the Republic's help in any way, not then and certainly not now." He at least had the decency to meet his eyes as he talked.

"And what do you think of the Nightmares? Frabas-" You piped up, the image of a traumatized red-head girl shaking in her bloody clothes popped in your mind. "They could've helped with that."

"They are protectors." He closed his eyes in exasperation and pinched his nose like he'd repeated the concept over and over again to a child that never retained anything.

"They don't protect shit! They kill us!"

Where had he been his whole life? Every night they came and howled, screeched, hissed, yapped and laughed on the other side of the gates in hope of having some juicy flesh and fresh blood to appease their hunger and thirst. Some even went as far as hitting the gates repeatedly in hope of breaking their way in. 10 hours per night, 368 nights a year, every year.

"They protect the Core that's in you--" He interrupted himself as soon as he noticed the irritation breaching his mask, allowing venom to drip through the closing cracks. His rage fit only lasted a second but it was a second too much. He gave you more than he wanted you to know.

"What do you mean? In me?" You could feel yourself starting to shake. In apprehension, anger or fear you couldn't tell. There was too much going on at the same time, assaulting your already tired mind.

"Nothing that you need to know." His tone was definitive, his grey eyes conveying the same message.

"Bullshit!" You jump to your feet just as he pushed his chair to get up. "If it's in me like you say, I deserve to know!"

Your yell must have triggered something, because as soon as the words flew from your mouth, Rhian and his troops entered the room, bows fully bent and ready to shoot in your direction. Elijah had his hammer in both hands, fully prepared to use it against a clone- your money went on Wrecker- if needed and Pete was ready to blow a tranquilizer- or it could easily be a fast-acting poison- into someone's neck.

The answer to the intrusion was immediate. Wrecker's chair went flying behind him at the impact of his legs when he followed his CO's movement. All four troopers stood on their side of the table, imposing and totally ready to enter a fight if need be. You and Kayden though? Totally not ready. You were unarmed and by the time you took hold of Kayden's bow, at least three arrows would have found their way into your body.

"All you really deserved was to die on Murphy Day." He snarled in your direction as his impatience once again showed through his slipping mask. "Throw them in the slammer."

That's it. Goodbye knuckles. Always the perceptive, Kayden grabbed your upper arm, right below the Algax's clean-cut, and pulled you back to his side even before you made the first step towards the bastard. Always there to keep you alive for another day. What a nice friend.

"Hands behind your head." Rhian barked as he approached you and Kayden from behind.

Doing as you were told, you noticed the troopers hesitating before doing as ordered when you nodded at them. Tech lifted his good hand, the other keeping hold of Crosshair's cage. One of the archers went to seize it, but a sudden shoulder to the sternum kept him away.

He's not just a nerd. You smirked as the archer stumbled.

"Let them keep it." Rhian waved off the fuming archer who definitely wanted to go back and win his fight. Too bad. "Walk ahead. You know the way." Rhian nodded towards the door after getting a hold of Kayden's bow and quiver, his very own bow aimed at the floor. The string was stretched just enough to cause serious damage if he needed to defend himself quickly, but he seemed to know that it wasn't needed.

Kayden led the way with you in tow, Elijah and Pete moved away from the door to let you pass at a safe distance. Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed Rhian breaking formation to move up to Arlan, who surely waved him over.

You sighed as you remembered that he didn't even tell you why he wanted you here.

The clone's boots resonated against the rock floor at each of their steps, close enough to appease your mind.

"Do you know a way out of here?" Hunter's voice emanated softly within your ear.

You moved your shoulder blades in a circular motion as if you were stretching the muscles and nodded your head at the same time as to not look too suspicious to the archers escorting the group. Good thing that they didn't notice your earpiece yet.

Wrecker must have been the one right behind you because he relayed the message to Hunter through the private line.

"Now?" You rotated your head from side to side like when you needed to crack your neck.

"No." Came Wrecker's whisper.

"In the slammer?" A small nod.

"Yeah."

"Then we wait and we get out as soon as possible." Hunter told his half-plan to the Batch who hummed their approvals.

Once again the unusual parade that you formed along with the armored men attracted many curious eyes. Ignoring them was easier this time around, the familiarity of their chary gazes finally coming back to allow you to concentrate on something else.

This part of the village was carved so deeply into the mountain that even the occasional howls coming from the jungle couldn't be heard. There couldn't have been better protection for a population of more than 700 people than a natural barrier of rock. Sure, this very convenient refuge could easily become a tomb for a lot of villagers in the event of a breach, but several emergency tunnels were created for this very situation. They were maintained at a perfect condition in case a repeat of Frabas' catastrophe ever came to happen.

Every Alryan learned the location of every single tunnel at the youngest of age. They were only to be used in emergency cases and right now, it was an emergency. It all depended on the perspective.

"It never changed." You stated quietly as the slammer's entrance came into view, the dark purple glow emanating from its depths was a stark contrast to the lively colors of the main area.

Goosebumps rose on your arms as you followed Kayden down the tunnel. The nearby natural well raised the humidity in these parts of the mountain and thus caused the air to become colder. Just my luck, you thought as the fresh air infiltrated your clothes by the multiple tears in their fabric.

"In there." Rhian speed-walked to catch up with Kayden and direct him to a cell carved into the wall on his left.

You were locked up with him, Wrecker and Hunter got situated in the cell facing yours, Crosshair and Tech on the one right beside theirs.

Right as Tech got in after a growling Crosshair, Rhian took hold of the cage and kicked Tech inside who landed in a yelp. You weren't even gripping the bars yet that the heavy door closed behind the engineer.

"Give him back!"

"Sorry 'bout that." He threw the cage in the air twice, the flame within shaking frantically as it hit the bars. "Orders are orders." He ignored the yells of his name bouncing in the detention center and walked out unbothered, his men in tow.

"How quick can you get us out of here?" The urgency in Hunter's tone only added to your own raiding anxiety. What would Arlan do to Crosshair? He was totally defenseless.

"Couple of minutes. But we'll need Back-Up. I hope you have it." You turned to Kayden who scoffed in mocked offense.

"You have back-up?" Tech wondered out loud, tilting his head. "I thought no one would help you here."

"Jeez. Thanks for the vote of confidence." Kayden held his heart before reaching for his chest pocket. "Back-up is my Godot." He pulled a hand-sized lizard from his pocket to show the Batch.

The Godot's orange scales shone softly at Kayden's contact, their light reflecting onto the soft line of baby blue leaves growing on each side of its spine. Its three-fingered paws grabbed fingers and clothes to remain in place while two black eyes moved independently from one another to take in what was happening around. Its long tail wrapped around Kayden's wrist as he lifted it up to show off, the small leaves at its end shining brightly in surprise.

Wrecker gasped and lifted his helmet to get a better view of the animal. "That's what I saw the first time, Tech! It's the lizard that disappeared!"

"Nothing disappeared Wrecker. There was nothing there." Tech rebuked.

"Don’t be so sure about that! They can camouflage themselves, right Back-Up?" At the half-baked order, the tiny lizard shut off its light and changed its skin pigmentation to copy its environment to perfection.

"It disappeared Tech! See? That's what I saw and you didn't believe me!" Wrecker's tone raised as he pointed to Kayden's seemingly empty outstretched hand.

"Wrecke-" You tried to warn him to keep his voice down but heard steps coming your way.

"Back-up, go get the master key at home." Kayden hurriedly whispered to the Godot and quickly kneeled to allow it access to the ground so it could wander away and get the required object.

A guard appeared at the end of the corridor just as Kayden got up and threw himself onto the upper hammock fixed to the walls. He moved around to get comfortable and into the right position, hands under his head.

"So, I've heard that Stockholm syndrome was hard on you." Brett, a particularly annoying scout, mocked from behind his beard.

"Nope. Still don't like y'all." You replied nonchalantly despite the urge to punch him through the bars.

"I was talking about them." He pointed to the two cells containing the clones and you lifted a single eyebrow.

"Tech, definition of Stockholm syndrome please." You asked, maintaining eye contact during the whole process.

"Stockholm syndrome," You saw the genius perked up at your request. Sadly, he didn't lift a finger in the air while he recited the meaning of the word. "Is a psychological response wherein a captive begins to identify closely with his or her captors, as well as with their agenda and demands." He ended with a nod and the movement satisfied you enough to let the lack of a finger go.

"That means you dumbass." You spat as you crossed your arms over your chest. "I'm with them willingly."

"Get fucked!" Kayden shouted with a laugh that got half a smile out of you.

"You? Our captive? It sure felt like the other way around." He finally switched to basic and the hate coating his words told you that he wasn't talking about the pranks and snarky attitude, no, he was talking about something bigger than that.

"What are you talking about?" Maybe you could get more answers out of him than you did with Arlan.

He scoffed. "Stop trying to play the idiot. Between the two of you, Kayden's the best at it."

You ignored said idiot's thanks to press the matter. "Okay and let's imagine I really don't know what the hell you're talking about. What in the damn world did I do?" You remembered Arlan's word and almost added what is wrong with me? but Brett was already dropping the three medicine canisters to the ground, out of reach from either your cell or the clones' and went away.

"You live."

You sat on the ground, drained of every ounce of energy you once had. What was wrong with you? Why did everyone want you dead? The fear you felt at Arlan's words came back as you thought about what it could all mean. The Nightmares who stopped appearing when you left and came back when you did. Whatever the Core was that supposedly resided in you and the fact that the Lumsin knew what it was while you didn't. That the villagers never saw you as an annoying brat but a vile oppressor.

You faintly heard Kayden talking with Tech about Back-up, but couldn't make out the exact words, your own thoughts being way too loud for you to clearly hear anything outside your head.

"It's alright. Don't worry about it." An arm fell on your shoulders and pulled you into Kayden's side who now sat next to you on the ground, successfully pulling you out of your own mind. Yet, as comforting as his gesture was supposed to be, you only felt guiltier. Even when everyone else pointed their fingers at you, he was still there to keep yourself up even after you'd vanished on him.

Kayden scratched the clothes over his heart again and cut off your incoming guilty declaration.

"Question. If the half-skull one was to break my jaw or somethin' and that you didn't see it happen, would you believe me if I told you it was him?" Kayden asked, frowning too deeply for you to brush the question off as one of his stupid ones.

"Wha-?" Then it dawned on you. "Did you threaten him?" You asked Hunter, voice raising in octaves.

You knew Kayden probably deserved it, but he was your best friend. You've been helping each other for more than 15 years and there was no way you'd let him get beaten for a stupid jealousy tantrum.

An invisible hand squeezed your heart as you felt Kayden relaxing against your side. He doubted that you'd listen to him. More importantly, he doubted that you'd trust his word over someone else's. Sure it was Hunter's word, but you knew the Sergeant was not in his right mind and not only because of the irrational feeling.

"He wouldn't stop talking." The unbothered tone in which he answered shocked you.

"Yet you've never threatened Tech."

"That's not the same." Why must he sound like he truly believed that he did nothing wrong?

"You may not value his life and health, but I do. A lot." You emphasized the last word so he got the message. "And his word is the only single one in the galaxy that I never ever doubted."

Kayden's breath sharply filled his lungs and Hunter's fingers curled into fists. You still deeply loved the dark-haired Sergeant and seeing him frustrated at your words made a real number on your insides but that rational part of your brain told you that he would tire of you someday and would leave, whereas Kayden had shown countless of times that he'd be there to hold your hand, push your back and pull you up whenever needed.

"Good to know."

Why did his acknowledgment of your words make you sick? You'd said those words yourself and they were true, so how could they hurt that much? If it wasn't of the half-circles traced on the back of your right hand, you certainly would have had a physical reaction. It could have been hiding in your hammock or tears leaking from your eyes, you didn't know.

"You don't trust us?" Wrecker's hurt translated in his low, nearly inaudible tone if it wasn't of the earbud deeply pushed into your ear canal.

"I do Wrecker. I really do. It's me that I don't." Damn. For someone who wanted to avoid feelings-talks like the plague, you found yourself right in the middle of the deepest one ever.

"I don't understand." He admitted.

"I-" You sighed, trying to find the words that would explain something you didn't know how to explain. "I don't myself Wrecker. I make people despise me and-" The words escaped you. Out of exasperation, your free hand moved up to rub your closed eyelids and drag the pads of your fingers down your cheeks.

"When they don't you persuade yourself they do and you tell yourself that they'll give you up so you start to doubt them even when there's nothing to worry about." Kayden shrugged at your wide eyes looking at him. "Don't be surprised I know you better than yourself. You did the same shit with me but I didn't let you."

"Then why did you doubt yourself against Hunter?"

" 'cuz you love him." He answered in your native tongue and you were grateful for it. You weren't ready to say the words out loud and if Kayden, the person who just demonstrated that he knew you like the palm of his hand, said those words himself, then he'd throw your feelings out in the open and you couldn't have that. Not when your brain still expected the Bad Batch to get back to their ship and leave you on Fors, where you belonged.

"You were there longer."

"Yeah, but that was because you couldn't escape me. Give them their chance. You might be surprised." He patted your shoulder like an old man who gave advice to a youngster.

"We wouldn't give you up. You're our friend!" Wrecker added once the conversation in a foreign language died.

"If you still doubt our friendship, then you might want to remember that we passed hundreds of hours training you to be our pilot and that we lied to our superiors to keep you." Tech pointed out, this time with the finger in the air. It brought the tiniest of smiles to your lips.

"Or remember the moments shared." Hunter surprised you with his quiet words that Kayden definitely couldn't hear without a comm device. Had he realized that he was fighting a non-existent enemy? Or did he feel as bad as you following your exchange?

"Or you can remember that you're a freak." Tech slapped his lean brother's shoulder

"So I belong with you guys? Yeah, I'll- I'll do my best to remember all that." A chuckle escaped your lips. "Thanks." You added under your breath, to which the boys nodded and Wrecker smiled brightly.

"Is your chest okay?" Tech asked and pointed at Kayden who was still scratching his torso.

"Yeah, 's just itchy. I think Kerth put some poison Ivy in my clothes. I wouldn't be surprised." He pulled his shirt forward to look at his skin. He winced. "That does look like it."

"You never get tired of looking at yourself?" A soft feminine voice chuckled from down the hallway.

Soft brown eyes shone behind fiery red locks, their owner walking straight to your cell where she stopped to pass you a hot container. You'd recognize that smell everywhere and apparently so did your stomach who growled loudly in anticipation of receiving some soup.

"Good timing, I see." She chuckled, put her pack on the ground and offered you a container. "It's not poisoned, I promise. I did it myself." She assured in basic when you kept watching her hands without making any move towards the food.

Still unmoving, Kayden took it upon himself to grab two containers and let the redhead give the clones their servings.

"They wanted me to only feed the soldiers but I slipped some for you two as well. For all the spare crusts." She nodded at you, who kept watching her in silence. Before turning around to go back to where she came from, the woman had the kindness to grab the discarded medicine canisters and offer them to Kayden. "Take care."

Wait. You had to tell her. It was like your brain forgot how everything worked. Opening your mouth wasn't hard compared to finding what to say. Even then your throat constricted in an attempt to shut you up, but you couldn't let her go without telling her.

She deserved to know.

"Fleena." Was all you managed and it was enough to stop her in her tracks. When she turned, your hand was already fishing around in your pocket for the small piece of wood.

She came back as you brought your closed fist forward and dropped the dirty necklace on her open hand.

She stared at it, surprise taking over her soft features in a flash as soon as she recognized the symbol. She turned it to inspect the back and now was the right time for the earth to open beneath your ass and take you away.

"Where did you get that?" The tremors in her voice send a knife through your heart.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you made sure to choose your words better than with Hunter. "Nixon was a Wanderer."

"He-" She started with hope until she registered your sentence. "Was?"

There it was. The moment to own what you did finally arrived.

"What did you do?" She pressed as you kept silent, unable to say it out loud.

"It wasn't him anymore, Fleena. He hadn't grown up and kept walking in circles on his bleeding feet. He was tormented."

You freed him. You helped him. Now that her horrified hazel eyes bore into yours, Crosshair's words that were so helpful before held no sense.

"He was still my brother." She clutched the necklace to her chest, tears running down her cheeks.

"Nixon was gone."

"I don't expect you to understand. You don't know anything about having a sibling."

The silence following her retreating steps was even heavier than before. No. That wasn't true. The boys spoke in the background and in your ear, prompting you to remove the device to have some peace.

"You're right, I don't." You grumbled in your knees that were now up to your face to hide your features, your arms tightly wrapped around them to keep them close.

"That's the biggest bullshit that ever came out of your mouth." Kayden scoffed next to you. "What do you think I am then? Your friend?" He puffed like it was the stupidest joke he'd ever been told. "Fuck no. We've been family ever since your dad died so cut the crap or I'll hit you."

I should be punching you for saying such stupid stuff.

"For real. I'll hit you so hard you won't ignore me again." He shuffled around to better position himself, arm lifting-

"I've abandoned you." You spat more at you than at him.

"Siblings sucks but we love them anyway." He shrugged. "You're no exception."

Tears gathered in your eyes. Even after leaving him alone to fight for himself, Kayden still loved you as much as before and never once held a grudge against your actions. He was a true god-given gift and you'd treated him unfairly.

Pain exploded into your shoulder and you found yourself colliding with the ground.

"The fuck?" Four spots on your shoulder hurt so deeply that it didn't take long for you to realize that he'd hit you with his knuckles.

"My monthly quota was not yet achieved." He smirked, watching you massage the beaten skin.

"Don't you think I'm hurt enough already?"

"Stop whining, we have Biogel." He shook the metallic container before your face.

"That thing hurts like hell." You groaned, pushing his hand away to sit straight.

"When did you become such a baby?" You shot him the deadliest glare you had in reserve. "Hey. It's a very small price to pay for completely healed wounds in under 30 minutes."

"Completely healed?" Tech inquired, eying the matching container in his hands that Kayden pushed him.

"Yeah! One good layer and bye-bye! Works for sprained stuff too, just takes a little longer." Kayden answered as he helped you apply the cold sticky gel onto your arms. "Little tips: let someone else put it on you." He added as you hissed and groaned under the burning feeling that came with the product.

Your hands closed and opened repeatedly to keep from hitting Kayden in retaliation for the pain he was putting you through. The raging fire led to intense stinging that you could describe as white-hot needles poking your damaged skin.

"Please remember that you love me." Kayden said right before he dropped a huge blob of Biogel onto the hole in your leg. Had he not jumped away, your elbow would have connected with his chest at high speed. Instead, all that got injured were your nerves, your vocal cords and Hunter's head.

"I'll murder you if you do that again." You whimpered while clutching your upper thigh in hope of cutting every pain transmission from your leg to your brain.

"Good thing it was the last one!" He laughed from his side of the cell, Biogel discarded to the profit of the warm bowl of soup which he was already drinking like he'd been starved for a week.

Wrecker's gasp and groans filled the air. A quick glance his way showed Hunter applying a coat of the translucent substance on his burnt hands and neck as well as on the cuts on his arms. Then came Hunter's turn who covered some scratches from the Yappians and after some thought applied some of it on the side of his forehead. No sound escaped his throat, the only proof of the pain assaulting his nerves being the scrunching of his face, unlike Tech who yelped when Crosshair carelessly applied the gel on his wrist and arms. Then, like pain didn't affect him at all, he splattered some on his swollen ankle and it was done.

"I'm sure no one really wants to eat right now, but it'd be good to eat the food until Back-up comes back and we have to leave." Kayden reminded.

"What's that?" Crosshair asked, more worried about the soup than Wrecker was. The tank was already slurping the soup down, mindful of his sensible fingers.

"In basic I guess it translates as bone soup." Wrecker stopped abruptly, mouth still scotched to the bowl. He eyed you in distress, pondering if it was safe to swallow or not. "It's good, despite the name. Hunters usually eat that before a hunt to boost their systems, right Y/N?" Just for the sake of the game, you nodded. It was true anyway.

"And eh… what's in it?" Tech moved the container in small circles to try and identify what was floating in the light yellow liquid.

"Roots, meats, some veggies, guts and ground bones." You kept your poker face as Kayden enumerated the 'ingredients' and Wrecker lost all colors. "Where do you think the name comes from?"

Wrecker spat his enormous gulp and you laughed to the point of tears, soon joined by your best frie- brother.

"He's just fucking with y'all, Wreck. It's called bone soup because there's bone marrow in it to help with our joints. And there’s no guts. We're no savages." You did your best to control your laugh before digging into your soup eagerly. How Kayden always managed to get your mood up was a total mystery, but it always worked and you were grateful for it.

"Could've fooled me." Crosshair taunted.

"Ya can choke on it." You said at the same time Kayden did, getting a laugh out of it.

The delicious soup filled your stomach in less than 10 gulps and it wasn't until you put your bowl down that you realized how good it made you feel to fill that emptiness in you. The soup wasn't enough to make you sleepy after a nice meal and provided just enough nutrients for everyone to be able to face the fast-approaching escape without a problem. Mixed with the Biogel, you were back at the top of your games.

Arlan really made an error in taking care of the group.

"What now? What's your plan?" Hunter wondered, posing his container on the ground.

You met gaze with Kayden and he nodded confidently. "How well can you all swim in your armors?"

"In calm water, we are fine but slow. We can't go in strong water. The current will catch in the plastoid and will drag us down."

A hum resonated from within your throat and you pucker your lips. "You can't give them up. That scratch out the underground well and the waterfall." You taped your lips in thought. Watching Tech who still drank with only one hand, you knew that hiking wasn't an option as well. For now at least.

"Then it's the dark pit." Kayden pointed out.

It indeed was the last possible option. The other remaining one would be to use the front gates and it was the least possible one.

"Yeah. The other tunnels would take too long to get out and then we'd lose too much time walking back at the Old Man's cave." You recalled from your mental map of the jungle. "I'm fairly sure we have two hours until dawn. The Old Man's Cave is 15 minutes away from here if we run."

"Then we run." Hunter agreed.

"Now, to get out… Hey, big guy." Kayden called. "What's the name?"

"Wrecker." He answered proudly, almost puffing his chest out.

Kayden scoffed. "Obviously. Should'a figured." He turned to you. "Is it too late to change my name?"

The moron was too far for a shoulder slap, so you showed your exasperation with a roll of your eyes. "Stop screwing around and tell us your idea."

"Yeah yeah." The childish tone wasn't surprising on his part. He turned his attention back to the tall clone. "So, Wrecker, I bet you're experienced with big shafts so how good are you with pulse-hammers?" In a flash, you threw your empty container at his head with utmost precision that you knew Crosshair would be proud. The flying object was as unexpected for him as the inappropriate sentence was for you and hit him square on the forehead.

"I'll strangle you." You threatened.

"Kinky." He winked while nursing his forehead.

"With what?" Wrecker inquired, too focussed on the unknown term to pick up at the dirty joke.

"Her han-"

"Not that, morron." You cut him off. "The big hammer that exploded that tree back at the pit." You clarified for Wrecker.

"Oh! I've never used one before, but I'm sure it can't be that hard!" Excitement glimmered in his eyes at the perspective of using the powerful weapon.

"Oh believe me it's hard." Kayden smirked way too smugly for your taste.

"Okay. Time out. Planning is paused." You poked the palm of your hand with the fingertips of your other hand. "I call pervert veto card." You deadpanned.

"Oh hell no you can't!" Was there panic in his voice? Yes. Definitely.

"Oh heck yes I can! Once a year for 24 hours and I'm using it now." Thank the gods you'd not used it before.

"But-!"

"No but or butts. No sexual reference in any form, implied or not. 24 hours starting now." He glared at you from his spot two meters away. You could have laughed at his face that perfectly mirrored a kid who just got his Christmas gift stolen directly from its small weak hands.

"You're fucking me in the ass." He grumbled like an overgrown petulant child.

You lifted an eyebrow. "Try again. You can do it."

"Party pooper."

"There you go." As you turned to the rest of them, a laugh escaped your lips at the clones’ expressions.

Crosshair, despite his feelings blockade, was covering his mouth, Wrecker was laughing his ass off, Tech looked relieved behind his horrified eyes and Hunter chuckled. He appeared to be pleased and somewhat totally used to the situation, which grabbed your curiosity.

Later. You forced a cough to get everyone's attention. "Let's continue. To answer your question, Wrecker, handling a pulse-hammer is not hard. Only remember to not touch the head," You had to stop to point at Kayden in a threatening manner when you sensed a perverted comment about to escape his idiotic mouth despite the veto card being used. "And hit with the glowing side. If you hit with the other side, you'll damage the hammer and it'll be useless."

"I can do that!" Wrecker enthusiastically nodded.

"So we plan into exploding our way out of here? What do we do about Cross?" Tech pointed out what he thought was a flaw in your plan.

Right at this moment, Back-Up appeared before Kayden, its fluffy leaves puffing out in pride as Kayden removed the Master key from its belly pouch. What a marvelous creature they were. Being able to fit your own size in an extensible pouch that covered your body from your collarbone to your pelvis was truly amazing and more than practical.

"We'll split. Kayden will guide you guys to the emergency tunnel and I'll go get Cross. I'll meet you all as soon as I can."

You nearly hadn't finished that Hunter inevitably rejected your plan. "No. We stay together."

"We can't. You guys will be the decoy I need to sneak around and find him and having one of you with me will catch attention and slow me down." You cut Hunter as he still looked like he was about to be opposed. "I still have my comms and earbud. I'll contact you every 5 minutes." You offered in an attempt to compromise.

Silence stretched and you got up, already ready to depart. The tingling in your arms and leg had subsided some time ago and to your sweet surprise, applying weight on your leg didn't hurt as much as before.

Kayden unlocked the cells and a hand softly grabbed your forearm. "Fine. You comm every 5 minutes and you take this." He moved to Tech to rummage through his belt and hand you a pistol. "Use it if needed."

You took the pistol with a steady grip despite the uncertainty shaking your guts. It was the very first blaster you've ever had in your hand and it was heavier than you thought. "Don't worry. I will." You assured him, voice strong and unwavering.

But… could you really?

#bad batch x reader #hunter x reader #tech x reader #wrecker x reader #crosshair x reader #tcw #star wars #clone force 99 #sergeant hunter #clone trooper tech #clone trooper wrecker #clone trooper hunter #clone trooper crosshair #Good Night Good Luck

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wilhelmjfink · 3 years

Note

Felt downright bad that you were kind of disappointed for not getting a lot of feedback, because you definitely deserve to. Characters are solid (and great at swearing) and most of all you have an on point sense for rhythm of language, it's a really good read. That being said, I throw #32 and #44 in the ring and am sitting here giggling pleasantly in anticipation.

You’re amazing. You’re an angel and I love you. Thank you so much. Also I love to swear. I’d imagine if TWD wasn’t on television, Daryl would too. Also thank you for your patience!

This is long but I legit struggled with a scenario for this one lmaooooo so here’s a one shot

PS sorry I still haven’t figured out how to page break and “read more” on mobile fml

You were having horrible flashbacks to running the mile in high school gym class. Freshman year, you faked an injury and smugly allowed the school nurse to push you off the track in a wheelchair while you flipped your friends off and stick your tongue out, showing up on crutches the next day to write your essay on fitness instead. Sophomore year, you pretended to have a mental breakdown, screaming and crying when they herded you outside, babbling incoherently about your how mortified you were that you had to put on the stale, boxy uniform and make a fool of yourself in front of your peers. Junior year, they caught on, and the coach ran next to you the entire mile.

Only right now, it wasn’t Coach J running beside you with a snide expression looking down at you, it was Daryl who, admittedly, wasn’t much happier than Coach had been.

Your lungs burnt while you struggled to keep up with him, running on pure adrenaline now, straining to hear any sign of the strangers still keeping pace behind you over the incessant thumping of your heartbeat in your eardrums.

But you followed him, because that’s what you did, and what you would always do. Rounded every corner, jumped every log, crossed every creek without question because Daryl had never let you down before and you were sure he wouldn’t start today.

“C‘mon,” he ushered you beside him as you started to slow, not allowing you to stop for fear that you wouldn’t be able to start back up. “I dunno if they’re still followin’ us, but I don’t hear ‘em anymore.”

How long had you been running? Those men chased you guys for miles. They weren’t familiar — you were positive they didn’t have a vendetta, but who knew? Daryl would lay down and die before he ever let you get caught up with the wrong group; especially without him.

Risking a quick, nervous glance over your shoulder, you didn’t spot anymore company; an extremely welcome relief to your pounding heart and crippling anxiety that intertwined somewhere inside of you with the piercing adrenaline that created some combination of mental and physical exhaustion and a deep sense of dread.

Whether your knees finally gave out or you stepped awkwardly into a pothole, you suddenly fell forward onto the concrete with a grunt. The respite was heavenly; and you opted to bask in the stillness just for a second, hoping maybe Daryl wouldn’t push you to get back up just yet and let you try and catch your breath. And by the looks of him, you figured he could use the break as well; he was coated in sweat, head to toe, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead, his breathing heavy not unlike yours, and you briefly wondered if he was as miserable as you were.

You’d followed him to some sort of industrial plaza, with large warehouses looming over you in each direction, abandoned semi trucks strewn across the parking lots, billboards on the horizon and train tracks weaving behind it all. A tall chain link fence separated you from the main lot; a minor barrier that you prayed held up strong between you and the dozens of walkers meandering aimlessly on the other side.

But that realization was nothing compared to the fear that took back over when you heard it: whistling, hooting, hollering. Distant, but prevalent.

Desperately, you looked to Daryl for an answer: what do we do? Where do we go? You prayed your tired expression could still manage to convey all of these things to him, the years of silent companionship and wordless communication stronger than the debilitating exhaustion you were sure managed to disguise the other underlying emotions.

But he didn’t even have to double take at you — in fact, before you could think twice, he hoisted you back up back onto your feet from beneath your arms, and was dragging you behind him towards the gates.

“We gotta go through,” was all he said as you approached and got a good view of just how many walkers there really were on the opposite side. A straggler both noticed you and alerted you to a hole cut through the fence, which didn’t help the panic you were fighting off that tried to set in when Daryl’s words finally registered.

“What?” You still weren’t sure you heard him correctly. “Are you insane? We can’t go in there!”

But he hardly responded to you, lodging his Bowie knife until the side of the nearby walker’s skull with a sickening squelch. And yet, it still seemed so practiced, so technically mastered to you as he removed it and caught the body before it fell dead weight against the fence and rattled it, alerting all of its friends that luckily had yet to notice you.

Daryl immediately set to work, skilled and precise as he always was in anything he did, cutting down the center of the corpse as if performing an autopsy. You knew instantly what would follow, and you swallowed nervously, your stomach already churning at the thought and the sounds that followed certainly didn’t help.

And he stood up, a heaping pile of red rotten guts and intestines and coagulated blood in the palm of his hand. “Do ya trust me?”

You didn’t hesitate, the words tumbling from your mouth before your brain could consider any other answer: “Of course.”

Maybe it was the certainty in your voice, or how quickly and confidently you’d answered, but he seemed to pause for a fraction of a second, his normally bright, icy blue eyes fleetingly finding yours, now a dark and almost angry shade of slate. He nodded stiffly in response — you hated the thought that he might have been trying to convince himself at the same time.

“Alright.” He stepped forward, his free hand that wasn’t currently holding a softball-sized glob of decomposed flesh and old, rotted blood, grabbing one of your own hands that hung limply at your side, still stinging from the bits of gravel that pierced the skin of your palm. It was almost as if the second his touch met yours, none of that even mattered — why were you running? But then, in a swift motion that screamed at you that he was fighting the urge to hold back, the gross, wet sensation you’d been dreading was slathered against the front of your chest, instantly soaking through your t-shirt. “I ain’t gonna let anything happen to ya, alright? Nothin’. I promise ya that.”

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #norman reedus #twd imagine #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon drabble #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine

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teawaffles · 3 years

Text

It Happened One Night: Chapter 3

Two days later. This was the evening the wedding celebration would be held.

After seeing John off, Sherlock stayed in his room on the first floor, reading a newspaper he’d ordered.

Before he had left, John tried to invite Sherlock along, saying they may as well go together; but Sherlock excused himself by pointing out how it’d be troubling to leave Miss Hudson all alone in the house at night, and so he should stay behind. John couldn’t very well object after Sherlock brought her into this, so after a bit of grumbling, he reluctantly headed down to the village.

It was currently approaching midnight. The party would probably be ending right about now, and John should be on his way back.

Outside, the rain was falling in torrents. It had been sunny all day, but further into the night, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. There didn’t seem to be any strong winds, but occasionally, the raindrops lashed against the window. John would probably be covered in mud when he returned — a pitiful sight, Sherlock reflected to himself.

Resolving to treat him to something when they returned to London, Sherlock turned his attention back to the paper. As he remembered the motley and ever-changing nature of London, he bemoaned the ennui of these countryside days once again.

“More art thefts occur in London. From multiple eyewitness accounts, the Yard has surmised that the culprit fled to the west.”

An article suddenly caught his eye.

“Fled to the west”. The Cotswolds were also to the west of London.

“……No way.”

He shook his head, banishing the thought that had formed in his mind.

——However, it was times like these when the strangest premonitions came true.

As dawn approached, and the rain had begun to ease up, John returned in a panic.

“There’s trouble, Sherlock!”

As soon as he arrived at the mansion, John ran to Sherlock’s room and shook awake the man who’d fallen asleep in his chair. Sherlock rubbed his bleary eyes.

“What happened? Did you forget some of your tales?”

“That’s not it! A theft has occurred at the party! Look, there was a small shed near the inn, right? A painting was in there, and it got stolen!”

Right as John said that, Sherlock bolted upright and prepared to leave.

Those quick movements elicited a gasp of admiration from John.

“Did you have a feeling something would happen? I’d expected no less.”

“That’s not too far from the truth. Well then, let’s go. Tell me the details along the way.”

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

The rain had stopped when they left the house, and the dark clouds that blanketed the heavens had already drifted far away.

The sky was tinged with the glow of dawn, and the hills were but black shadows in the distance. Amidst the contrast of the two, the two men hurried towards the village.

Meanwhile, John summarised the events that had transpired.

The innkeeper — it seemed his name was Roy — had organised the wedding party for his daughter Patti and her fiancé Daldry. [1] Around twenty of his acquaintances had been invited, and perhaps he’d been forcibly invited like John, but for some reason, the artist Rheos was also there.

During the party, John recounted to the crowd some of the more difficult cases Sherlock had solved. It wasn’t a fantastic attempt, but it hadn’t been dreadful either; once he’d finished, his role for the night was complete. Everyone had been in a welcoming mood, and he enjoyed the food and conversation after that. Rheos had also been unexpectedly open with the guests.

“Isn’t that great? I was sure you’d tell some needless jokes that would fall flat.”

“I’m the storyteller you personally endorsed, after all. I managed to reach the end without spoiling the mood.”

Sherlock spoke as if it had been someone else’s problem, and John responded with a touch of sarcasm.

The incident occurred around one hour after that.

As night fell, the rain had turned into a downpour. Some guests had to leave regardless, but more than half of them chose to wait until the storm ended. In the heat of the excitement, some of them had gotten carried away and frolicked in the rain, and somehow Rheos had joined in as well. He’d seemed like a shy person: John distinctly remembered his surprise when he saw that happy-go-lucky side of Rheos.

Amidst all that, Patti’s fiancé Daldry had heard that the nearby shed housed some famous artists’ paintings. It seemed that this piqued his interest, and he headed to the shed alone. There, he discovered that one of the paintings had gone missing.

“……Well, it’s a bit rough, but that’s the gist of what happened.”

Sherlock hummed as he nodded.

“By the way, what were you doing before the incident occurred?”

“While everyone else was partying away, I was just sitting in the corner.”

“I see. And what did everyone do after that?”

Sherlock stared ahead as he spoke, and John also fixed his gaze on the road as he replied.

“For the time being, I’ve asked the guests to remain at the inn. The innkeeper’s contacting the police, and those who left early.”

“Good work. You acted fast; it’s a big help.”

“You’re welcome.”

Finally, the two men arrived at the village inn. Inside, the guests had been on edge as they awaited the detective and his assistant’s arrival.

“Mr Holmes!”

Suddenly, a scrawny young man — Rheos — dashed over to Sherlock.

“Please, you must find my painting quickly! You’re a famous detective, aren’t you?”

Perhaps it was because he was the victim of this case, but Rheos looked even paler than before: his pasty complexion was almost like that of a corpse. He was as timid as he’d looked, and it showed from his panic. In addition, for some reason, his clothes had been horribly stained with mud.

“Hey, please calm down. Worrying isn’t going to bring back your painting any faster.”

Rheos had worked himself into a panic, but in response, Sherlock took on an exceedingly calm attitude. His gaze then landed on the innkeeper at the back of the pub.

“Excuse me. How long until the police arrive?”

“They’re coming from the next village over, so it’ll take a while.”

“Got it. Well then, let’s do some simple interviews. Who was the the first to discover the crime?”

Sherlock promptly began his detective work. Perhaps he wanted to complete the investigation before the police trampled all over the crime scene.

A tall man raised his hand.

“It was me. I’m Daldry, Patti’s fiancé.”

“So you’re Daldry. How did you discover that the painting was missing?”

Sherlock posed his question upfront, and Daldry responded with clarity.

“Last night…… Or today, to be precise, I heard that there was an expensive painting in that shed, and it drew my interest. Art appreciation is a hobby of mine, and I think I was also a little too drunk at the time: I normally wouldn’t do such a thing, but I left the inn, and walked through the storm to the shed.”

Daldry looked around the room, as if to judge the reactions of the people around him, and then continued.

“The shed door wasn’t locked, which I thought it was a little unsafe. Then when I looked inside, I saw two easels. One held a painting that seemed to be unfinished, and I understood it to be Rheos’ work. But the easel in front of that one had nothing on it, which I thought was strange: if he was referencing another piece, then there should be a painting there. So I went back to the inn to look for Rheos, since he’s the one who borrowed the shed.”

Rheos cut in. “When I saw Mr Daldry enter the shed, I wondered what was going on, so I went after him.”

But Daldry seemed not to mind as he continued.

“I think I must’ve crossed paths with him on my way back to the inn. About a minute after I returned here, I heard a scream. We all went to the shed to find out what happened, and I saw Rheos fallen on the floor in front of the easel. That’s pretty much how I discovered the incident.”

Sherlock placed a hand under his chin as he summarised the events.

“So you’re saying that the painting was already stolen when you first entered the shed.”

“Yes; and by the way, since the party began, no one else but me went into the shed.”

Then Sherlock threw a question to Rheos.

“When did you last see the painting?”

Rheos calmed down a little.

“Um…… Right before the party began.”

“So, it was probably stolen in the middle of the party.”

Sherlock turned back to Daldry.

“John told me that there were others who went out into the rain, yes?”

“Yeah, since it was a celebration: everyone was excited beyond their years, myself included, and there were quite a few people going in and out of the building.”

Perhaps it’d been like how children get excited when a storm comes. At Daldry’s words, among the crowd, they could see people hiding their faces in embarrassment — Rheos included.

It seemed the young man was feeling awkward after remembering how he’d let himself go when he’d been tipsy. At that, John broke into a little smile, but Sherlock gazed at them with indifference.

“In that case, back then, who didn’t go outside?”

Around ten people raised their hands this time, including the innkeeper Roy.

“I was chatting with Patti and some friends,” Roy said, and a woman beside him spoke up as well.

“That’s right. I was talking with my friend Amy throughout. My father was also speaking with his friends in the vicinity. Then, we heard a loud commotion outside. Even though the atmosphere was so lively, and we were having a great time…… this just had to happen.”

“I see. So you’re Patti. I’ve got it, thank you.”

Sherlock seemed to have picked up something from her account. He looked out the window of the pub, towards the shed. Even from this distance, he could see that the bare earth had turned to mud from the rain, and the footprints of many people coming and going were clearly visible.

He turned back to Daldry.

“When you went to the shed, did you see anyone’s footprints on the ground?”

Daldry clasped his hands together, and made a troubled expression.

“About that…… I’m not really sure. It was pretty dim, and the ground was dark, so I didn’t get a good look.”

“Fair enough.”

Sherlock didn’t seem particularly disappointed, and fell silent.

An uncomfortable hush descended upon the room.

The theft could’ve been the work of an outsider. But equally, the criminal could also be hiding among the party guests. In fact, since the criminal had known there was a valuable painting in the shed, the latter was more likely. From Sherlock’s questions, at least, one could tell he was pursuing that line of thought.

It seemed the guests had caught on to that as well: they looked at one another, and no one said a word. Perhaps some of them were close friends who wanted to stick up for each other, yet no one stood up to proclaim their innocence — in all likelihood, nobody could dismiss the suspicion that the culprit was among them.

This party had been meant as a celebration of joy, yet everyone could sense the urgency permeating the room. Sherlock beckoned to his partner.

“John, let’s take a look at the crime scene. Everyone else, please wait here for now.”

He directed the guests in his usual tone of voice. Then, he and John headed to the shed.

The little hut stood alone, surrounded on all sides by bare earth. As they walked across the muddy ground, John spoke up.

“Sherlock, have you deduced anything so far?”

“Sorry to say but, I don’t have any leads yet.”

Sherlock groaned as he studied the feel of the mud beneath his feet.

“If just about everyone had stayed inside the building, then it would’ve been obvious when anyone ventured outside. But a good number of them were carousing in the rain, so it’s become harder to narrow down just who went to the shed.”

“True, and there were others who already went home — the list of potential suspects is pretty long. However, can’t we cross off those who stayed inside throughout, like Mr Roy and Miss Patti?”

“Certainly, if we can confirm that they didn’t just agree on the same story beforehand, then we can clear them of suspicion at this point. Still, they must have left the scene at least once or twice.”

“But if they went out into the rain, wouldn’t their clothes and shoes be dirty?”

“They could say that they went outside after the incident occurred to see what was going on, and got them dirty that way — it doesn’t prove anything.”

“I-I see…… In other words, just as you said, there’s a fair chance that any of them could’ve stolen the painting.”

“Exactly. But it’s pretty difficult to see the entrance to the shed from the pub, so I was hoping that someone had noticed a suspicious person somewhere……”

“Only Rheos said that he had seen Mr Daldry heading to the shed.”

“Did anything catch your eye back then?”

At Sherlock’s question, John scratched his head in anguish.

“Sorry. I was tired from all that storytelling, so I wasn’t paying attention to anyone else. To be honest, I can’t be sure that Mr Roy and the others had definitely stayed inside throughout.”

“Then, did you see Rheos join the crowd outside?”

“That, too — I did glance at the entrance of the inn at some point, and I saw him partying outside for a split second, but that’s it.”

“Alright, I got it. But you don’t have to worry about remembering all the details, y’know. It’s not like anyone could’ve predicted that something like this was going to happen.”

“Thanks.”

John gave him a small smile in return.

However, in the end, they had no proper eyewitness accounts. All they knew for certain was that they had made no progress in their inquiry thus far, and it was like this that the two men arrived in front of the shed.

Footnotes:

[1] Daldry is a rare surname (in the book it’s written as ダルドリー), but it is a real one!

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #forbidden games

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thewildomega · 3 years

Text

Alpha Whitebeard headcanons

A/N: Thank you for the request anon! This took me longer to do than I intended but manly because I was trying to figure out how to make this work. So The idea I have came up with is the reader(Omega) will have the Saizu Saizu No Mi (Size size fruit) same as the reader had in my Katakuri fic. Basically the reader has the ability to change size. Minimum is 6 inches, Maximum is 15 feet. Now that we have that settled let’s get started.

P.s. Probably going to be some little stories added in with the headcanons. Beware it’s probably going to be long because my love for this man is too strong to be contained.

Sfw

If normal alphas are known to be large, strong, leaders then Whitebeard is the fucking Apex Alpha by traits alone. However Edward isn’t necessarily aggressive unless you fuck with his family.

The man is highly protective over what he considers his. This includes his territory, his crew, his ship and most importantly his omega.When it comes to his mate he can at times be considers possesive.

The two of you have been together for years, since before he was known as Whitebeard, before he was a captain himself.

Pillaging the city Edward made quick work of gathering all the treasure and anything else he could find. Captain Rocks was causing his usual mayhem along with most of the other crew. Cutting down the few men that tried taking him on he was about to leave the high class home when he heard muffled crying.

“...elp...omeon...ease..”

Knitting his brows he looked to one of the other crew members as he passed by the kicked in door. “Here, take this back to the ship.” he told him, tossing him the bag of loot.

“Whatcha doin’ Newgate?”

“Heard somethin’.” was all he said before he started walking down the stairs to the basement. Ducking his head to fit he got down to the dark room and looked over to the far corner only for his breath to catch in his throat. It was a woman, a young woman. She was chained up and in a cage, a blindfold over her eyes and a gag tied around her mouth. Without another thought he was moving over to unlock the cage with the keys placed on a hook not too far away. The woman who he saw was dressed in nothing but a raggedy cream colored gown curled up as best she could at the sudden noise. Bruises and bloody cuts decorated her skin. Crouching down he reached into the cage and felt a low growl rumble in his chest when the strong scent filled his nose, she was an omega. Hooking his finger under the blindfold he lifted it up and off her head.

You were shaking at the noise, your cage being opened. The person, whoever it was hadn’t aid anything. When something warm touched your cheek you flinched and felt as the person removed your blindfold. When you saw the two yellow eyes looking at you you froze, it was a man, a large man.

Staring into her e/c eyes he blinked, his heart hammering in his chest. Coming back to his eyes dropped to the gag. Pulling out his knife he saw her scared eyes snap to the blade and her frail body tense. “It’s alright.” he told her. Moving the knife towards her he saw tear fall onto her dirty cheek, she thought he was going to kill her.

As the knife moved towards you you braced yourself for the pain, and closed your eyes but to your surprise there was no pain and you felt the gag in your mouth fall slack and then get pulled away. Wincing at the ache you closed your sore mouth, your lips cracked from dehydration.

Dropping the gag to the floor he looked again to the woman, he bet under all that grit and blood there was a right pretty woman. She looked to be maybe nineteen or so. No doubt she had been taken as a slave, omegas normally were taken young, as soon as they showed signs. “What’s your name darling?”

Staring at the no doubt alpha male you said nothing. Hearing him hum and then tilt his head you watched as he moved to unlock the seastone cuffs around your wrists and then ankles.

Moving to put up his knife he leaned up, “Well my name is Edwa...’ before he could finish she had lunged forward. Going to stop her she suddenly shrunk down to only a few inches tall making him sit there stund or a moment. Quickly snapping out of it he moved to grab her. “Hey.. now you just..”

Growing to your full size which had to be close to his own you threw your fist through the air and into his jaw. As soon as he was knocked backwards you shrunk back down to your normal size and ran for it, hearing him right behind you. You made it to only the top of the stairs before you were lifted into the air and thrown back into the wall hard.

Hearing the feminine yelp he hurried up the stairs and skidded to a stop when he saw Rocks standing there along with a few more, Kido and Linlin being two of them. Snapping his eyes to the omega laying on the floor by the wall he saw Rocks and the other looking to her in amusement.

“Now what do we have here?” Rocks asked in a laugh. “An omega? Well aren’t you a rare treasure.”

Breathing heavily he snapped his eyes between that of his captain and the omega who was now backing into the corner. Watching as Rocks made to go towards her he stood tall, “I want her.”

Stopping mid step Rocks looked towards Newgate and rose a brow, tilting his head with a sinister grin on his face. “What was that Newgate?”

Looking Rocks in the eyes he took a deep breath. “I want her. I’m the one who found her so by right she belongs to me. I will forfeit my share of the treasure in exchange for her.”

Narrowing his eyes Rocks looked to the large male, holding up his hand when Kido went to butt in. Newgate was a strong asset to his crew he knew this and he also knew how easy it would be to keep control over him with an omega to be able to threaten. Smiling he glanced to the omega and then back to Newgate. “This island and then the next two.”

Sighing he nodded firmly.

Chuckling Rocks tilted his head towards the female. “The bitch is your responsibility.”

Sfw headcanons continued

Edward had taken care of you from then after, no matter how hard you made it.

Like all alphas your health is very important to him, he doesn’t put up with you skipping meals or doing anything to put yourself in danger.

He claimed you quickly. Making you shift to your larger size with a deep command in his alpha voice he held you tightly and sunk his large, sharp teeth into your neck. It seemed to last forever but once he pulled away, holding your small limp body against his massive one. For the remainder of the night he had held you close, holding you in one of his hands while his large tongue lapped at the deep bite.

You call him Ed and he calls you Darling, lass, sweetheart, little one and omega. When he does call you by name you know he means business and there is a good chance you are in trouble.

If you call him alpha though and sit on his lap then you can pretty much get away with murder and he will give you whatever you want.

While still in Rocks crew he keeps you locked away in his room, he doesn’t trust any one else on that ship. He will however take you out when the ship docks.

Once the big man gets a ship of his own you are allowed to roam wherever you like.

The crew he gets are your sons just as much as they are his. Some like Marco call you ‘Ma’.

He has never been a controlling alpha. You are your own person and he allows you to dress, talk and do whatever you want so long as it doesn’t put you in danger. That being said you are not allowed off ship alone he knows all too well that an omega is always a target, even more so when she is the omega of a notorious pirate such as himself.

You sit on his lap or on his shoulder.

The man practically drowns you in his scent. There is no doubt that you are a taken omega.

Sleeping is a bit of this and that. Sometimes you sleep on his chest with his hand overtop of you (That is his favorite) Other times you sleep beside him, curled up into his side. No matter which way you sleep it always gives him a heart attack if he wakes up and you aren’t there. You have been known to shrink down when you have nightmares and he is always afraid he may have crushed you.

Some may look at the both of you and wonder how it works and if you were just some poor omega that he took. At first it was rough, you loathed him but he never treated you wrongly. Now you were proud to call him yours as he is you. You love him and he loves you.

Hope this was okay. I didn’t do NSFW because I thought this was long enough, but if anyone wants it just let me know. Thank you for reading!

#Whitebeard #whitebeard one piece #one piece whitebeard #whitebeard headcanons #whitebeard x reader #edward newgate #edward newgate x reader #shirohige

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ladywaifuuwrites · 3 years

Text

The Hotel

Pairings: Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem! Reader

Synopsis: Sanemi goes to your peculiar hotel which is for dead people.

Warnings/Tags: Hotel Del Luna! au | blood | verbal torture???

a/n: Major manga spoilers ahead! Picture not mine!

I have been aching to write this for months and finally here it is. I added some elements of the hotel on my own since it’s been so long since I last watched it, so forgive me if there are some differences. This is not drama accurate okay?

I don’t know why but I feel like using “(Y/n)” instead of “You’ here.

The hotel is operating as usual in the night, the main floor is busy accommodating the lost souls. The hotel changes its appearance during the night, growing into a taller building towering among others in the city. People would freak out if they saw a building pop out of nowhere, but normal people can’t see the hotel.

Dead people would.

They would naturally find themselves at the front of the hotel as if it were calling their name. It was indeed calling his name as Sanemi found himself standing in front of it.

The architecture was different compared to the other buildings in the city. It was majestic and quite ahead of its time, like it was separated from the rest of Japan. He was staring up at the hotel, mouth slightly open because it was his first time seeing something like it.

Then a cold breeze passed by him and when he looked beside him, his eyes were gonna pop out of its sockets.

“Hello Shinazugawa-san!” A bloodied demon slayer was beaming at him brightly. The smile on the demon slayer’s face dropped down as if he realized something. “Are you dead too?” The boy asked but Sanemi didn’t answer, so the boy sighed. “I hope Muzan will be defeated soon. I trust our comrades.” He mumbled under his breath.

Sanemi couldn’t speak a single word for he was confused. Dead? Was he dead? Then he remembered the previous events, he was thrown to a building by Muzan’s tendrils. He looked down to the ground and he was indeed dripping with blood but he can’t feel any pain. He faced the young demon slayer. “You go ahead.” He said hesitantly and the boy nodded happily, opening the wide doors of the hotel.

“What is this place?” Sanemi walked in and found himself agape in awe. To his right side, there was the front office with a huge key rack. A weird door stood in front of him, and a bright crystal thing was dangling above him. Everything was so new and beautiful that it filled Sanemi’s empty heart with joy.

He curiously trudged forward, having a staring battle with the weird door. He tried opening it but it was hard as steel. But he still pushed it with all his strength but no luck.

He sighed as he parted his hair in frustration. Wet trickling sounds came closer to him as he felt a colder breeze. Sanemi’s heart jumped at the sight beside him. A woman who was bloodied and drenched in water pushed the circle button and the doors opened.

The woman entered and Sanemi followed suit. “Thank you” He said quietly but he heard no response.

What the fuck is this place?

Sanemi could feel that he was moving upwards and he felt quite nauseous. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The moving finally stopped and he heard a “ting!” sound.

When he opened his eyes, he was not prepared to see all of these. It was an even bigger floor than the one earlier. A large shining crystal chandelier hung on the ceiling, big grand staircase at the middle, luxurious looking furnishes, illuminating bright lights and people everywhere. He stepped out of the elevator and circled, taking in the marvelous sight around him. It was like a breath of fresh air, everything was so foreign. So enchanting.

He finally stopped sighing in awe when two large guys approached him. They grabbed both of his arms and dragged him away.

“Stop it! You fuckers! Don’t touch me!” He struggled with all of his might but the two large men was far more strong, possessing impossible strength.

He was brought to a tall wooden door adorned with intricate golden details and expensive polished wood. One guy knocked, not letting go of Sanemi. They waited for a few seconds until a feminine voice spoke.

“Come in!”

They pushed the huge doors and Sanemi was welcomed into an equally large room. The room itself screams luxury. But the woman sitting prettily at the center sofa was even more luxurious and beautiful.

Sanemi never saw someone as beautiful as her.

“What is this?”

“A human at the lobby.” The woman’s eyes widened and her mouth formed an “o”. She blinked a few times and stood up. “Leave us” She ordered and the two large men exited.

(Y/n) furrowed her brows and took a closer look at Sanemi. “You’re not dead.” She said in an amused tone with a slight smirk. (Y/n) sat down and poured tea into two cups.

“Sit down” She ordered and Sanemi sat down opposite her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. There was an aura in her that was commanding and enticing. Her hair was tied up, stray hairs framing her beautiful face, she was wearing a long beautiful kimono which Sanemi was sure that was made of expensive silk, exposing her collarbones.

(Y/n) pushed the tea forward to him and gestured for him to drink it and Sanemi bowed before drinking, he seemed to have calmed down.

“(Y/n) (L/n)” She introduces herself.

“Sanemi Shinazugawa.” He introduces himself which brought a smile to the beautiful woman’s face.

Her eyes went to the blade attached to Sanemi’s hip and you let out a snicker. “There’s an awful lot of you coming here tonight huh?” (Y/n) said in a teasing tone but somehow there was an underlying hint of pity.

“A troop of demon slayers came in about an hour ago. It’s like I was watching a demon slayer parade.” (Y/n) lightly chuckled, sipped on her tea and continued. “They were confused about being dead, poor kids losing their lives so early.” She says while shaking her head.

“They were the ones who didn’t follow your master’s command. Stubbornness leads to death I suppose.” (Y/n)’s eyes creased as she she keeps on talking to the man in front of her. Sanemi’s eyes widened because how in the world did this woman know that information?

(Y/n) kept talking and Sanemi grew impatient by the second. Anger bubbled in Sanemi because this girl who was living in the lap of luxury was taking his comrade’s deaths so lightly.

“Listen here.” Sanemi says with a stern voice that made (Y/n) look at him in surprise.

“Those demon slayers fought with their lives to protect civilians like you. Those kids were brave until their last breath so don’t speak shit of them.” Sanemi spat which brought a smile to (Y/n)’s face.

She was about to say something but was interrupted by a knock on her door. (Y/n) said to come in and an old man with smiling eyes laid a folder on her table and left.

“That is the manager of the hotel. He’s the only human here.” (Y/n) said as she looked at the pages inside the folder.

“Hotel? Only human?” Sanemi asked in confusion but (Y/n) didn’t answer because she was focused on what she was reading. It took her for a few minutes to answer and put down the folder, shifting her focus to Sanemi.

She hummed in agreement, legs crossed and hands intertwined. “But apparently there are now two humans in the hotel. One of them is you.” (Y/n) points at Sanemi.

“Listen here.” She playfully mimicked Sanemi and leaned closer to him. “My hotel is called Hotel Del Luna. This is a hotel to accommodate souls before they go to heaven.”

She smacks her glossy lips and Sanemi can’t help but follow her movements which places a little smirk on (Y/n)’s lips.

“As for your case, I don’t know why the hell you are here when you are not even dead. You are just on the verge of death with all the injuries you’ve been sporting.” She points out his now healed injuries. His clothes were not bloodied anymore too.

“My room door has a magic beautifier and healer because no filthy being can enter here, but those injuries will come back when you wake up so don’t expect anything.” She continues. “You need to go out of the hotel because you don’t belong here. Besides if you stay here for long, you will really die.”

(Y/n) stands up and motions Sanemi to follow her. “Let’s go wind hashira.”

Sanemi’s heart jumps at her calling his title of wind hashira. The way it rolls of her lips is different from when others say it.

They are now outside the hotel and the outside turned into a tunnel. “This wasn’t the entrance before.” Sanemi thinks to himself, his train of thoughts is cut when (Y/n) calls out his name.

“Go through the tunnel and you will find your way back. Don’t look back or you’ll be stuck here forever as my slave.” (Y/n) says half-playfully and half-serious, but she was mostly serious.

Sanemi looks at the dark tunnel and back at the hotel owner. “How can I see you again?” Sanemi asks, he really wants to see her again even though it seems quite impossible.

(Y/n) laughs. “Die.”

She deadpans which erases Sanemi’s hopeful look. But she laughs again which made the air around them lighter. “I don’t want you to see me again.” (Y/n) said in all seriousness and Sanemi could feel his heart become heavy.

“Because I will be the one to see you, I will visit you.” She says while smiling at Sanemi, and the man’s hopes returned, making a soft smile appear on his face. (Y/n) pretends she didn’t want to melt at his smile.

“Oh, don’t worry about your brother. He’s in good hands.” Sanemi smiled when he heard this and tears filled his eyes but he didn’t dare let them to fall. A comforting silence fell upon them until Sanemi spoke.

“Sayonara.” The white haired male said to her and she nodded her head slowly.

“Sayonara.” She replied to his goodbye.

Sanemi turned around and headed towards the dark tunnel. But before he could be near to the entrance of the tunnel, (Y/n)’s hand tugged at his wrist. Sanemi could feel that her (e/c) eyes were sparkling with hope.

“Muzan is long overdue, I trust you and the demon slayer corps that this night will be a successful one. I trust that you guys will bring that demon to me.” (Y/n) says with a smile and Sanemi held both of her hands.

“We will.”

*Sigh*

“Don’t tell me this guy is gonna die again?!” (Y/n) stares at Sanemi’s collapsed figure. She crosses her arms while looking at the kakushis who are giving medical aid to the wind hashira. (Y/n) could feel her anxiety starting to grow by the minute because Sanemi won’t open his eyes.

A moment after she sighs again, Sanemi opens his eyes and (Y/n) let out a breath of relief. She heads over to where Sanemi is laid, hovering above his body. He can’t see her right now because she is on invisible mode. (Y/n) caresses his cheek and Sanemi let out a “Fuck...”

She chuckled and moved away from them. Then she glanced at the red haired boy with the hanafuda earrings, (Y/n) smiled and silently thanked everyone’s efforts before making her way back to where she belonged.

BONUS

“Finally, Muzan Kibutsuji! I’ve been waiting for you...” (Y/n) says with a sinister smile, her red polished nails gripping Muzan’s shoulder tight.

Muzan glares at her in annoyance, his dark locks falling in front of his face.

“You’re so pathetic that you expected to pass down your legacy don’t you?” (Y/n) pouts in front of Muzan’s face, wanting to see his limits. The demon attempts to move but he just winced in pain.

“Uh oh. Have you forgotten 400 years ago? I tried slaying you but I wasn’t successful, and you tried killing me but you can’t. We’re just going back and forth back then.” (Y/n) laughs thinking of the time where she attempted to slay Muzan.

(Y/n) sighed mockingly. “Sadly, I’m not the one who will punish you. It’s not my job, my job is to make good souls comfortable. And you’re not a good soul. Wait for the mago, vengeful spirit.” (Y/n) winks at Muzan provokingly who’s tied down with a heavy enchanted chain. She walks away and closes the door behind her, leaving the demon in the darkness.

Finally, everything was in place.

She can’t wait to visit Sanemi after this!

a/n: (Y/n) got that Tamayo energy. Tamayo mvp. 🥳

#kny #demon slayer #kny headcanons #demon slayer imagines #sanemi x reader #sanemi x you #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #shinazugawa sanemi #shinazugawa sanemi x reader #sanemi headcanons

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subbing-for-clones · 3 years

Text

The New Apprentice Part 8

Maul x Sith!reader

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Yall it has been a God damn week I'll tell you that. So sorry it has taken me so long to get this out. Fair warning, had to do some already known stuffs to move the story along the timeline and I just wasn't feeling it while writing, but it's important to the timeliness nonetheless.

WARNINGS: 18+ P in V sex, unprotected sex, Canon violence. Kinda angsty at the end? Idk.

PREVIOUS NEXT MASTERLIST

The following morning you awoke alone in your tent. The cool morning air aiding to shake the fog from your mind as you thought of the previous night. A smile twitched on your lips that was soon replaced with a heavy eye roll. One of your pant legs had been torn up the seam by the medic who worked on you. Shrugging, you ripped off the tattered fabric and did the same to the other to match. Sliding on your now short one piece you pulled on your boots, hung your sabers from your hips and left your little shelter.

You knew why Maul left; he didn't want anyone to think the two of you were involved until the situation was less vulnerable. You were thankful he waited until you were asleep before he absconded into the darkness. Maker, you had to stop thinking about it lest you rile yourself up again. It was time to go to work, continue to prove to your master that you deserved to be at his side. That he needed you there.

You were relieved that Savage followed behind you a few minutes later. At least you weren't the last one up. Pre and Maul strode through the camp with you and Savage following closely behind.

"We will need an army if we are to successfully take back Mandalore." Your master rumbled.

"The people will support us once we remind them who they are." Pre retorted.

"Perhaps... but the Black Suns will be able to provide us with resources beneath the attention of the Republic."

"They're a crime syndicate!"

"Yes, and a powerful one that will lead to our victory. We have but one chance to pull this off."

Boarding a Mandalorian starship with your Master and Savage was quiet. You had decided to keep your mouth shut and revel in Maul's ability to command and scheme. You stood at Savage's side with your hands clasped behind your back, back straight and chin high. Your weapons dangled dangerously at your hips. Every so often a Mandalorian would look at you curiously through their visor to which you responded the same every time. You gazed into their black where their unseen eyes lay behind, unblinking with a straight lip and an air of importance until they turned away. Savage quirked a lip slightly every time.

When you were alone he rumbled quietly.

"You make them uneasy. Much more than I do I think."

"I hardly doubt that my friend." Your voice soft and cold in the off chance someone could hear you.

"Possibly... they fear us."

"Good. Then they will stay in line under Lord Maul. A warrior should never show fear. They may be strong but they've shown a vital weakness we will exploit in time if necessary."

Maul was the only one within ear shot and he silently listened to your words. Although he didn't show it at the time externally, his chest swelled in pride.

After landing on Mustafar they were greeted with a battalion led by a tall Falleen male by the name of Vigo Ziton Maj. He chuckled when your master harshly requested an audience but he led Maul, Savage, Pre Vizsla and yourself inside the fortress anyway.

Five more men sat at a long black table upon your entrance. When demanded that they join you, you were met with exclamations of amusement and they attempted to call for your deaths.

Without hesitation you and Savage each tossed a spinning lightsaber in their direction. Effectively beheading each and every one of the leaders in single mirrored motions. After seeing first handedly that denial of an alliance would lead to death, Moj, the next in line to lead agreed to join your cause without hesitation.

The Pykes practically handed themselves over to you once news about the Black Suns had reached their ears. The offer of their alliance was a grateful surprise to you. Recognizing the slow shift in universal power only spurred your attraction to your master. Visions of you riding his throbbing cock permeated your mind and drifted to his.

On the ride to Nal Hutta these thoughts only grew in intensity as your sinful need grew. It had been days since he had last touched you and although you maintained an outward composure, your mind reeled. With only a few hours until your arrival, Maul strode past you, pausing momentarily to give you a knowing glance and ever so slight nod of his head. You waited a minute before following his force signature until a supply closet door hissed open. He grabbed you almost violently, pulling you within the small enclosure. He listened to be sure you weren't followed before he turned to you.

"My my what devious thoughts you project little one." He cooed as he pulled you into his embrace. With your back to his chest, he lowered his face into the crook of your neck, planting gentle wet kisses to your sensitive skin and lightly nipping at your ear. You took his hand and covered your mouth to stifle a whimper as he ground his hardening cock into your rear. You could feel the heat of your core as his velvety voice hummed in the ear he was toying with.

"Now, I'd much rather take my time with you but it seems you need some tension released. I'll need you clear headed on this venture. I believe the Hutt Clan will give us the most trouble in forming an alliance. Would you like my help my sweet little apprentice?"

You nodded fervently, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he slid your one piece down until it pooled on the floor. He bent you over infinitesimally, just enough to grant him entrance. He prodded his hot, firm erection against your folds letting out a silent groan feeling how wet you already were.

"God's I've hardly touched you and your soaking wet you naughty little girl."

Without warning he slipping inside you, biting one of his fingers to keep from crying out. He thrusted into at a brutal pace, sinking to his hilt with every rut. It didn't take long before you were fluttering around him and tears streamed down your cheeks.

"Maker, you're going to cum for me.. I can feel it... Let go my dear. Cum all over my cock."

The command he soothed had you unraveling faster than you thought possible. The excitement of the risk at being found out only encouraged your orgasm. Still shaking from the aftershocks, your master bit your shoulder as he throbbed and filled you.

You hastily cleaned yourself, getting ready to leave before you were caught but Maul grabbed your wrist and brought you back into an embrace. Gently pressing his forehead to yours and wrapping his arms around you.

"Soon you'll be at my side at all times my dear. Would you like that?" His glowing amber eyes meeting yours.

"Yes Master, of course."

You pressed your lips to his and trying to calm your flush you left the small enclosure with newfound resolve undoubtedly spurred by your bliss.

Maul had been correct as usual. The Hutts were in fact quite resistant. After hearing that they wouldn't be paid and that the deal was an alliance for their lives, five bounty hunters and the whole guard rushed the room. Desperate for some leverage you deflected the barrage of incoming blaster fire along with your master while leading them slowly out to the landing platform.

Finally, she's good for something you thought as Bo Katan fired rockets into the fortress, effectively killing most of the guard.

You gave chase back into the fortress and fought the remaining bounty hunters. Unwillingly admitting that they were giving you more trouble than you would've hoped. Darting away from a purple woman with orange hair you kicked a dog off of your master while the bounty hunters made their retreat. Maul was convinced that they wouldn't be a further threat so you let them escape with their lives and empty pockets.

You ended up having to travel to the gods awful desert planet of Tatooine for Jabba to finally agree to your terms.

Back on Zanbar you and Savage shared a meal while Maul oversaw the organization of the troops and mixed crime syndicates.

"You seem restless." Savage noted.

"Duuuh." You exasperated. "All this planning and waiting and organizing. Ugh, I wanna go fuck shit up. We've been so busy with the boring shit I haven't even had time to train. Aside from that bounty hunter scuffle."

"Worry not little one, you'll be terrorizing the Mandalorians planet side with everyone soon enough." You scoffed at his response to which he cocked his brow.

"No, I'm not. Master wants me in the shadows. Something about the people recognizing me later on being a problem with his grand scheme."

"He has a habit of only telling half of a truth. Trust comes slowly to him. You know this." You sighed, pushing away your plate and pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Yes, I'm well aware. More so than he would like I'm sure."

"He cares very deeply for you."

"And I him but all this sitting around will get me nowhere. I told you about what happened on Malachor... for the first time since I've joined you two it feels like my feet are taking me some where I'm not supposed to go... it's been weeks and the only thing I've learned in that time frame is how to take his cock in secret, away from prying eyes."

Savage nearly choked and also disregarded his food and sat looking at you with a pained look in his eyes.

"What will you do then?"

"Honestly? I haven't the faintest idea. All I know is that I'm supposed to 'extinguish the fear but always remember that 'the shadow cannot exist without the light' whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean."

"If you don't know what it means how do you know you're on the wrong path?" You paused at his question.

"Jedi and Sith both always say to trust in the force... I need to meditate on this."

Savage nodded as you stood from your seat walking back towards your tent. Your master was a strong force user and ever since that night you two had opened up your minds to one another, truly lay bare before the other, it was damn near impossible to keep him out. When you passed him and Vizsla you had known they couldn't hear your conversation but the way that his eyes followed you. A specific crease in his brow. You had no doubt it had anything to do with Vizsla's ramblings, you realized he probably felt your conflict.

Disappearing into your canvas enclosure you tried to push the thought of your lover, no, your master; down and away from the forefront of your mind. Gods above though, he was your lover. You loved him, so much. What if he was guiding you away from the place you needed to go? Everything felt right before you allied with the Death Watch. The weeks you spent training and traveling to Malachor felt right. But this, this felt like it was his path not yours. If your destinies didn’t cross would he abandon his to join you? Could you abandon yours to join him? You knelt in the center of your tent and straightened your back, closing your eyes. Allowing your mind to rest, allow the wild eradications to still and drift away. This was important. This was your destiny. You suddenly realized why, although you'd never admit it, the Jedi forbid attachments in their freakish cult.

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