#He races hard but clean and precise but people are so wrapped up in their bias and made up narratives that they are no longer objective | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mustyrosewater · 3 years

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• 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧 || 𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙞 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙙𝙖 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ↠ NSFW

warnings ↠ swearing, bratiness, nsfw activites, s e x, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids) niki being a bit rough

word count ↠ 8,045 (i know right?)

synopsis ↠ after being caught in a restricted area during a race by niki lauda, he intends to make your life a living hell

your body flops onto the couch of your fathers study, your father who despite clicking away on his typewriter, still manages to look up at you and scrunch his face up at the sight of what you'd chosen to wear. even if he didn't say anything, you could tell by the look on his face that your clothing of choice was the reason.

looking up at the ceiling of your fathers study, delicate patterns painted into the white surface, providing a rather beautiful picture for you to stare at as you waited for her father to finally finish whatever work he was doing; eager to get on to the activities your family had planned. with little to no warning last night, your mother had poked her head into your room to let you know that you were being dragged along with your father and mother to the races tomorrow, the formula three out in london to be precise. being given little to no choice as to whether or not you'd be accompanying them, you thought it only fair you ignite your own small personal resistance by making sure to wear an outfit you know your father and mother would detest to no end. a lovely minidress, with earthy tones and patterns, accompanied with a dark brown of leather knee high boots, all topped with one of her most favorite fur coats. with an outfit like this, you knew your parents would be embarrassed to no end. they'd long given up on trying to control your behavior, quickly realizing that their daughter's continuous spouts of acting out were something they'd rather ignore than put effort into; a mindset that seemed to encourage you, while your parents only ignored you more. you'd be lying if you said that races didn't bring you a sense of wicked anticipation; it wasn't the sport that excited you in of itself, but the people you would encounter. you knew you had little interest in watching cars speed around in a circle over 70 times, you did however, have a very keen interest in racers and the people they encountered. it had not taken much longer of annoying your father before he caved and picked up his coat, eliciting an excited grin from his daughters face as you jumped up from the couch and practically skipped out to the car where your mother was already waiting for you both, applying powder to her face. perhaps in another world, a world where your parents weren't socialites who cared for nothing but the way they appeared to others, you wouldn't have been swept under the rug as the disappointment. maybe you would have gotten the attention you so craved as a child. swept out of your own thoughts as the car's engine sprung to life, it was not long before you were driving out of the painfully long driveway of the estate and in the direction of the location of the formula three race track. - the moment you opened the car door and exited, you could hear the sound of conversations and laughter within the crowds, accompanied by the sound of drills and tools in the background, no doubt racers making any last minute adjustments to their cars before it was time to go out onto the track. it hadn't taken long for your mother and father to begin mingling with friends of theirs, all while you stood on the sidelines, occasionally smiling politely and shaking hands of people who insisted they'd met you before at one of your parents many dinner parties, yet there were too many for you yourself to keep up with, especially when you normally spent them hulled up in your room desperately trying to escape any and all interactions. it was drawing on and on, slowly driving you crazy, you hadn't even been able to go to your seat yet, purely because your father was constantly getting distracted by people he knew, that or business partners. surprisingly enough, it was easier than you thought to slip away from your parents radar, simply taking a skillful hard left turn as they continued walking further into the crowd of people for them to converse with. a fate you were more than happy to avoid. looking around, you adjusted the brown tinted sunglasses hanging on your nose bridge, pushing them slightly further down so that you could scope out the area you'd managed to find yourself in. to be fair, you hadn't exactly known where you were going when you took that sudden left turn, only that you wanted to disappear from your parents view, a goal you had succeeded in, only to be set with another. find out where exactly you'd ended up. continuing further, you very quickly realized you'd turned directly into the racers area, hearing the sound of drills and tools in the distance, as well as the occasional chatter as men walked past you, offering no investigation as to who you were and why you were in this area. this didn't exactly surprise you, seeing as it was nowhere near abnormal for racers to gain a plethora of groupies. walking around all of the trailers, you couldn't help but peer your head around to stare at the cars within, your curiosity getting the better of you. it didn't take much longer before your snooping led you to a particularly interesting sight, a beautiful red formula vee, an expensive one at that. whoever it was who owned this machine most certainly did not spare any expense when it came to upgrades. reaching your hand forward, you hesitated, taking a moment to look left and right, ensuring that there was nobody around before you threw all caution to the wind, biting back a borderline shit eating grin before leaning forward to run your fingertips on the cars smooth surface. though expensive, you had to admire it, it was indeed a beautiful car, very well looked after. every gear was polished to perfection, it was clean as a whistle and every part of it was up to date; whoever owned this car wasn't just well off, they knew about what made a good working car. you were prepared to have the question of the cars owner remain one that was unanswered, you should have gone back sooner, even if your parents most certainly weren't missing you, the race was bound to start soon. "would you mind telling me what you're doing?" you never truly understood the phrase 'scared half to death' until now, feeling your heart jump to life, beating rapidly as you spun around to see the culprit to your near heart attack. quickly trying to gain your composure, you reached a hand to pull some of the hair that fell forward out of your face, steadying yourself and raising your eyebrows in some poor attempt to appear cool and collected despite the fact that the smirk this stranger wore most certainly met that he knew he had scared you and found it amusing. already drawn in by the appeal of the challenge her was proposing, you tilted your head and only mirrored his smirk; letting your head turn back down to the car, only just now noticing the name written on the middle in white writing. "niki lauda i'm guessing?" his response was only to raise his eyebrows, tilting his head and raising his arms out to gesture to himself in a way before crossing them promptly, only returning to the vaguely unimpressed look he was first wearing. you couldn't stand that look, it reminded you far too much of your father. "i can't imagine how you could have guessed." sarcasm dripped from his voice, along with an accent you couldn't quite pinpoint, you knew it was german, but you were unable to guess exactly where in germany. you wanted to pretend you were surprised that the person with one of the most well looked after cars was in fact german, yet you just couldn't. the fact that you'd been near his car without his permission or knowledge was definitely the main reason he seemed annoyed by your presence, however, it probably didn't help that you only let out a small chuckle and shrugged your shoulders, only seeming to antagonize him more. letting out a sigh, you took a moment to push your sunglasses back in front of your eyes, looking out back in the direction you came from before back at lauda, smirking and turning around without another word, making sure you made a show of flipping your hair back around. "where do you think you're going?" his tone didn't so much give off the vibes of authority, it was more of an actual question, as if he were in disbelief that after being caught red handed touching his car, you would just walk off. not bothering to turn around, your grin remained unseen by lauda as you held your hand up in a wave. "i'm going to watch the race." you said it as if it were a fact he was too ignorant to be aware of, stating it as if it were the obvious all in an attempt to annoy him more. "good luck out there!" you called, disappearing back around the corner before he could even have time to make up some smart comment. your quest to annoy lauda had very much succeeded, probably more so than expected as he shook his head watching you leave. and yet, the one other thing you'd done without even meaning to, was peak lauda's curiousity. - it wasn't difficult to find your parents again, they had finally made their way to their seats, and despite the amount of time you'd spent away, they didn't even seem to acknowledge you as you sat down beside them, eager to watch the race, which was only now beginning to get underway. you hadn't meant to, yet you found yourself looking out for that same red formula vee that you knew was lauda's. some weird interest you'd found in the man, especially the way he'd reacted to the way in you more than purposefully had been annoying him previously. it hadn't been much longer before the race had officially started; with a wave of the checkered flag, the cars were immediately off, speeding around with sharp sounds invading your ears each time they passed you and your family. by the time the fifth lap had gone by, you were well and truly bored. reaching into your pocket, you pulled out your saving grace, your packet of marlborough cigarettes; opening said packet and pulling one out to place it between your lips, reaching into your pocket to search for the lighter you were almost certain you'd placed in your pocket earlier. to your surprise, it was strangely absent from your pocket, only producing an annoyed sigh as you rolled your eyes. without a word, you reached for your fathers pocket, who either didn't notice you pulling out his lighter, or simply refused to acknowledge you; either way, you didn't complain as you finally lit up your cigarette, sucking in the ashy taste and holding it within your mouth as you pulled the cylinder away from your lips, blowing the smoke out in a small cloud in front of you which soon drifted off. - despite a major incident involving spinning cars and a few very close calls, you'd managed to sit through the rest of the race without any other distractions. you hoped that your wish of good luck to lauda was not the cause for him spinning out of control and ultimately losing to james hunt, yet you could never be too sure; though you hated to admit that the thought brought a chuckle out of you. even though you'd had fun teasing lauda, you were more than grateful that the race was finally over and that people were beginning to leave, meaning that hopefully soon, you would be as well. once again you found yourself standing behind your parents, taking little care to be subtle with your boredom, openly sighing and tapping your boot against the gravel in the hopes that this would speed them up; though this proved to be futile and frankly, you should have known better seeing as they had become impressively adept at ignoring your presence. the noise of their conversation seemed to slowly fade into nothing but muffled sounds in the background as you crossed your arms and looked around, taking the moment to begin people watching, even noticing as james hunt celebrated his win, briefly passing by just as him and his group popped open a bottle of champagne. as much as you saw the lifestyle racers seem to lead as a novelty, the accident that occurred today only reminded how dangerous of a sport it really was, men choosing to put their lives on the line for the sake of peoples entertainment? it was hard not to admire them, there was no arguing that they were good at what they did. you definitely didn't regret not seeing said accident produce any gruesome results; you'd only ever heard what had happened to racers in the past, men that were considered lucky to make it out with crippling injuries, because surely that was better than losing your own life right? that was a point that could be argued profusely; was the loss of quality of life really better the loss of a life all together? while you would have been happy to continue this solo conversation of ethics and virtues of life in your own head, you were ripped out of your own thoughts by the sound of your father once again noticing somebody he knew, yet this time, you could very proudly say it was somebody you yourself also knew, albeit you'd only known him for around three hours. "niki lauda! look at you! still going strong after a spin!"

your first instinct was to immediately turn your head sideways, hoping that he wouldn’t notice it was you, a feeble attempt to be honest, now you were suddenly finding reason to regret wearing such an eye catching outfit.

you could only just see out of the corner of your eye as lauda greeted your father fondly with a handshake, so far not looking over to you much to your relief.

continuing to watch as he also greeted your mother, any and all hopes of getting away from this without greeting lauda was squashed the moment your father gripped your upper arm, yanking you forward to come face to face with lauda.

“have you met my daughter, lauda?”

finally looking back ahead slowly, your eyes, covered by sunglasses thankfully, made facing lauda only slightly less intimidating.

in a moment of silence, the look on lauda’s face gave away the fact that he re’d recognized you instantly, the slight smirk on his face only you were able to catch as he looked at you as if to say “caught you.”

and yet, you had no idea why he suddenly looked back to your father, shaking his head and smiling.

“i can’t say i have.”

looking back at you, he leaned forward to grip your hand firmly, shaking it and stepping back as if you were poisonous to the touch. to be fair, you didn’t exactly blame him.

it seemed you weren’t the only one itching to end the interaction between the two of you, you father quickly grabbing lauda’s attention once more with a satisified hum, beginning to walk alongside lauda.

“you should come to my estate tonight for a drink, celebrate your close call eh?”

even you had to cringe at your fathers poor excuse to invite lauda over, you doubted he was feelign particularly good after that loss, yet any excuse for your father to mingle with those that could held him climb the social ladder.

once again trying your best to tune out the conversation as you walked behind them, your hearing still managed to pick up the result of your father pestering lauda despite his first three kind refusals.

with a sigh, seeming to actually put an effort into hiding his distaste with your fathers attitude, lauda offered a thin lipped smile.

“i suppose there’s no refusing this, is there.”

with an outright lack of awareness to lauda’s tone and even the way he was already treating this invitation like a chore, your father grinned and patted lauda on the back firmly with a laugh.

“no there is not my boy.”

as desperate as lauda seemed to get away from the conversation, he still took a moment to turn around, offering you and your mother an awkward smile, only to turn his attention briefly towards you and only you.

the look on his face couldn’t be described as anything but smug as he offered you a polite nod before walking off in the other direction without another word, leaving you standing there in an almost stunned state.

only to be taken out of said state as your father ordered you to get back in the car so that you could head back and be certain that the estate and ensure that i was prepared for lauda’s arrival.

as much as you’d protested against your father and begged your mother to let you just stay in your room for the rest of the night, you ultimately failed.

not even trying to hide the sour look on your face as you stood beside your mother at the entrance of your large home, you watched as the gate was opened for lauda’s car, which came running into the driveway slightly faster than you thought was reasonable.

you would have been content for the incident with the car to be and you and niki lauda’s interactions, if you had known you would be forced to sit in his company with your parents, you most definitely would not have been so snarky about touching his car. especially not walking off without a word.

no doubt firm on keeping their image at least slightly reasonable, your previous outfit had quickly been abandoned, instead being forced to change into a simple mini dress with black stockings and shoes. a painfully simple outfit. and an uncomfortable one at that.

this was made clear by the way that you were constantly shifting in the dress, attempting to roll your shoulders and cringing when the fabric allowed little to no movement. this was only responded to by your mother scolding you under her breath as lauda exited his car.

no longer in his baby blue racing suit you’d seen him in up to this point, he had abandoned it for a smart looking button up shirt and blazer, paired with jeans and dress shoes.

it was admittedly an odd sight, not just for lauda, but in general it was an odd sight seeing racers in normal clothes compared to the suits they so often wore.

watching as your father greeted lauda enthusiastically, then your mother, you could hardly hide the fake nature of your smile as you once again extended your hand to lauda without a word.

in some odd way, lauda seemed to be amused with your nature towards him. after all, he knew full well that he’d well and truly caught you out. now it was the two of you playing a waiting game to see who was going to break first.

the drink that your father mentioned passed by smoothly enough, all four of you in your fathers study as lauda and your father sipped at scotch and spoke about a multitude of boring topics that you couldn’t bother to engage yourself apart from the occasional hum of acknowledgment when your father briefly included your opinion into the conversation.

choosing instead to actively depart yourself from their presence, you pretended to be enthralled in a book as you sat across from lauda, a large coffee table separating the couches you sat on.

every now and then, your curiosity would gain the upper hand as you found your eyes flashing upwards to try and catch a not so sneaky glance at lauda.

every single time without failure, lauda’s eyes were on you, staring you down as if you were a deer in headlights.

his stare was similar to the feeling you got when sitting in front of a fire for a little bit too long, uncomfortable and making you feel far too warm. it was as piercing as the rest of his personality was.

you had thought yourself to be a tough person, you’d gotten in scuffles with other kids as a child in school, and you’d been the type to graze your knees and get up as if it were nothing; but niki’s stare glaring upon you constantly eventually proved to be too much for even you to handle.

finally unable to take it any longer, you stood up without a word, seemingly alerting niki as you could see his eyes widen slightly before maintaining his poker face.

your parents were also visibly surprised as your mother jumped softly, placing a hand daintily over her heart as your father turned away from niki to look at you, a brief warning expression lacing his features, as if to say

“don’t you dare ruin this for us.”

you seemed to almost relieve him with your next question, not being able to bring yourself to look over at niki as you held your arms firmly to your sides.

“may i be please be excused, i’m tired.”

the warning previously on your father shifted into an odd look of surprise as his brows furrowed; you had no doubt this was due to the fact that not only did you ask something politely, but that your tone had no inch of sarcasm whatsoever.

the shock seemed to take his voice away as he only nodded, watching as you turned and began to walk out of the study.

“don’t be rude, aren’t you going to say goodnight to our guest?”

you wouldn’t be surprised if the way you tensed up at the sound of your fathers words was visible to all in the room; this was confirmed even more so when you turned slowly and saw niki’s expression as he still sat on the couch smirking once more.

only nodding your head, you took a few steps and held out your hand awkwardly for him to shake.

“goodnight, mr lauda.”

the stiffness of your voice only made the interaction more awkward as you stood there waiting for him to shake your hand.

you were unable to see your parents in the corner of your eye, but you held little doubt that they were cringing as if at any moment your real personality was going to jump out and ruin any chances they had of getting into lauda’s good books and they would have lost an influential friend.

rather, they, your mother especially were shocked, yourself included when rather than simply shake your hand, niki gripped it softly, bringing it towards his lips to kiss the back of your hand softly, his eyes never leaving your own.

you were unsure if this was his odd version of rubbing it in, or he simply wanted to embarrass you in front of your parents as he pulled his lips away, running his thumb along your knuckles slowly as he smirked up at you.

though anybody not aware of your current little game (if you could even call it that) would perceive it as a friendly smile of niki’s part.

“please, call me niki.”

you could strangle him right in that moment, god you wanted to, wipe that stupid little smirk off of his face if your parents were not watching your every move.

as soon as you felt his grip loosen, you were unable to stop yourself from ripping your hand from his own. god his hands were warm.

“goodnight.. niki..”

you hadn’t meant for your voice to shake, but it still did, and it annoyed you to end as his smirk only widened at this. you'd be lying if you said that the moment you turned you hadn't looked like you were practically running away. even as if walked down the hall and up the stairs towards your bedroom, you could hear your father apologizing profusely for your rudeness, only to hear niki brushing it off politely. - that had happened a week ago, and as much as you wished you could say that was the last you'd seen of niki lauda for a long while; that was hardly the case. in fact, it was the polar opposite. you couldn't tell whether or not he was doing it to annoy you or because he actually enjoyed the company of your father, but if you weren't aware enough of your fathers skill when it came to hosting guests, you would have actually been dumb enough to say that it was indeed the latter. it was in fact painfully obvious to you that lauda's continued appearances within your household as a guest of your father were done with nothing other than the intention to spite you. though what was finally the cherry on top, what was starting to make you wonder if he actually did find genuine enjoyment in spending time with your parents or if he just really, really enjoyed making you suffer. he had invited your parents to a party to celebrate one his most recent wins which they had also dragged you along to come and watch. and of course, he made sure to extend the invitation to you. "should she wish to come along." he'd said, as if he didn't know that your parents were going to drag you along anyway. it was for that reason now you were sitting in front of your vanity, trying not to cringe as your mother pulled and teased your hair, styling it into a small beehive, seemingly at the request of your father, no doubt wanting all of you to look your very best, considering this was yet another chance to mingle and make new, rich friends. sat in a mini dress with long bell sleeves, its paisley patterns reminding you of so many other items in your wardrobe; all finely paired with a pair of brown platfrom knee high boots and a fur coat. it was fucking uncomfortable. your feet were already hurting, and the length made you second guess how much of your ass could be seen every second and this hairstyle was going to be a bitch to take out later. as much as you would have been more than happy to outwardly complain, you were simply too sick of it to even try. sick sick of your parents, sick of it all. maybe tonight you could even do the mature thing and finally apologize to lauda; yet, you couldn't tell whether or not it was actually going to bring an end to lauda's games with you, he seemed to be enjoying it too much. - after a vaguely long car ride, you finally arrived at what you quickly realized was lauda's house, you could already see people on the balcony chatting away and you could hear music playing from inside. exiting the car and shutting the door behind you, you quickly trotted to catch up with your parents who were already walking over the door by the time you'd gotten out; in the back of your mind, you gave a silent prayer that you'd be able to sneak away at some point and find your own space, hopefully even get a chance to have a smoke if you found a quiet enough corner. opening the door and heading inside, your parents were instantly enthralled with the music and sheer amount of people in lauda's house, all nursing champagne and chatting away; already you could tell they couldn't wait to join. keeping your eyes peeled for lauda, it didn't take long for your parents to lose you in the crowd; you would have laughed if it didn't happen so often, and you couldn't exactly say you minded anyway. it only took another minute or so of moving through people to find the balcony you had seen upon exiting the car. making a beeline for it, you stepped out and enjoyed the slightly fresher air, breathing a sigh of relief as you were no longer squished in between groups of people to such an intense degree. reaching for your packet of cigarettes and taking one out to place in between your lips, you had only just begun to reach for your new lighter when you had to cut your relief short. "that's quite a sour face to wear at a party, no?" you didn't even hide the disappointment on your face as you turned to face lauda, rolling your eyes. you were well past hiding your distaste for him. now you'd had more than enough time to realize it was very much your own fault, you'd given him a reason to annoy you when you'd not only leaned on his car and then given him an attitude, but had you known that wasn't the only time you'd see him, you would have at least been nicer about it. noticing your expression, he placed a hand over his heart mockingly and let out a hurt sound. "if looks could kill." his smirk was ever present, digging into your nerves like nails against a chalkboard as you placed your hands in your pockets, not saying anything as you kept your cigarette placed between your lips, hoping that just maybe, you'd have a break from him, obviously a stupid hope. only raising his hand, you quickly noticed the lighter in his hand, ignited and placed at the end of your cigarette. out of reflex, you inhaled, reaching up to place the paper cylinder between your fingers and pulling it away from your lips, blowing the smoke out of the side of your mouth. it wasn't until you took a slightly closer look at the lighter that you realised. your lighter. he had your lighter, the one you'd lost the first time you met. you wanted to mentally slap a hand on your forehead then and there, of course you'd left it, only for him to find. holding out your hand expectantly, he pulled it away before you could grasp your lighter, going so far as to mock you as if you were a child with a small "ah ah ah" painfully reminded of your time in school as a small child, you huffed and rolled your eyes, reaching for it once more only for it to be pulled from your gasp once more. "come now, you know the magic word, yes? you learn this in school, little girl?" his mocking toned was worsened as he leaned down slightly to talk to your at your level, only resulting in you placing a hand on your hip an glaring up at him. this look only worsened his stupid grin as he raised his eyes brows, waiting for you to say said magic word. putting on your best sarcastic smile, you made your voice as annoying as you could possibly muster, shaking your head as you spoke. "please?" you extended it slightly, as if you were a child asking for their toy back. and as laced with sarcasm as it was, he still responded with a loud "wunderbar!" raising his arms up slightly as if he were celebrating. finally handing you your lighter, you snatched at it, placing it back in your pocket and reaching up to take another inhale of your cigarette as you glared up at him. shaking his head, lauda's gaze paired with that signature smirk stared down at you as he looked at you almost in an odd sort of admiration. "you're a real brat, you know this?" you most definitely couldn't lie, that was not the first time you'd been given that title; countless times actually, school teachers, your parents, relatives, even ex partners. it was now your turn to wear a smirk as you raised your eyebrows, raising your hands up in defense. "i can't lie." you spoke, tilting your head and shrugging your shoulders. your response, for the first time, seemed to catch lauda off guard, possibly expecting you to have defended yourself rather than embrace the title. "maybe i like being a brat, lauda." you narrowed your eyes, proud of yourself for finally seeming to put a chip in this mans ego. his eyes only narrowed in return, his face taking on a new expression that couldn't quite be place as you took another drag of your cigarette, really nailing in your point hard as you blew the smoke right in his face with no hesitation and a smirk as you placed your thumb between your teeth, grinning. "how many times have i told you to call me niki?" his tone was darker this time, more authority slipping against his words. you wanted to blame being caught up in the moment or finally being able to break this mans cocky exterior, but something about the tone of his voice and the way he spoke to you, it produced butterflies within your stomach that you tried with all of your might to ignore. tilting your head, you took a step forward to ensure he would hear you over the music as you lowered your voice, leaning in slightly. "or what?" even if somebody were unable to hear your expression, they'd be able to hear the smile in your voice. shifting your weight from foot to foot, you kept eye contact with niki as you leaned back, his eyes not leaving yours for one moment, narrowed at you, making you think for a solid moment of two that he was genuinely angry at you. without any sort of warning or sign, lauda's hand lurched forward, gripping your wrist, not so tightly that it hurt, but most certainly enough to get your attention as he pulled you towards him, so close that your chests were touching as he looked down at you. "watch that tone with me." his growling voice was most certainly affecting you as he seemed to recognize that the both of you were getting very invested in whatever the fuck dynamic you had created. as invested as he was, in an odd way, you could still see in his eyes he was watching for any signs of making you uncomfortable, almost as if he was telling you he'd stop the moment you were uncomfortable. "and if i dont? are you going to bend me over your knee?" you leaned in slightly as you teased him, so much so that you bet he could smell the smoke on your breath as neither of you broke eye contact. whether it was the image of you bent over his knee or the fact that you had only continued to tease him you didn't know; what you did know however, was that that was the last straw for him as he kept his grip on your wrist. wasting no time leading you back inside, barely giving you time to flick your cigarette off of his balcony before you were weaving through crowds of people, almost tripping over your own platform boots as you were led wherever he was planning on taking you. obviously knowing his own house like the back of his hand, it didn't take long for the two of you to arrive where you were heading. his bedroom. quickly opening the door and shoving you in lightly, he shut it behind him, not even hiding the slam as he turned to face you, his eyes still dark as you stood there, still smirking and biting your lip. "wasn't sure whether or not i'd be able to get a rise out of you, glad i know no-" your words were cut up by him quickly walking towards you and gripping your chin with his large hand, squeezing your cheeks together slightly as he other hand gripped your wrist once more. "you've been nothing but a little brat since the moment i met you, it seems to me you must like pissing me off. is that it? you like knowing how much you make my cock hard when you prance around in those little skirts and give me backchat?" his tone alone was already enough to only widen your grin, but the things he was saying were adding to the butterflies in your stomach. determined not to give up your attitude just yet, you let go of any and all control you'd been holding onto, reaching forward to clamp your hand onto his thigh, dangerously close to where you could already see an outline forming. his only response to your touch was a sharp intake as his eyes closed momentarily, only to snap back open as he shoved you backwards, briefly scaring you before you fell back onto his bed. looking up at him as he stood above you, his legs touching your knees, you could see how his chest rose and fell with every deep breath he took. his eyes raked over your body, observing every part of where your dress rode up, and then back up to meet your gaze, only to begin undoing the statement buckle on his belt, once again watching you for any signs of being uncomfortable as he continued. only widening your smirk, he seemed to get the message as he completely discarded the belt on his rug floor. as he began to fiddle with the button and zipper on his jeans, he leaned forward to land on his knees on the bed, above you and staring you down. "as much i'd love to play with you until your crying and screaming my name, i need to bury myself in that pretty little pussy of yours." his voice was breathy as he leaned forward, using his knee to push your legs apart, your mini skirt already riding up enough for him to get a full view of your underwear. you couldn't find it in yourself to say anything else, already convincing yourself that this was all some sick dream of yours and now you were going to wake up no longer able to look niki in the eye. his lower half disappeared from your view as he finally put weight on top of you, through you could still hear the fabric of his jeans shifting as he settled in between your legs. even through the fabric separating the two of you, you both shivered when you felt your hips make contact, letting out shaky breaths as you looked up at him and he looked down at you. as much as you expected him to take things at least slightly slow, he did the opposite, wasting no time as he moved your own fabric to the side, only sliding his tip along your entrance softly in order to brace yourself and give you another chance to stop him if you had changed your mind. only placing a hand on his cheek and nodding quickly, did he respond with a similar nod before entering you quickly and with little no mercy. you were unable to stop yourself from leaning for head back and crying out loudly, only for niki's hand to clasp over your mouth as he looked down at you. "i know the music is loud, but i need you to, oh sheibe-" he cut himself off by inhaling sharply, groaning softly and shutting his eyes as he began to move inside you, his hips rotating ever so slightly as they moved back and fourth, only resulting in you moaning into his hand. "i know the music is loud, but i need you to be quiet for me, can you do that?" his voice was so low it was almost coming out as a growl as he continued to thrust into you as he spoke, trying not to keep groaning in between his words as he shut his eyes tightly and cursed in german once more. you couldn't like, he was a stretch for you, there was pain at first but it had quickly begun shifting into pleasure as he continued and you became more used to the way he felt inside you. you knew there was an element of time involved lest he be missed at his own party, god forbid one of the guests go looking for him especially seeing as you were almost certain that door hadn't been locked. continued to thrust, his hands found there way on your back as he rose to his knees, taking you with him and sitting you on his lap, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck for support as he effectively began to bounce you on his cock. the only thing you were able to do to stop your whimpers and moans from being heard was to bury your head in his neck, his head turning slightly to the side to bury itself in your hair. beginning to help him out slightly by bouncing yourself on his lap, you felt your hips beginning to cramp and ache but brought yourself to ignore the pain as it was currently outweighed by the sheer amount of pleasure you felt as he fucked you. growling into your hair, you felt his head move back so that he could begin leaving love bites on the parts of your neck that weren't covered by your dress; you couldn't even pay attention to the fact that you would have to walk back out into that party with love bites for all to see, your parents especially. part of you just hoped there would be no way to link them back to niki. picking up speed, you began to bounce faster on niki's lap as he too began to go faster, feeling the muscles within your stomach starting to tighten as rationality left your body and adrenaline took over. in that moment, nothing felt more important than chasing your high, knowing it was only on the horizon. it seemed niki was feeling the same way as he growled deeply, pulling his head away to look into your eyes as he gripped your hips and slammed them against his own with little to no mercy, caring little for the bruising that would no doubt be left over the next day. it hadn't taken much more of this for you be a whimpering mess, feeling yourself tighten quickly around niki's cock, only to begin hearing the sloppy sounds of your wetness slapping while niki still continued to essentially jackhammer into you, still chasing his own high. as you began to come down from your orgasm, the sensitivity of niki still fucking you relentlessly had you whimpering and panting as you once again buried your head in his shoulder, trying to remain as quiet as you could, though this was proving to be a difficult task. it wasn't long before you felt niki twitching from inside you, only to followed by the hot feeling of him cumming deeply inside you, his own deep and guttural moans releasing from his throat, cutting themselves off occasionally as he twitched and leaned his head back, his mouth hanging open as he shut his eyes. collapsing backwards, niki fell on top of you, panting with his brown curly locks sticking to his forehead as he laid his head on your chest. post orgasm high, you both seemed to let reality hit you as you looked at each other, realizing you'd both been missing from the party for longer than you thought, exchanging no words apart from a few worried sounds of alertness as you scrambled off of one another, quickly righting yourselves. it had only taken another two minutes or so to appear semi inconspicuous as you finally made your way back to his door, bracing yourselves before opening it and stepping out, only to see your parents walking towards you, quickly spotting you and calling your name. "where have you been? we've been looking for you everywhere, have you seen niki? he went missing an-" before you could even try to find a valid explanation, through they hadn't seemed very concerned for you and more so for niki's whereabouts, you felt niki walk up behind you, leaning against the door frame and greeting your parents. "she got lost." he began, placing a hand on your shoulder, cool as ever, as if minutes ago he hadn't just been fucking your brains out. "i was showing her photos from past races. lets get a drink, yes?" quickly deflecting from any questions they may have as to why you both just exited his bedroom, niki began to lead them to where they could get a drink, leaving you, shaking your head at the fact that they actually fucking bought that. - it was hours later that the party was actually beginning to wrap up, drunken people being led back to taxi's and niki saying goodbye to guests as the music had now stopped and there had been one to many neighbourly complaints. you were unsure whether or not you should try to go and say goodbye to niki, post sex clarity was no proposing a very awkward question as to where the fuck that had left the two of you now; you weren't even afraid to admit that the idea of having any other interaction with niki from this point forward scared the fuck out of you. one could argue that it was all spur of the moment, and you hadn't really had time to communicate whatsoever afterwards, distracted by the fact that you were scrambling to get your clothes back on. you weren't even sure yourself what you wanted it to be, it felt more like a situation of you didn't want to find out. and yet, once again, your wishes were ignored by whatever higher power was controlling things, because as you were walking back to the car with your parents, still trying to make any sort of sense of what had transpired, you heard the voice behind you calling after your parents. turning, you placed your hands in your pockets as you watched niki wish your parents a goodnight, letting your mother kiss him on the cheek as well as let your father give him a firm handshake as thanks occurred. he looked over at you only briefly, his eyes and expression next to unreadable as he quickly looked back at your parents, offering to walk them to their car. turning around quickly, you began to walk quickly to the car, unfortunately slowed down by your boots as your parents soon overtook you, leaving you and niki almost side by side behind them. though neither of you said anything, your eyes widened when you felt his hand fall on your lower back, then soon to your backside, giving it a squeeze that made you jump slightly, turning your head to look at him with an annoyed and wide eyed look, only to once again be met with that same fucking smirk. as you finally caught up with your parents, they only turned as niki pulled his hand away, thankfully missing the fact that he'd done that as they thanked him for a good night. opening the car door, you were immediately met with a sharp look from your father. "maybe you should say goodnight to niki, seeing as he was so generous as to extend the invitation to you." your father said slightly under his breath in a warning tone, only to turn back to niki. "sorry, she can be such a little brat sometimes." by the look on niki's face, you could see him holding in a smirk as he shook his head dismissively and waving his hand. "ah, its fine. i don't mind at all." he finished his sentence by wishing you a goodnight, only now extending the smirk to you as you stared back at him for a moment, slightly still in shock that your parents could be just that clueless. "goodnight, niki." you finally said, wasting no time getting in your seat and shutting the door.

#daniel brühl #Daniel Bruhl #daniel bruhl x reader #niki lauda #niki lauda rush #niki lauda x reader #niki lauda smut #baron zemo #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo smut #daniel bruhl smut #goodbye lenin #the alienist #ladies in lavender #rush 2013 #rush

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rmnamjoons · 3 years

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Taking Flight [KNJ Oneshot]

➳ summary: More than a decade after the alien invasion that wiped out most of the planet, you and Namjoon are both in the Pilot Cadet Corps, training for if the alien attackers ever come back. What begins as a playful rivalry between two overachievers develops into a deep friendship and emotional bond, but when the aliens suddenly return and you and Namjoon are separated, you find out just what you’re willing to do to get back to him.

➳ pairing: pilot!Namjoon x pilot!reader

➳ genre: smut, sci fi au, post apocalypse au, alien invasion au, rivals to friends to lovers

➳ word count: 15.2k

➳ read on ao3, link to my masterlist

➳ tags: smut, reunion sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, emotional loving sex, soft dom namjoon, dirty talk (no degradation), rivals to friends to lovers, sexually charged fight/sparring scene when they’re rivals, previously seemingly unrequited love/mutual pining, shower sex, multiple positions, namjoon is needy and so in love

➳ warnings: unnamed character death/death mention, blood mention, injury mention/vague description

➳ a/n: I know this is kind of a niche genre for smut fics; I primarily wrote this for myself, and I definitely had fun and like what I came up with! What’s the point of fanfiction anyway, if not to have fun? Also, this takes place over a few years, and I tried to portray how Namjoon was feral and angry when he was younger but is now a loving gentle giant. Enjoy!

Everybody lost someone in the attacks that killed most of the planet. Friends. Family. Partners. You had lost everything and everyone, like most people who’d lived in the cities that no longer had names — what once had been centers of commerce, tourism, and civilization were now nothing more than craters, and with so few left who remembered them, what they’d once been were now lost to time.

You'd only survived by chance, really. You and your family had been in a tunnel leaving the city, on foot like everyone else, and when everything had turned to chaos, you’d gotten lost from your parents and sister. You still remembered the way people screamed and ran through the tunnel, their voices echoing harshly off the cement walls. You’d spotted someone hiding off to the side in a utility room in the tunnel, and when the blast hit the city center, that person had made you hide in the room too, their body shielding yours from the hellfire, melting around you.

You were five years old then. You were pretty sure your sister had been eight. You couldn’t remember what your parents or sister looked like, or your house, or where you’d gone to school, other than vague flashes and shapes of people who’d once been your whole world. All you’d had with you were the clothes on your back, and even those had been taken away once you’d gotten somewhere safe and been given something clean to change into.

After the ships fell and surviving aliens left, it had taken years to clear the rubble and start over. The attacks that changed and destroyed everything had also been a gift, or so they now preached, in which humanity was able to grow, learn, and become united. The religions and cults who now worshiped the alien attackers believed humanity had deserved extermination, but you liked the more academic approach to the alien race’s lessons: the technology humans had been able to reverse engineer from their fallen ships.

One of the many ways humanity had advanced in the last few years was flight technology. Planes were faster, turned sharper, could go farther, burned cleaner energy. The one thing everyone seemed to agree on was how important Earth’s planes had been in beating them, so that was where all the technology and progress was focused now.

You loved planes and flying, you always had, but the real reason you wanted to be a pilot, you held much closer to your chest: your entire life, you always felt like the attacks when you were young were just the beginning. Like an unhealthy obsession or open wound, it was all you could think about sometimes, what drove your every decision, what led you to the Pilot Cadet Corps. You wanted to be part of the team that took them down if they ever came back. You wanted to be ready.

You were eighteen when you’d joined the Corps. You’d jumped on that opportunity the first moment you were able, without so much as a second glance back at what you left behind. You’d been adopted fairly soon after the attacks, but your adopted parents never felt much like family.

The first full year of Corps was bootcamp. Bunk rooms were co-ed, and every moment of your lives was dictated down to the second. You woke up at six in the morning and ran laps around the track. You had as much free time as you earned between whenever you finished your laps and when breakfast started at seven: the faster you ran, the more free time you got.

Eight to noon was physical training. After lunch was different depending on the day: three days a week you had mental training for whatever field you were going into, mostly flight simulation for the pilots. Another day was more combat training, and the last was an alternate, for first aid, written tests, marksmanship, and other courses along those lines. After that you had more physical training, like sparring and hand-to-hand combat, then dinner, then free time. Lights out was strictly at ten-thirty every night, and then you’d start it all over again the next day.

Now, you stood in line with the other cadets training to be pilots, waiting to hear your class ranks. Every month, they would announce a ranking of all cadets, a score averaged in test results, simulator scores, and overall performance. The better you ranked, the better your placement once you graduated.

“Third place, Park. Eighty-nine point nine,” the sergeant read off, making a small boy a few rows away from you puff up his chest in pride. You weren’t sure why anyone would feel proud of not getting an A, but you pushed that thought away.

You swallowed hard, holding your breath. There were only two spots left, and if you’d scored higher than Park, that meant you got an A and were either in second or first place out of the whole class. You didn’t know everyone’s names yet, so you weren’t sure who you were competing with.

“Second place, Y/L/N. Ninety-five point two.”

You heard the impressed murmur of others in the class before all of them were silenced by a firm look from the sergeant. Your heart sank, your hands curling into tight fists. Second place? You’d been so sure before now that you were working harder than all the other cadets. You were smarter than them, faster, more focused. Who the fuck had beaten you?

“First place, Kim. Ninety-five point three.”

Your brow furrowed. You weren’t sure who this Kim was, but you set your jaw, becoming determined to learn everything about them so you could beat them. Whatever their weaknesses were, you’d find them and exploit them.

You snuck a glance around you, trying to figure out who Kim was, and nearly jumped out of your skin when the tall boy next to you made eye contact with you, raising one eyebrow in the most smug, cocky, asshole-ish look you’d ever seen. That one singular eyebrow quirk, the corner of his lip curling up barely noticeably, all of it made you want to seethe and strangle him.

You’d noticed this man before, but had never thought much of him. He was taller than all the other men, but he hadn’t come off as particularly smart or extraordinary. This guy was the one who’d beaten you?

Now that you looked at him, you noticed he was definitely very muscular. Had he beaten your score through his strength? You could work harder at weight lifting and beat him. Were his test scores perfect? You could make yourself study even more.

Whatever it was that made him first place, you’d find out and beat him.

II.

In the following weeks, you began to wonder how you’d ever missed Kim Namjoon.

You and Namjoon both worked harder than everyone else. You both trained longer, started earlier in the morning and kept going until you were the last ones left. You both pushed yourselves harder than all of your other classmates, academically and physically. Before he was placed first in the class, you hadn’t even noticed him, but now he was the bane of your existence, and you existed only to beat him and come out on top.

You were faster and more agile, but Namjoon was by far stronger. You almost wanted to dispute the scoring system; what use was strength for a pilot? You weren’t soldiers. He needed fast reflexes and precision, not fighting skills or the ability to deadlift two hundred pounds. Was he planning on picking up planes and throwing them at the alien ships? It was so stupid.

The second month of bootcamp, you were the top of the class, and Namjoon was second place now. You smiled smugly to yourself and kept your eyes focused forward, staying perfectly at attention like the other cadets, but you could feel his eyes on you and almost sense his focused anger, that same emotion you’d felt when he’d first beaten you.

After the ranking announcements, you went to combat training in the gym, but your instructor called out both your name and Namjoon’s before you could even get started.

“I want the two of you to spar,” the instructor said as the two of you ran up. “No rules, just fighting. You can use boxing, wrestling, martial arts, whatever you want — just don’t kill each other.”

You narrowed your eyes at Namjoon, almost expecting him to refuse to fight you, for being a girl. Besides occasional glares, the two of you had never so much as said a word to each other, but you figured smug alpha male assholes were all the same.

But instead, Namjoon smiled and said, “All right.” He almost seemed eager to get in the ring and teach you a lesson.

Now, you eyed him from across the ring, how he was watching you with a smug little smirk as he wrapped his knuckles.

“To win, pin the other person’s back to the mat for five full seconds,” your instructor said carefully. “Their back has to fully touch the ground, not just shoulders. They don’t have to be conscious to be pinned.”

You and Namjoon made eye contact at that.

“Whoever wins doesn’t have to run laps next week. Loser runs double laps before eating. You both ready?”

You and Namjoon ended up drawing a crowd of spectators.

The moment the instructor said start, you ran, jumped, and wrapped your legs around his head, twisting and throwing him to the ground so that he was on his back and you stood over his head, smirking down at his stupid surprised face.

He’d hit the mat hard, the breath completely knocked out of him. A few people in the crowd murmured quietly to themselves and quietly asked each other if the fight was already over. You let out a shaky breath, letting yourself feel proud for a split second as you glanced at the spectators, but before you could register what was happening, Namjoon grabbed you by both your legs, making you twist and fall hard on your back, too.

You tried to crawl away from him, but he just pulled you under him by your legs, climbing on top of you and trying to hold you down with his hands. You arched your back as high as you could, touching the mat only with your shoulders and ass as Namjoon fought to grab your wrists. He was on top of you, straddling your abdomen and trying to keep you down without actually touching your chest, and you watched him bite his lip and heard him growl as he focused on not getting hit while you thrashed beneath him.

You brought your leg up and kneed his kidney as hard as you could, making him groan before moving back to pin your legs down too. You could now easily keep your back fully off the mat, but he was straddling you much lower now, bending over you and still trying to grab your arms. This close, you could smell him, his sweat and masculine scent mixed with the cheap soap you all were given, and you had to push aside the fact you kind of liked the way he smelled.

You were panting hard, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each deep breath. You watched Namjoon as he glanced down at your breasts, before his eyes snapped back up at your face, his eyes wide as if he were surprised he’d let himself look.

“Having fun?” you teased, smirking up at him.

“Tons,” he growled, finally catching one of your hands and pinning it down by your wrist.

You hooked your leg up as far as you could, wrapping it around him and using his close proximity to your advantage. This seemed to catch Namjoon very off guard, and you felt more than heard him make a noise in surprise as you essentially embraced him, not giving him any space to move or do anything as you pulled your hand free and wrapped all your limbs around him, hanging off of him like a leach.

Namjoon sat back on his knees, and you held onto him, your legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders, waiting for your moment to use his weight against him and throw him on his back. He was squirming and wearing himself out, while you just squeezed him, hard enough you heard something in him crack.

“What are you doing?” he grumbled, trying to pry you off of him. Before you could answer, he grabbed you by your hair and jerked your head backwards, making you gasp and cry out. He started to force you off by getting his hands between your bodies, but you surprised him, grabbing his throat with both hands and squeezing.

Namjoon forcefully brought his hands down on your arms, bending them so that you let go of his neck, and now you were much closer to his face, nearly nose to nose as he still sat there on his knees with you hanging off of him. He held your wrists with both hands now as you tried to struggle free from him, and when you realized you couldn’t, you twisted one wrist, bringing his hand up to your mouth and biting down as hard as you could on the meat of his thumb.

He yelped and let go of you, but before you could use the moment to your advantage, he grabbed you and pushed you off of him, throwing you down away from him while he scrambled back and looked at his hand.

Your body bounced as you hit the mat, rolling a few times until you slammed against the edge of the ring. Namjoon was back on you before you could react, and you felt him behind you, trying to roll you over so he could pin you down on your back again. You brought your head back hard and connected with his nose, making him jump back again.

When you looked back at him, Namjoon was standing across the ring, holding his nose and glaring at you as you jumped to your feet too.

You circled each other for a moment, both closely watching the other’s every move like prey.

His nose was bleeding heavily, both of you out of breath and covered in sweat. You were pretty sure you had a bruised rib from him throwing you, your lungs burning from exertion from the fight. Everyone who’d been in the gym was now watching, none of them speaking as the two of you circled each other.

You ran at each other at the same time, Namjoon throwing a swing that you easily ducked. While his momentum was off, you punched him hard in the stomach, making him bend over in pain.

He was being sloppy, maybe distracted from his pain and anger, or maybe he was just more of a big clumsy oaf who relied on strength alone than you’d thought. You knew he was smart based on his test scores, but none of that appeared to translate to agility or finesse. He was fighting clumsy and angry, but you only felt more focused now, catching yourself smiling as you almost enjoyed yourself.

When you tried to strike him again, moving to hit your elbow between his shoulders while he was bent over, he turned and reached up, grabbing your neck with both hands. You broke his hold easily, and used that moment to bring your hand up and smack his injured nose.

Namjoon groaned in pain, holding his nose again. You grabbed his free hand, twisting it until he turned around and fell to his knees, yelling in pain, his arm bent painfully behind his back. You now stood behind him, Namjoon unable to move unless he wanted you to break or dislocate his arm, you on your feet with him on his knees.

“Do you forfeit?” you said, pulling his arm up another inch and making him hiss in pain. You could see how much he was sweating and panting, and ignored the way it sent a shiver of lust through you.

“You play dirty,” he seethed. Just standing close to him, you could feel the way heat radiated off of him. You’d noticed before that he was a sweaty guy, but now he was shining with it.

“I seem to remember being told that there were no rules for this fight,” you said, smiling proudly to yourself as you held the large man in place with one hand.

Instead of responding, Namjoon threw himself backwards into you, knocking you off your feet. You were on your back now and he was on his back on top of you, pinning you there. He had to have at least pulled his arm out of socket doing that move, and his body tensed from the pain, but he didn’t stop.

Namjoon pushed down with his shoulders as hard as he could, arching his back and standing up on his feet, bending his legs to put even more weight on just his shoulders to trap you there under him. You were crushed by him, barely able to breathe, let alone keep yourself fully off the mat.

He was so big and heavy, his shoulders wide enough to pin your arms down. You did the only thing you could think to do in the moment, what you hoped would give you an advantage again. You leaned in and bit down where his shoulder met his neck, the same side his arm was dislocated, and you bit down hard.

Namjoon yelped in surprise and pain, and you wrapped your arms around him in a chokehold so that when he tried to roll away, you went with him. He twisted in your arms until he was on top of you, facing you again, and this time you brought your knee up hard between his legs, his eyes closing as he groaned in agony.

You easily pushed him off and got on top of him, straddling his chest and pinning him down. Your knees pressed your full weight down on his biceps, including his injured arm, which made him groan in pain with every harsh exhale. He arched his back and tried to push you off of him, but he could barely move or reach you, his arms both pinned outward.

“Tired of getting your ass kicked yet?” you goaded, raising an eyebrow when Namjoon glared up at you. “How were you ever the top of our class? This is a little too easy.”

“Fuck you,” he growled, seething hard, blood all over his mouth and chin from his broken nose. His back still wasn’t technically on the ground though, so you needed to think of a way to make him stay down.

You were straddling his chest, so you moved your hips forward suddenly before throwing your whole body back, slamming yourself down hard and completely knocking the wind out of him. You simultaneously knocked him down so that his back was against the mat, and purposefully hit the back of your head against his crotch, which had to still be hurting from when you’d just kneed him a minute ago, so that he wouldn’t have the strength to get himself back up for a few seconds. You heard what you thought was a crack, which you really hoped wasn’t his crotch, before you heard and felt him groaning in pain.

The instructor counted out, and you won. You immediately jumped off of him and looked down at the damage.

Blood covered Namjoon’s chin, mouth, and neck, all from his nose wound, which you’d smacked more than once. He was bleeding from the bite on his neck, and his shoulder did not look right, pulled painfully out of socket and potentially broken. He rolled onto his side away from you and moaned, the hand of his arm that wasn’t dislocated over his crotch as he curled up in a ball on the ground.

“You all right?” you asked cautiously, stepping out of the way as the instructor rushed in to help him. Namjoon held up his middle finger to you, closing his eyes as he tried to breathe steadily.

You snorted in amusement and went off to the locker room to shower.

That night, Namjoon limped into dinner.

You were sitting by yourself at a table near the back, reading a book written by a pilot from before the attacks. Namjoon sat down across from you, as if sitting together was something the two of you normally did.

His nose was badly bruised and taped up, definitely broken. Judging by the limp he’d come in with, you’d messed up something below deck. His arm seemed to have been popped back in socket, but you could see the bruising spreading over his collarbone under his t-shirt, and his arm was in a sling. He had bite marks on his neck and hand, and the one on his neck had needed stitches.

You tried not to smile to yourself.

“Y/L/N?” he asked, like he wasn’t sure of your name, like you two weren’t rivals constantly competing and you hadn’t kicked his ass a few hours ago.

“Kim,” you said, returning the formality.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, so you went back to eating, trying not to look over at him. He rested his non-injured hand on his stomach, and you wondered if you’d broken one of his ribs or if he was just hungry.

“You planning on eating?” you asked him after a moment.

Namjoon actually smiled, laughing to himself weakly.

“I don’t think I even have the energy to walk across the room to get food,” he murmured, his voice a little deeper than usual.

Without a word, you stood, walking straight across the room to get another plate of food. When you returned and placed it in front of him, he looked up at you with wide eyes, confused and shocked by your gesture.

“Do you need me to cut it up for you, too?” you teased, though glancing at his arm, you wondered if he’d actually need that.

Namjoon shook his head after a moment, glancing down at his plate.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. You saw a small, genuine smile on his lips, and you realized then for the very first time that he had dimples.

III.

The following week came, as did Namjoon’s punishment week for losing the sparring match. The first morning, you noticed him waking up earlier than everyone else to go start his laps, since he had to do double. You quickly got dressed and followed.

You ran up beside him as he slowly jogged around the track.

“What are you doing?” He looked over at you, furrowing his brow but not stopping.

“Running laps,” you answered flatly.

You ran the same number of laps as he did that morning, despite having won the right not to run this week. Namjoon, you learned, had a broken rib and pulled groin in addition to all the other stuff you’d done to him, and he’d been given an out and didn’t have to run any laps after all. Your instructor had told him that he needed to focus on healing and not accidentally hurt himself more. He didn’t have to do combat training or anything else physical until he was healed, but he still ran his punishment laps anyway, completely by choice, and so you ran them too, matching his pace the entire time, neither of you saying a word to the other.

Despite getting his ass kicked in the sparring match, the rest of the cadets viewed Namjoon as almost a superhero after that. They respected how well he’d taken a beating; he was the guy who kept fighting, even with half a dozen injuries and multiple broken bones. You were the only one who’d been able to best him, using just your speed to outwit him, and now the rest of the class respected you both even more. Namjoon was a nearly unstoppable tank, and you were the lithe fox that beat him.

As boot camp continued, you and Namjoon continued your quiet friendship, neither of you the overly gushy or warm type, both focused only on training. You studied together, and started helping each other instead of competing. Both of you only improved your scores and times.

Namjoon helped you with your physical training, helping you get stronger. You helped him with his marksmanship, precision, and speed. You regularly sparred and fought and pushed each other further. You studied together, fought together, ate together, did everything together.

The first year of Corps ended, and you entered the second year. This was more specialized, focused on specifically becoming a pilot with more time on flight training instead of physical and military training, which you still definitely had a lot of.

Your class was smaller now, but you still slept in a co-ed barrack. You and Namjoon picked spots next to each other this year.

One night during winter break, almost everyone else had gone home for the week, the two of you essentially having the base to yourselves. It was well past midnight and after lights out, but you and Namjoon laid in your beds talking quietly, both on your sides facing each other. You only had about a foot of space between your beds, and you could just barely make out his face in the dark.

Namjoon told you that he remembered the attacks, losing his family, everything. He’d had a sister too, and had lived in a suburb, not one of the cities. He didn’t explain further, but said that he remembered what happened to his family, and that he’d been found in the woods by himself weeks later. He’d only been seven years old at the time, and you wondered how the hell he’d made it on his own for so long.

You got the feeling he was used to being on his own, and didn’t let himself get attached to anything or anyone. Part of you wanted to reach out and touch him, put your hand on his shoulder and tell him he didn’t have to be alone anymore. But instead you sighed, ignoring the way his sad eyes made your heart ache.

IV.

Your second year turned into your third, and you and Namjoon only became closer. You both planned to go on to a fourth year of training, even though it wasn’t required, as it would give you higher credentials and clearance when you finished. Both of you still strived to be perfect, after all.

Halfway through your third year together, you realized Namjoon was the closest thing you had to family. You both saw each other pretty much every moment of every day. You both didn’t leave the base for holidays, so the longest you’d been apart since first meeting was a few hours, at most.

You were constantly together, even when you didn’t need to be. You woke up early and ran laps, even though you were no longer required to — only first year cadets ran laps, but you both continued because… you didn’t know why, and you didn’t question it. You loved running with him.

That first year together, Namjoon had been stoic and quiet. He didn’t talk much, unless directly questioned, and even then he kept his answers as concise as possible. You weren’t exactly talkative, but when the two of you talked to each other alone, especially in the past few years, Namjoon began coming out of his shell. When he wasn’t guarded and quiet, he was warm and funny, almost loving in his own kind of way. You got the feeling he was naturally full of love, but had pushed that part of himself down in the years he’d spent alone and in shelters.

Now, you were giving Namjoon a haircut. His hair grew weirdly fast, and there were rules about keeping everything, including hair, perfectly in uniform. Men had to have very short hair and be clean-shaven, which meant Namjoon had to get a haircut basically every other week.

When it was warm you did this outside, but now it was winter and you were in the locker room. While you worked, you talked about upcoming tests and other little things. You kept catching Namjoon looking up at you as you stood in front of him, between his spread legs, and he seemed to be getting bolder, watching your face outright instead of just stealing glances.

“Close your eyes and tilt your head back,” you mumbled, trying to hide the fact you were blushing and flustered. Namjoon listened without a word, and you let yourself look at him for just a second; your faces were close, even with him sitting and you standing, because of how tall he was. You’d been obsessed with his lips lately, finding yourself fantasizing about them at the most inopportune times, thinking about how soft and full they looked and wondering what they’d feel like against your own.

Before you could pull yourself from your thoughts and start on the front of his hair, the power suddenly cut out.

You let out a small gasp, but this wasn’t exactly surprising around here. The power went out often because of the testing they were doing with switching over completely to alien tech for larger power structures. Still, you’d gasped in surprise because you’d been so focused on Namjoon’s face, and now the two of you were alone together in a dark locker room.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asked, his hands coming up to rest on your hips.

Of course you were okay; the lights had just gone off.

“Yeah,” you answered anyway. You moved your hands from over his head to his shoulders, feeling him in the dark.

“It’ll be back on in a second, we’re okay,” he said, his thumbs moving slightly, like he was trying to comfort you.

“I know,” you said, your voice sounding small. You weren’t afraid at all, but you didn’t want him to stop what he was doing.

The lights came back on then, and you looked down at him. Namjoon smiled up at you, dimples on full display, and it nearly took your breath away. He had a little piece of cut hair on his cheek, which you gently brushed away, and he wrinkled his nose at you, making your heart ache.

You finished giving him his haircut, and afterwards he pulled off his shirt and went over to one of the showers, to wash off the pieces of hair you’d cut. You gathered up the electric razor and your other belongings while you heard him undressing behind you, turning on the shower and humming happily to himself.

You stopped yourself from looking at him as you walked out of the room and went back to the barracks, refusing to let yourself think about him showering or the way he’d looked at you.

VI.

Your last year of training was mostly just the two of you working together and with various superior officers. You’d get promotions and rank changes after some time in the field, but you’d start out as Senior Airmen, and would probably both make Staff Sergeant within a few years of graduating. There were no wars or active duty anymore, but it meant you’d both be given leadership positions, if ever the need arose.

After graduation, you and Namjoon would both receive your assignments and placements. You’d both requested to be placed together, without requesting anything else. You could be sent anywhere in the world, given any position; you didn’t care where you ended up though, as long as you were with him.

Since it was your last year, you were both given proper rooms instead of barracks. The rooms were small and minimal, but your room was right across from Namjoon’s. You spent a lot of time in each other’s rooms, even sometimes sleeping over.

Now, you laid on Namjoon’s bed in his room, while he sat at the chair by his desk with his feet propped up on the end of his bed. He was playing with a stress ball, passing it back and forth between his hands. You’d finished all your testing and training, so you were both basically just resting until graduation, anticipating your placements. It was late at night, the rest of the base quiet and sleeping.

“Dream placement,” you said, turning your head and pointing at him. “Go.”

“Oh, man…” Namjoon rolled his head back, looking at the ceiling. “Southern California.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “What’s in Southern California, besides desert?”

“That’s the closest base to where the first ship went down. They’ve got the best tech out there, the best planes.”

“Okay, true,” you sighed. “But there’s nothing out there for miles. There’d be nothing to do.”

“What else is there, besides flying?” Namjoon threw the little ball he was playing with gently so it bounced off the wall beside you and landed on your stomach.

“I like flying and being able to see something besides sand, rock, and craters for hundreds of miles,” you said, tossing the ball back to him.

“You feel like you’re going faster if you don’t have anything to look at,” he said, catching the ball with one hand and tossing it behind him onto his desk.

“You also get lost easier,” you laughed, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Not if you’re a good navigator,” Namjoon laughed too, standing up and moving onto the bed with you. He wasn’t exactly tickling you, but he was touching your body and you were both giggling as he laid down beside you.

“If you want to feel like you’re going fast, then just go fast,” you said, your hands on his shoulders now as you grinned up at him. He was partially on top of you, partially beside you as he smiled down at you, his mouth so close to yours.

“I want to go even faster,” he said, but he stilled suddenly, looking down at you with wide eyes. He seemed to have suddenly realized the position the two of you were in, and he moved so that he was just beside you, laying on his side as you laid on your back.

You sighed. It was always like this — not that you were complaining, because you loved the relationship you already had with him. But lately, you’d get so close, almost kissing, almost embracing, almost something, and then he’d back off. You still loved the moments before, where you could forget that you were just friends and pretend you were something more, as much as it ended up hurting your heart in the long run.

Even now, you loved this. Namjoon propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you as you continued talking, a different topic now. Your mouths were only a few inches apart. It would be so easy for him to just lean down and kiss you, like you wanted him to so badly.

Namjoon’s hand that wasn’t supporting his head rested on your stomach. You put your hands there too, playing with him, feeling his long fingers and how big his hand was, and Namjoon let you, pretending not to notice.

You talked about graduation plans, life plans, little nothings that made each other sadly smile. Neither of you said it, but you both worried you wouldn’t be placed together.

“What’s your dream placement?” he asked you gently, his voice soft.

“You know, I don’t even care,” you said. Because it didn’t matter where they put you as long as you were with him, but you didn’t say that.

That night the two of you fell asleep like that, in that position. It wasn’t the first time.

VII.

When you woke up, you could feel Namjoon’s gentle breathing on your neck. You turned your head and looked at him, studying his expression in the early morning calm.

He was still on his side facing you, so now you were face-to-face, your foreheads and noses only a few inches apart. His hand still rested on your stomach, and you still held his hand there with both of your hands. You felt his fingers twitch a little in his sleep and wondered what he was dreaming about. His other arm was under the pillow now, and through it you could almost feel the swell of his bicep and warmth of his skin.

You only ever let yourself really look at him like this when he was sleeping, when the two of you had sleepovers in each other’s rooms. You studied the shape of his nose, the way his big, plush lips parted, the puffiness of his cheeks as he relaxed and breathed, every freckle and mole on his face that you wanted to kiss so badly. Cuddled up with him like this, you could feel how warm he was; Namjoon was a furnace of a man, and you’d gotten so used to sharing a bed with him the past few months, you now had to layer up and sleep with an extra blanket whenever you slept alone.

Namjoon sighed then, shifting a little in his sleep. You quickly closed your eyes and turned your head back so you weren’t facing him directly, in case he opened his eyes.

You felt him moving, shifting so that his arm was hugging you instead of his hand just resting on you. His hand was now on your side, below your armpit, his thumb on the side of your breast. He sighed and seemed to fall back asleep, softly snoring again after a few moments.

You laid like that for a while, enjoying this feeling, knowing you’d never have this for real. You'd never wake up next to Namjoon in the context you wanted, but this was more than enough for you. You were so in love with him, but he didn’t see you the same way, so you’d enjoy waking up in his arms for as long as you could.

When Namjoon eventually woke up on his own, he seemed to slowly realize the position you were in, moving his hand down carefully to more platonic territory. You opened your eyes and turned your head to look at him, and were caught off guard by the way he was staring at you so openly, looking down at your mouth for a few moments before looking back at your eyes with an expression you couldn’t name.

“Y/N,” he murmured, so softly you could barely hear him, but you could feel the rumble of it in his chest. You didn’t say anything, both of you just looking at each other in the peaceful quiet stillness of early morning, the only noises both of your gentle breathing.

Namjoon moved his hand up to your shoulder, and then his hand was cupping your cheek, brushing your hair back from your face. The tips of your noses were almost touching, his warm breath on your lips. He closed his eyes and put his forehead against yours, your heart almost stopping in your chest from how close he was. He’s never done anything like this before, and you definitely were not going to stop him.

He turned his head slightly, your foreheads still connected as the tip of his nose skimmed along your cheek, by your nose. He brushed his lips against yours so lightly you could barely feel him, his eyes still closed. You could feel his eyelashes tickling your cheek, and prayed he couldn’t feel how fast your heart was racing or how you nearly whimpered at his every touch.

Namjoon moved and brushed his barely parted lips against the corner of your mouth, your chin, your jaw. His hand on your cheek, he stroked your skin with his thumb slowly, touching you, feeling you. His leg moved up slowly, hooking over yours, and you spread your legs for him. You couldn’t even think straight right now, the only things your brain were processing were the touches and sensations Namjoon was giving you.

What the hell was he doing? The thought of him seeing you romantically, the same way you saw him, had seemed so impossible before now, but now, as he brushed his lips against your skin, you wondered if he’d been longing the same way you had.

Namjoon turned your head carefully, slightly away from him, so that you were looking directly up again. He kissed your cheek closer to him while he stroked the other, pressing gentle open-mouthed kisses down your face and neck as he slowly moved himself on top of you. You, matching his slow movements, wrapped your legs loosely around him and held onto his shoulders.

Namjoon kissed your skin as lightly as he could, feeling you anywhere you’d let him, and you were lost in him. He switched to your other side, kissing your collarbone and neck and jaw, and one of his hands moved up behind your head, tangling in your hair. Every movement was slow and deliberate and gentle.

You never would’ve guessed Namjoon was the gentle type, but now that this was happening, it made sense and you craved it. He closed his lips lightly against your earlobe and you gasped loudly, trying to arch up against him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your ear. “So soft, so perfect, my angel, my love.” His voice was so warm and deep, and you quietly whimpered, holding onto his shoulders even tighter. You felt like he could make you come just from this, just from his light touches and hearing his deep voice praise you. You'd wanted him so badly for years now, you’d dreamed about him, fantasized nonstop, and now here he was, and the tension was already building up for you.

He hadn’t even fully kissed your mouth yet. Namjoon pressed his lips against your cheek, caressing the other side of your face with his hand, just holding your body so close to his. You swore you could die right now and be fine with that.

An alarm suddenly blared, and both of your bodies stilled and tensed.

Namjoon jumped off of you and sat back on his legs, looking around the room like he was expecting to see what was happening written on the walls. You sat up too, looking around. Your legs were still spread, your brain still hazy from Namjoon’s kisses, and you looked at him as you saw him working through what was happening.

“Something’s wrong,” Namjoon said, quickly jumping up. He sat back down on the side of his bed long enough to put on his shoes. “Come on,” he said, pulling you up when he stood again.

You snapped yourself out of your lust-haze. The alarm was still going off, which meant something major was happening right now. It wasn’t just a test.

You left, quickly scampering across the hall to your own room so you could get dressed.

You and Namjoon met up in between your rooms a moment later, both in uniform, and ran down together to where the rest of the base had gathered, Namjoon taking your hand in his as you ran.

VIII.

It was another attack, like when you were young.

You all stood there at attention receiving orders, none of you looking anywhere except forward blankly. This was it, everything you had trained for, the exact reason you’d trained so hard. They were back.

You and Namjoon were both assigned as squadron leaders to two different units, Namjoon to Red One and you to Blue One. Those were two of the best, most elite units of fighter jets, but you looked over at him when you got your assignments. You weren’t together, so you wouldn’t know if he was okay until after it was all over.

You were all dismissed and had fifteen minutes to get to your planes and prepare for launch. You went straight to your plane, not stopping to talk to Namjoon. You knew you wouldn’t be able to leave him once you looked at him, so it was better to just pretend this morning hadn’t happened.

You were just starting to climb the ladder up to your plane when you heard his voice.

“Not saying goodbye?”

You froze in your tracks, but didn’t turn or look at him. You couldn’t make yourself say anything, instead just staring straight in front of you with your hands on the rungs of the ladder.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice much softer now as he walked over to you. The planes were close together so you were in tight quarters, and he stood right behind you, his hands not quite touching your sides.

“What?” you said, not looking back at him.

“Please don’t leave without saying goodbye,” he said. You'd never heard his voice like this. Quiet, pleading, loving. It was like this morning in bed, but more desperate, yearning, begging you to look at him.

You started to move up the ladder without turning around, and he put his hands on your hips, stopping you. He immediately let go, not wanting to trap you there.

You sighed and turned around to face him, only partially, still a step up on the ladder so you were just slightly taller than him. You reached back and held onto the ladder with one hand as you looked at him.

When you saw the expression on his face, it took your breath away. He looked almost tearful, sick with worry, trying to be stronger than how he obviously felt.

“Goodbye,” you said softly, bringing your free hand up to his cheek.

He stood there for a moment, just looking at you. You stroked his cheek with your thumb and tried to smile weakly. His hair was getting a little long, you noticed then for some reason. He was supposed to keep it short to stay in uniform, but now it looked long enough for you to run your fingers through.

Namjoon’s eyes were wide and innocent, searching your face. Around you, the base was chaotic and busy as other pilots ran to their planes and officers barked out orders and engines started up. The two of you just stood there in your quiet moment, both a lot less excited about your first mission than you’d thought you’d be, everything happening so much sooner then you’d both thought and on such a larger scale than you ever could have anticipated. You remembered almost wanting this when you were young, promising yourself that you’d be ready if they ever came back. Maybe the universe was punishing you; whenever you loved someone, the universe immediately sought to take it from you. Your family when you were young, and now Namjoon.

He looked like he wanted to kiss you or tell you something. He parted his lips and glanced at your mouth, his brow furrowing as he breathed, and he looked back up at your eyes, his expression so worried.

“I’ll see you soon,” you said, smiling gently.

You turned and climbed up into your plane without another word.

There had been twenty pilots in your squadron when you left, and four when you returned.

You didn’t really remember the aliens from when you were little, but you’d seen countless videos. You knew what they looked like, how they performed, what their technology was supposed to be like, what their weaknesses had been.

You saw so many planes go down. The alien ship had a different defense than last time, and the fight was only over when the alien ship suddenly left and moved on, seemingly just because it wanted to, not because the humans posed any kind of threat to it. When it left, it had taken out an entire city, just like last time. The town near the base had only recently gotten its infrastructure set up.

You and your three surviving pilots returned first out of all the other squadrons. You quickly climbed out of your plane and ran down to the hangar, asking about the other pilots still out there. You needed to know if Namjoon was okay.

Before you even got to the hangar, another alarm started blaring. A plane near you exploded, and you spun around, looking up at the sky.

There had to be over a hundred alien ships in the sky, all firing on the base and the planes.

“Get inside, now!” you yelled, pointing at the pilots from your squadron who’d ducked down near their planes. You knew the base had a bunker, and the number of people at the base now could easily survive down there long-term.

There was panic as people got down there as fast as they could, all climbing over each other and yelling. You stayed back where you could see the sky, ducking down in a safe spot and watching as long as you could. You only saw alien ships, none of your own.

You imagined Namjoon’s last seconds. If he hadn’t made it back to the base, there was no way he’d survive. The ships would find him. You could only see the planes you’d seen exploding earlier, hear the voices of the pilots in your squadron on your coms as their ships exploded. A cut-off shout, and then nothing.

You finally made yourself run down to the bunker. In the distance, you could hear the ships destroying every visible part of the base, every last truck and car and plane and tank exploding as the blasts hit them. The walls shook and lights flickered and dust fell from the ceiling as you made your way down the stairwell to the bunker.

Over the destruction above you, you could hear Namjoon’s voice that morning in his bed, the world frozen around you then, the only things that mattered his large, gentle hands, his slow, exploring mouth, and his soft voice.

“You’re so beautiful,” he’d breathed against your neck. You'd been able to feel his smile, the tip of his nose tracing your jaw, the warmth of his breath on your skin. You'd never felt safer than when you were laying in bed with him.

You pushed the door of the bunker shut behind you, your hands shaking and eyes welling up. You could not think about this; you had to push all of that aside for now. You had a job to do.

After about five minutes down in the bunker, the lights went out. The weak backup generator kicked on near-immediately, but now there was no connection to the outside world. If any pilots managed to survive this long, the base wouldn’t know about it or have any way of contacting them.

When you’d taken off, both you and Namjoon had been promoted to captains, to lead your squadrons. Once all of the remaining people at the base were down in the bunker and accounted for, you were promoted again, this time to major.

Almost everyone out of the thousand or so people on the base had gone out to fight. The only people who’d stayed behind were ground control officers, technicians, first years, civilians who worked on the base, and the top few people in charge. There were maybe a few hundred people down in the massive bunker now, and you ranked sixth in command out of all of them.

Namjoon would’ve been so jealous you outranked him, you thought with a small smile.

VI.

Four days passed with no news.

There was no service. There was no internet, radio, or any connection to the outside world.

You were itching to get out. There was no news from the outside world, but there also hadn’t been any explosions since the first day. The alien ships had to be gone by now. On the second day, you’d tried to suggest to the general that you could go up to the surface and see if an evacuation could be planned, but the general and other officers had all said that there was no need to evacuate, because there were plenty of supplies down here. They would continue to work on regaining communications with other bases, and nothing else immediately mattered until then.

Now, you were on your cot, staring at the ceiling above you. It was the middle of the night and just about everyone else was asleep. Most people slept on cots in what looked like an old gym, all lined up in long rows. Everyone had been given two changes of clothes, all gray jumpsuits. You felt like you were in prison.

The scratchy wool blanket was pulled up to your neck. You tried to imagine sharing the cot with Namjoon, the two of you squeezed onto the spot only meant for one and giggling when you just barely fit. You imagined him spooning you, kissing your neck and shoulder and holding you close to him. You imagined feeling his heartbeat in his chest. You imagined his face when his plane exploded.

It wasn’t fair. You’d literally just become something more than friends, maybe, kind of. Your relationship with Namjoon meant everything to you, and it had suddenly been changing in such amazing ways, and then he’d immediately been taken from you.

You refused to cry about this. You refused to even accept he was gone. There were ways he could’ve survived. There had to be. He could’ve flown low and ejected and hidden in the rubble of the city. Except he wasn’t a coward; you knew him, and you knew he was the type to win or die fighting. He could’ve led other survivors away from the city. Except there was no way these planes could’ve outrun the alien ships. They weren’t fast enough.

There had to be a way. You had to get up to the surface and find out. You had to find him.

VII.

After one week down in the bunker, you felt like you were going out of your mind.

You had a plan. You were going to go to the surface whether they let you or not. You were going to find Namjoon, or at least the remains of his plane. You were going to find him or find closure.

You needed climbing gear to get up the destroyed stairwell. You’d need to find rope and gear, a lot of water, and survival supplies. You began your plan, looking around for spare supplies nobody would notice was missing until you were gone. You knew where to find rope, but you had to figure out how to acquire and carry enough water. Plus you would need to bring medical supplies, in case Namjoon was injured. God, you could just imagine him, laying somewhere, bleeding out and barely conscious. You wondered if he’d thought of you, imagined you coming to save him.

You were seconds away from stealing rope from a supply closet when a short little man walked around the corner.

“Major?”

You froze in place. You weren’t in the room yet; you were innocent.

“Yes?” you said, smiling politely.

“The general wants to see you,” he said, and left without adding anything else.

Shit. How had they known? You hadn’t done anything yet, or told anyone or written anything down.

You made your way to the command center. Not much was going on there in the way of commanding anything, but it was where the higher ups — which now included you — met, and it was where they were attempting to reestablish communications with the outside world.

The room was busy with officers buzzing around. There were a lot of exposed wires hanging out of the walls. It looked like they were rebuilding a computer system circa 1970.

“Major,” the general said, motioning you over.

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re the highest ranking field officer, so this goes to you first,” he said, handing you a manila folder. “We’ve established communication with a base a hundred and fifty miles from here, but only briefly. They said they have seven survivors from our base. They didn’t say who.” The general quickly added the last part when he saw your face light up at the mention of survivors.

You glanced down at the folder. Before you could speak, the general continued.

“We need someone — a pilot — to go up to the surface and see if any planes are still intact, and if so, fly to Walker Base. If there aren’t any planes left, we’ll probably have you try to find a car, or hike if you have to. We need to get our relay codes to that base, and once we do, we’ll have full communication with them again. You up for it?”

You looked up at the general, smiling.

VIII.

It took you about an hour to climb the staircase. Most of it was rubble and a lot of it involved throwing up a rope and securing it on something to climb the huge gaps where the stairs had fallen out, but you eventually got to the top, pushing aside debris to get yourself outside.

The base was gone. There was no way any planes survived this. Still, you walked out onto the strip, just in case.

Some of the piles of charred metal were still smoking. A few small fires were still going, most of them out in the lot, where jet fuel must still be feeding them. You tried to see if you could spot where your and Namjoon’s rooms used to be, but it was all just rubble, ash, and charred cinderblocks.

You walked down the landing strip, looking at the piles of scorched plane parts, blasted to nothing. Pieces of metal jutted up, a plane wing here, a part of engine there. Every pile you saw, you imagined seeing Namjoon’s body among them. You knew if he was dead, he wouldn’t be here, he’d be out in the city — but seeing all of the destroyed planes wasn’t helping.

You stopped in your tracks.

At the end of the landing strip, under a broken wing of a much larger plane, was the most beautiful F-15 Eagle you had ever seen.

You ran to it, climbing on it when you reached it and pushing aside the wing of the bigger plane until it clamored to the ground. You climbed into the cockpit, dropping your backpack with supplies and the relay codes into the little compartment, feeling nearly dizzy in euphoria. You prepped the jet for takeoff, everything going smoothly, and you imagined Namjoon’s face when you showed up at the base. He’d be so happy to see you, but so surprised, and when you told him that you got promoted to major–

You stopped for a moment, your smile falling as you stared blankly at your hands on the switches and dials.

You didn’t know if he was one of the survivors at the other base. You shouldn’t get your hopes up just to show up and find out he wasn’t one of the pilots who made it. For all you knew, you’d get there and one of the pilots from Namjoon’s squadron would tell you all about how he died.

You focused on the task in front of you. You were on a mission, first and foremost, to get the relay codes to the base. That was the important thing right now, not yourself or Namjoon.

You got the plane prepped and ready to go. The center of the runway was clear, since most of the planes had been gone.

F-15s were always your favorite.

IX.

You didn’t attract any alien attention while flying, thankfully. You got there in just over twenty minutes; around the fifteen minute mark, you slowed down and the base contacted you on your descent into their airspace. You had to identify yourself and state your intentions, but the base seemed completely willing to let anyone human land.

When you landed, a few people ran out and took care of your plane for you, as you were escorted inside. You handed over the relay codes and quickly asked if you could see the survivors from your base.

“Most of them were pretty shell-shocked when they got here, but they’re soldiers. They know how it is,” the officer escorting you said as the two of you walked. “How many survivors at your base?”

“Three hundred and forty-two,” you said flatly, staring straight in front of you as you walked. “We had four pilots including myself return, the rest were non-flight officers and civilians. No casualties on the ground, but the base was destroyed in an aerial attack shortly after we landed.”

“Yeah, we heard about that. That’s why we got your other pilots,” the guy said, motioning in front of him in the direction you were walking, assumedly at the surviving pilots. “They didn’t have anywhere to land and thought the base was gone, so they came here. All from different squadrons, but led by one captain.”

You perked up when you heard that. A captain had survived.

You really did try not to get your hopes up. Your base was huge; there were so many squadrons, only one captain surviving was not good news for Namjoon. Still, you were hopeful.

You were led to a barrack where a few pilots were sitting around together, all men looking bored out of their minds. You recognized Park from your training class, and a few others as well. You scanned their faces quickly, looking from person to person, desperately searching for him, frantic and anxious and despairing when you looked and didn’t see him–

“Y/N?” a voice said from behind you, and you spun around.

Namjoon had walked in behind you from the other direction; he looked like he’d just taken a shower, from the wet hair, clean clothes, and bag over his shoulder, which he dropped as he stared at you in disbelief.

Neither of you even said anything. You were only about ten feet apart already, but you immediately met in the middle, desperately grabbing at each other, hugging tightly. Your legs were up around his waist and he held you to him as he kissed all over your face. The room was spinning or maybe Namjoon was just spinning you around, you didn’t care, you just held onto him and tried to kiss him, one hand in his hair and the other arm around his shoulder, trying to pull him closer.

As much as you wanted and tried to kiss him, Namjoon was just too much; it was like he was trying to kiss every last millimeter of your face at least twice. He was holding you so tight you almost couldn’t breathe, but you didn’t even care. His skin, his hair, his mouth, his kisses were all the most amazing things you’d ever felt. You were pressed chest-to-chest, arms wrapped around each other, and you could almost feel his heartbeat pumping along with your own.

Namjoon stopped kissing you long enough to nuzzle against you, closing his eyes as he rubbed his cheek against yours, nearly animalistic.

“I missed you so much, my love,” he breathed. You swore his face was wet with tears, his cheek still pressed against your own. “I haven’t thought about anything other than you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you this whole time, I love you so much… god, fuck, when I thought I’d lost you…” He started kissing your cheek again desperately, his hand coming up to hold your other cheek and hold you in place.

“I missed you too,” you gasped, your voice small and high-pitched as you tried and failed to hold in your tears.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he kept repeating, not even stopping speaking as he kissed you, so some of his words were muffled.

“I love you, too, Joon,” you managed to say before he kissed your mouth, tilting his head to kiss you so deeply it took your breath away.

“Okay, Jesus Christ,” somebody else in the room said then. “Do you guys want us to, like, leave or something?”

Namjoon stopped, catching his breath as you turned your head to look back at the six other pilots and the officer all awkwardly watching you.

“Uh, sorry,” you muttered, putting your feet back on the ground and turning around. Namjoon kept touching you, not taking his hands off you, even as you faced the others.

“I know you both outrank us, but get a room,” a different pilot laughed, his smile boxy and voice deep.

“You have a room, actually,” the officer that led you in said, perking up like that was his cue.

“We do?” Namjoon asked, confused. He stood behind you, hands on your hips, tall enough to see over your head.

“She does,” the officer gestured to you. “She’s a major. All superior officers class O4 and up get their own private room.”

“Major?” Namjoon said, tilting a little to look at your face. You smiled to yourself smugly.

“I can take you there now,” the officer said, motioning to the door behind him.

Namjoon stepped to the side and looked down at the ground shyly, glancing up at you and pouting. You wanted to roll your eyes; he actually thought you weren’t going to invite him to come with you.

“You too,” you said, holding out your hand for him.

Namjoon beamed, and quickly picked up his bag and jogged over to what must be his bed, grabbing the few belongings he had, and shuffled back over to your side, taking your hand and kissing you on the cheek before following along with you.

“Go get it, captain,” one of the pilots jeered at him, the others all snickering and wolf-whistling as Namjoon dropped your hand long enough to flip all the other pilots off while the officer led the two of you out and down the hallway.

As soon as the door was shut behind you in your room, the officer gone and the two of you alone, Namjoon dropped his belongings and picked you up again, your legs tight around him, the two of you kissing again. You felt your back against the cold metal of the old-fashioned blast door, one of Namjoon’s hands holding your face.

“How’d you get here?” he murmured against your neck after a moment, kissing your cheek between gasps. “They said the base was destroyed, no contact.”

“The attack happened right after I landed. Everyone got down in the bunker, no casualties on the ground,” you gasped, still a little short on breath. As you spoke, Namjoon kissed your neck, working his way up to your jaw. “They needed a pilot to bring relay codes here.”

“What’s this about you being a major now?” he said, smirking, his lips not leaving your cheek.

“Got an upgrade while you were gone,” you said, and then you gasped, laughing as Namjoon suddenly sucked your skin over your pulse on your neck, leaving behind a deep purple hickey.

“Well, Miss Major, that means you outrank me now,” he said, leaning back enough to smile at you, his expression a mix of mischievous and proud.

He stepped backward then, still supporting you with his arms, and walked back until he got to the bed, sitting down on it. He laid back, pulling you down on top of him gently, your mouths connected the whole way down.

He was the best thing you’d ever felt, his large, firm body contrasting his gentle touches and kisses. You couldn’t get close enough to him, but it was slow, lazy, loving, everything you’d ever wanted with him, his soft tongue in your mouth, his firm arms around you, his warm body under you.

You couldn’t get over how good he smelled. There was the soap he’d just used, but you’d known him and been close to him long enough to know his scent. He tasted so good too; he swirled his tongue with yours slowly, tracing lazy patterns on your tongue, kissing you so deeply your head spun. His hands rested on your back, his fingers spreading wider as he tried to touch more of you.

You parted for air as he rolled you both, holding your body to his with one hand as he pulled you up the bed, resting your head on the pillow as he gently laid you down. Even though you would’ve only fallen a few inches and the bed was soft, he set you down like you were made of glass, looking down at you with love and hearts in his eyes, not breaking eye contact as he gave you a small, warm smile.

His dark hair was mussed up a little from you running your fingers through it, and it looked fantastic on him. His face was flushed and his parted lips were red and a little swollen, and he looked like he’d been crying, or was about to cry, or both.

You pulled him down to you and kissed him again. He set his body against yours, lining himself up with you as you wrapped your legs around him. You were both still fully clothed, but you could feel him, pressed perfectly against you from your collars to his growing erection and your throbbing core.

“I love you,” he groaned against your neck, grinding slowly against you. “I’ve loved you for so long, I wanted to die when I thought something happened to you and I never told you. I promise I’m going to tell you now, every single day, every time I see you, every time we make love, every second of every day–” He cut himself off by kissing your neck desperately, moving down toward your breast.

“I love you, my angel. You’re the most beautiful thing in the world, I love you so much,” he said, kissing along your skin frantically by the collar of your ugly flight jumpsuit. “You’re my best friend, and I love you, I love you, I love you,” he said, kissing up the center of your chest toward your clavicle. His messy hair tickled your chin, and you rested one of your hands on the back of his head as he worked, gently stroking his hair.

“I love you too,” you managed to say, though words weren’t really coming to you right now, with all Namjoon was doing to you.

Namjoon got up then, and you watched for a moment as he started quickly stripping off his clothes. You sat up too, pulling off your jumpsuit, and Namjoon got all but his boxers off before your arms were even out. He helped you, running his hands along your skin as you peeled off the jumpsuit, leaving you in just the undershirt and shorts you’d had on underneath.

There was a moment where the two of you just sat there looking at each other. You’d both seen each other in this context — nearly naked — before, from sleeping in the same room to swimming to other random things you’d done together over the years, but this was the first time it was ever like this.

Namjoon raised his hands slowly, his fingers just barely skimming against your hips. His eyes were on your breasts, his mouth nearly watering, and you smiled at that. He looked up at you, his eyes innocent and showing every emotion he had within him; he was asking for permission.

You brought your hand up to his face and kissed him slowly, savoring every movement of his lips, the feel of his tongue, the taste of him. His hands went to your thighs and helped you wrap your legs around him, and then you were laying down again, Namjoon on top of you.

He kissed down your chest, this time simultaneously running one of his hands up your stomach under your thin undershirt. He cupped your breast with that hand, feeling you fully, while his mouth kissed back up to your neck. He got your undershirt off without either of you having to get up, though he did have to lean back a little to give you room to wiggle around, and then he unhooked your bra and threw that and your undershirt somewhere behind him.

Namjoon swirled his tongue around one of your nipples, gently squeezing your other breast with his hand, your peaked nipple hard against his palm. He rolled one nipple between his thumb and forefinger slowly while sucking the other, just barely using teeth and making you gasp, and then he switched sides, doing the same thing again.

“That feels so good, Joonie,” you sighed, closing your eyes and smiling to yourself. You stroked his hair while he worked, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. Every moment or so, you’d let out a moan for him, tightening your fingers in his hair whenever he did something that made you see stars, and he’d hum back to you, responding without taking his mouth off you.

Namjoon moved down your abdomen, kissing every rib, every freckle, every last inch of your skin. He dipped his tongue into your belly button and you gasped and giggled, feeling his grin against your skin as he kissed down your navel, his tongue tracing along the edge of the little shorts you still had on.

You reached down and tried to pull off your shorts, but Namjoon’s hands replaced your own, slowly pulling just your shorts off and leaving your panties. He tossed your shorts the same direction he’d tossed your bra, and then looked down at you, sitting back on his legs. Your legs were spread wide, your soaked panties the only thing covering you, your eyes desperate for him, your breasts rising and falling as your breath quickened in anticipation and need for him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his expression almost dazed in love and adoration. He looked like he didn’t know where to look, his eyes scanning your face, your breasts, your spread thighs, the spot on your panties where you were already wet and soaking for him. You bit your lip and whimpered, and he closed his eyes, sighing and smiling to himself, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

Namjoon bent over and kissed your ankle, slowly, chastely. He moved to the other side and repeated that, kissing your anklebone. He moved up your calf, staying on that side, kissing you over and over and moving so slowly you started to whine for him, begging him to go faster and reaching down for him. He reached up and took one of your hands, holding it and lacing your fingers together as he continued what he was doing, not at all speeding up.

He kissed your knee, the side of it, the front of it, and tilting your leg gently to kiss the back of it. He moved up, kissing your inner thigh while still holding your hand. You spread your legs further for him, whimpering and squeezing his hand as he got closer and closer to your center.

Namjoon pulled back then, a smug smile on his face as he started moving down to kiss his way up your other leg, starting again at your ankle. You let out a whiney moan, pulling his hand and looking down at him, pleading.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” he said gently, moving back to where you wanted him most.

He kissed you right over your panties, a deep, open-mouthed kiss that made you cry out. You could feel him breathing hard through his nose, smelling and inhaling you as he moved his mouth against you, letting go of your hand so he could hold your thighs with both his large, perfect hands.

He licked and sucked the fabric of your panties, tasting where you were soaked for him. It was the most amazing thing you’d ever felt, and you spread your legs even further for him, your hands holding onto the sheets of the bed, your knuckles turning white.

You gasped when you felt teeth, and then Namjoon was slowly pulling your panties down your legs with his mouth, looking up at you with playful eyes and a smirk. You wanted to roll your eyes at him, but instead just closed your legs enough for him to get your panties off of you, letting him have his fun. He let out a small growl at you, your panties still in his mouth, and you giggled, a soft noise that made his eyes light up.

Before you could think or do anything, Namjoon was back between your legs, spreading you open with his fingers and licking a slow, thick line up your folds to your clit.

You cried out, your head falling back and eyes squeezing closed. Namjoon repeated the motion, even slower this time, moaning a little too as he let the tip of his tongue enter you for just a moment. You whined, pulling his hair hard and trying to spread your legs even further, and Namjoon stopped, humming softly as he turned his head and kissed your thigh.

“I love you so fucking much,” Namjoon murmured against your skin, kissing you there again. “Your pussy’s so pretty, my love. So soft and wet for me.”

“Joonie,” you sighed, stroking his hair. You could feel his smile against your thigh, and it made you smile, too. You felt warm, like you were glowing from his love.

Namjoon turned his head back and dipped his tongue into you again, this time further, like he was trying to see how far he could go. His lips sucked at your entrance as his tongue flicked in and out, not fast enough to get you off, but not slow, either. He moved his tongue like he was trying to drink you, lapping you up, bringing your wetness into his mouth and down his throat.

You moaned loudly for him, pulling his face harder against you by his hair, and he reached up and grabbed one of your hands, lacing his fingers with yours over one of your thighs.

He moved his mouth up to your clit, drawing random shapes over it with the tip of his tongue lazily while he curled two fingers into you. He moved clumsily, like he wasn’t exactly sure of what he was doing but just wanted to make you feel good, and what he was doing was definitely working. What he lacked in experience he more than made up for in eagerness and love, and when he moaned around your clit, and you nearly screamed.

“Jesus Christ, Joon, fuck. God, your mouth is… mmm, god, you’re so fucking good, that feels so good, Joonie, Joonie–” You cut yourself off with a long, agonized cry as Namjoon sucked your clit into his mouth hard, swirling his tongue around it as he suctioned his mouth and moved his fingers inside you faster. You repeated a chorus of nothing but his name between breathy moans as you held onto his hair with your free hand, your other hand squeezing his.

You gasped when you came, your whole body tensing as you saw stars and every nerve in your body exploded in pleasure. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream as you failed to breathe, your lungs tightening and your orgasm only building and building as Namjoon kept moving his tongue and fingers. You felt like you were floating in space, millions of stars around you all bursting at once, the entire universe stopping for you and Namjoon and the love you felt for each other.

After a moment, you took in a shaky breath, trying to recover while your mind was still mush. Namjoon was still moving his mouth on you, now licking up your wetness at your entrance and moaning to himself at the taste. If he kept that up, you were going to come again, and soon.

You moaned, pulling on his hair enough for him to look up at you, not stopping what his mouth was doing. You pleaded with your eyes, whimpering and pulling his hair again, and he put his lips to your entrance one last time, this time spreading his lips as wide as possible and sucking as he slowly closed his mouth. You gasped and almost screamed at the sensation of him actually drinking you, desperate to taste you.

Your second orgasm was smaller, making you shudder and gasp for just a moment before steadily breathing deeply as you tried to recover again. You looked down at him, barely able to lift your head; Namjoon was kissing your thigh, your hips, pressing gentle kisses to your skin as he slowly worked his way up your stomach. You could see how hard he was, his precum glistening on the head of his cock as it bounced against his stomach with his movements.

You started to reach down to grasp him, but he gently stopped you, bringing your hand back up by your head and lacing his fingers with yours. He kissed your collarbone, leaving a trail of wet kiss spots all over your body, your own wetness in the shape of his lips and chin.

“Please, Joonie,” you hummed, and he came back to you, kissing your lips slowly and letting you taste yourself on him. You wrapped your legs around him tightly as he lined himself up with your entrance, moaning when you felt the head of his cock against your folds, gasping when he started slowly sliding into you, every amazing inch of him filling and stretching you.

Namjoon buried his face in your neck, the length of his nose pressed against the curve of your jaw. He turned his head enough to kiss your neck, feeling your rapid, heavy pulse with his lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your neck, not opening his eyes. “So fucking tight and wet for me, my angel, my princess, my heart, my love. I love you so fucking much.” He kissed your neck again gently before pushing all the way into you and bottoming out, the stretch so wonderfully tight and full. You cried out, spreading your legs further and higher for him, grabbing at his shoulders, scraping your fingernails down his back as he filled you up so completely.

Namjoon pulled out slowly and then pushed in again, rocking into you. You were desperate, nearly delirious and just about ready to cry if he didn’t start moving faster. He seemed to just barely be holding on by a thread, his own orgasm already one sudden movement away from overwhelming him.

“God, Jesus Christ, Joon, fuck,” you cried, close to actually in tears now. You started to say something else but it turned into a small whimper as he thrust into you again, hard.

“I love you,” he groaned against your neck, “I love you so much, Y/N…” Your name turned into a long moan as he began his slow, torturous pace, both of you so close to the edge already. You didn’t know how he was possibly going so slow still, other than the fact he must want to torture you.

“Go faster, please,” you cried out, holding onto his shoulders as tight as you could and digging in your fingernails. “I need you so bad, Joonie. God, fuck me, please…”

“I love you, angel,” he said, kissing your shoulder. He picked up the pace a little, but it wasn’t enough. “I love you, baby, I love you so much. I love you, I love you–”

“Go fucking faster, now, please…” you sobbed, pulling his hair, making him hiss in pain, but he listened, reaching down and holding your hip with one hand as he started pounding into you, the force of it making the bed creak and your breasts bounce with each quick, powerful thrust. You were long past gone, moaning loudly with each exhale, and Namjoon groaned and grunted, his head against your shoulder as the two of you moved together, you rolling your hips up to meet him thrust for thrust.

Namjoon broke first. His orgasm hit him suddenly and he tried to keep moving, his thrusts sloppy, erratic, and uneven as he spilled into you, his mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed shut. He let out a long groan until he ran out of air, and then he didn’t inhale again until he finished, suddenly and harshly gasping in again, his whole body shaking in your arms.

He reached down and rubbed your clit furiously, and you only lasted a few seconds before you gasped too, clenching around his still half-hard erection inside you, which only made him groan in overstimulation as you squeezed and spasmed around him, gasping nothing but his name and feeling nothing but him, your love, your Namjoon.

Namjoon somehow managed to keep himself from collapsing on top of you. He moved to the side enough to fall beside you, one of his legs still between your thighs as he laid on his stomach, slightly turned in toward you. His hand moved up to cup and stroke your cheek as he lazily kissed your shoulder.

“I love you too, Joonie,” you said between shaky breaths, your vision almost blurry from lust and exhaustion and a dumb happy smile on your face. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You laid there for a little while together before you eventually went another round, this time as slow as Namjoon had wanted to go the first time.

When you came this time, your orgasm had to have lasted at least five full minutes (or at least, it felt like that) as Namjoon kept moving in and out of you, keeping up his steady, slow, overwhelming movements that left you delirious with his cock inside you, his thumb on your clit, and his lips on yours, breathing in every moan of his name.

After you both laid there a while again, lazy in post coital haze, you eventually got up and went to your room’s personal little bathroom, where you turned on the tiny shower and let it warm up. You stood there feeling the water’s temperature with your hand while Namjoon stood behind you, arms wrapped around you and lips on your neck. It was like he couldn’t go more than a few minutes without saying “I love you,” not that you were complaining.

You showered together, Namjoon standing behind you the whole time and washing your body for you. He massaged your breasts, hands sudsy as the warm water fell down over them as he kissed your neck, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear. One of his hands fell down to your folds, stroking you slowly as his other hand moved to your breast, arm wrapping around you so that his forearm could also press against your nipple, stimulating and touching both of your breasts at once.

Namjoon slid two fingers into you as he kissed your temple. You could feel him hard against your ass, and that feeling made your eyes flutter.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamt of touching you, pleasing you, making love to you,” he murmured into your hair. You responded with an agonized moan, reaching back and holding onto his shoulder for support. “I’ve wanted you like this since we first met. I dreamed about eating your perfect little pussy so many times, doing exactly this to you, feeling you squeeze my cock like you did earlier when you came so prettily. You’re better than anything I ever could’ve imagined though, baby. Your pussy tastes like heaven and feels even better. You’re so fucking perfect, princess, I love you so much, more than my heart can bare.”

You felt like he had to be bending you over slightly, his firm chest against your back. You swore you could actually feel his cock throbbing.

“I need you,” you moaned, your eyes closed as you felt nothing but his hands.

“I’m here,” he said, kissing your cheek. “I’m here, angel. I love you.”

“Need you inside me,” you said, spreading your legs to stand with your feet braced wider apart. “I love you, too, Joonie. Please…”

Namjoon didn’t need to be told twice. Hooking his arm around your waist for support, he bent you both over a little more, sliding into you from behind in one smooth motion. You cried out in ecstasy, he felt so good and big and yours.

It was fast and sloppy; he hugged you against him with both arms while you braced yourself on the tile wall in front of you. The sound of skin smacking against wet skin, his hips hitting your ass coupled with both your quiet moans and the wet squelching of him moving hard and fast inside you, echoing off the tile walls with the sound of the running water. He filled you so perfectly, stretched you out so far, you felt like he was fucking up into your guts, so hard and deep and good.

You came at the same time, Namjoon groaning and squeezing you harder as your eyes rolled back in your head.

When you’d both recovered some, you stood there under the water, still in the same position. You both knew base rules about wasting water, so you needed to wrap this up, but neither of you wanted to move.

You eventually got out and dried off, both of you getting ready for bed with the toiletries provided by the base. He couldn’t keep his hands off of you the whole time though, so the whole process probably took three times longer than it should’ve.

When you both finished, he pulled you to him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he kissed you, his hands spreading out on your bare back. Namjoon’s tongue slowly swirled with yours as he let out a small, contented hum, and he wrapped your legs up around his body, supporting you with one hand on your back and the other on your thigh.

Namjoon walked to your bed, carrying you, and laid down with you on top of him. You didn’t end up going another round, but you kissed for a while until eventually you started to move off of him to sleep beside him. Namjoon, though, held you there on top of him, keeping you there.

He murmured a soft little “please,” stroking your back gently, begging you to stay where you were on top of him. You laid back down and kissed right over his heart, before turning your head and resting your cheek on his chest, nuzzling in against him to sleep as he pulled the sheets up around you both.

You were safe in his arms. The world around you didn’t matter; not the people down the hall, not anything outside the base, none of it. The whole universe was just you and Namjoon in this bed, and nothing else existed. He was yours, and you were his.

#ksmutclub #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #namjoon smut #bts smut #rm smut #kim namjoon #namjoon #my writing #namjoon fic #*

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thedragonnerd · 3 years

Text

Ficlet: Forgiveness (Namaari)

(tw: lil bit of violence. Finally managed to finish this!)

The Council of Kumandra has finally arrived at an agreement on article 7, clause 15 of a mutually beneficial trade agreement, when Benja raises his hand, and calls for a break in proceedings.

‘Now is a time for feasting,’ he says, ushering the Council members away from the chamber, and Raya could almost weep in relief. Her boredom had been so intense during the last thirty minutes of the meeting, it took all she had not to fall asleep right in the middle of negotiations.

She pulls herself out of her chair slowly, aiming to be the last to leave the room as she allows the visiting dignitaries to file out ahead of her - sometimes, playing the role of a good host can be exhausting. Her stomach is beginning to rumble loudly, but she’s torn between going to hunt for a plate of food first, or going to search for Namaari, who had been helping to represent Fang’s interests at this meeting, and hence had to sit with their party rather than next to Raya, where they can usually whisper back and forth on all sorts of ridiculous topics.

Although she hides it well, Raya has noticed Namaari struggles sometimes with attending meetings in other lands, especially in Heart where there are curious looks, or sometime downright hostile glares towards her and the rest of the Fang delegation.

It’s with this thought in mind that Raya stumbles out of the room and towards the distant hum of people already congregating for dinner. She bypasses the array of mouth-watering dishes however, nodding at her Ba as he catches her eye. He’s deep in conversation with Chief Virana, so she decides to avoid disturbing them, and focuses on scanning the room with a singular purpose in mind. She cannot see Namaari anywhere, but before she can venture forth to search other parts of the palace, Sisu bumps her shoulder gently.

‘Raya, my girl!’ she says, body curling around Raya slightly, and nose poking against Raya’s cheek. ‘What’s making you so distracted? Was it that long boring meeting? Cos I have to say, I totally dozed off for most of it, so I sure hope Pranee spoke up for us…’

Raya tunes her out slightly as she resumes her searching of the crowd, hoping to see Namaari’s broad shoulders somewhere in the room, until a soft ‘thwack’ of a paw lands on her arm, Sisu’s claws tapping gently on her skin.

‘Raya?’

‘Sisu, have you seen Namaari anywhere?’ Raya asks. ‘I haven’t been able to find her.’

‘Oh, she went outside a few minutes ago,’ Sisu proclaims, flicking her tail in the general direction of the door that leads to the gardens. ‘She said she wanted some fresh air or something.’

‘Thanks, Sisu!’ Raya calls absently over her shoulder, already heading for the exit. The negotiations had gone on for so long that dusk is beginning to fall, and a light breeze sweeps through her hair as the summer heat fades away. Lanterns flicker on as she hurries down the pathway that she assumes Namaari’s taken. Usually if everything gets too much, and Namaari feels overwhelmed, she tends to hide with her serlot for a while. There’s no reason she shouldn’t be there, perfectly fine and safe, but for some reason there is an anxious knot in Raya’s chest…a feeling that she needs to find Namaari now, just to be sure.

As she rounds a corner, she hears raised voices in the distance, and squinting her eyes, she spies a group up ahead. There are five young men – warriors, dressed in the clothes of Heart, Talon and Tail – and they are talking loudly and angrily at a sixth person, their hands already grasping their swords. Raya knows it is Namaari before she even sees the figure dressed in white, boxed in by the men with a large rock wall at her back.

‘’Maari!’ she calls, hastening her steps, but the people before her are too engrossed in their showdown to hear. From the direction of her approach, the men’s backs are turned to her anyway, and whilst she can see Namaari’s face, the other woman has all her focus trained on the threat.

She doesn’t want to spark a fuse by racing in unannounced if Namaari has it under control, but as she hurries along the path towards them, she sees one of the men take a step forwards, waving his sword around dangerously as he continues to shout. Five against one is not exactly fair odds, but Raya knows Namaari can handle herself well in a fight – indeed, has been on the receiving end of some of those punches both in battle and on the training grounds. If something is about to go down, she’s confident that Namaari will be able to hold them off long enough for her to arrive and join the fight.

She’s almost upon the group when it happens. Namaari grasps her two swords, pulling them out with casual ease, and then…she throws them down by her feet, her chin raised proudly. Raya’s blood runs cold as she watches the ringleader lash out, kicking Namaari down to the ground.

‘’Maari, get up!’ she cries out, sprinting the last few steps.

Everything seems to occur simultaneously. Namaari’s eyes widen as she sees Raya for the first time, her hand reaching out as if to stop her from coming closer, whilst several of the group begin to turn around at the sound of Raya’s voice. But Raya only has her sight set on the leader, as his arm raises and she sees a flash of metal swinging down towards Namaari. She desperately launches her own sword towards him, hoping Namaari won’t be caught in the crossfire, and its extended blade wraps around his, pulling his arm back abruptly.

Raya slides across the ground, foot kicking out at the two nearest opponents, and she can see them tumble down out the corner of her eye as she spins around, flinging her into the fight. She’s a skilled combatant herself, with years of being out on the road and having to watch her own back, and she manages to draw blood in the first few seconds of facing down a now rather surprised looking ringleader. But as soon as one goes down, there are two more circling around her. The men are all trained warriors themselves, and she realizes with a jolt that she recognizes several of them, especially those from Heart, making her reluctant to take a kill strike.

One moment of distraction by someone managing to slice her left arm means she is vulnerable, and in the next moment she lands heavily on her back, the breath knocked out of her. The Talon man peers down at her with an ugly twist to his smile, and there is a flash of a weapon coming towards her face before twin blades thrust into view, blocking his attack.

Namaari grasps her wrist, pulling her up with one hand, and then they are fighting back-to-back, a team of flashing swords and bloodied knuckles. Their opponents have no chance, and the five men lie on the ground with various wounds before Raya can even take a deep breath.

‘What were you binturis thinking?’ Raya feels the rage burning inside her as she looks at their prone forms. The ringleader – a warrior from Heart, she is shocked to see – spits blood onto the dirt, and then snarls up at her with red-stained teeth.

‘She’s the one that destroyed the world,’ he croaks, gesturing towards Namaari. ‘And yet now you welcome her here to our lands with open arms? After everything she’s done? We demand blood for blood.’

Six years of surviving alone during the reign of the Druun has made Raya observant and fast with her reflexes; as he pulls out his crossbow and begins to raise it towards Namaari, she has already lifted her foot, stamping down hard enough to feel the satisfying *crack* of his fingers under her heel.

‘No, you almost destroyed the world right now,’ she hisses, a white-hot rage sweeping through her mind. ‘You almost destroyed Kumandra and the peace we’ve sought for so long, with your inability to let go of the past and refusal to remember she also helped save this land.’

Her hand clenches in a fist, and she moves to lunge down for another punch to his face. A muscled arm curls around her waist instead, hauling her upright.

‘It’s alright, Raya,’ Namaari says softly, pulling Raya’s back against herself. ‘He’s not worth it.’

Raya is about to say exactly how worth it she thinks it would be, when they are suddenly surrounded by Ba, Virana, Sisu and other concerned guests, who have followed the sounds of the commotion.

Later, they are sat on Raya’s bed in silence.

‘Let me at least deal with that,’ Namaari breaks the stand-off, nodding her chin towards Raya’s arm, where the thin scratch still bleeds sluggishly.

‘I’m still angry at you,’ Raya says grumpily, but shuffles sideways slightly so that Namaari can have easier access to the wound. Namaari says nothing in response, leaving instead to collect up some bandages and a damp cloth, and when she returns, she focuses on cleaning the cut with precise focus.

‘It won’t need stitches,’ she murmurs as she wraps the clean bandage around Raya’s arms, her fingers gentle but firm in their actions. ‘I’m sorry you got hurt for me.’

‘Namaari, do you know why I’m angry?’ Raya interrupts the moment, ducking her head so that their eyes meet for the first time since dealing with the aftermath of the attack. Namaari holds her gaze for a moment, before her eyes slide away to fix on a point somewhere over Raya’s shoulder.

‘That man from Talon…Raya, his wife died in a Druun attack. Not turned to stone, but was actually killed in the chaos. Same for one of your own citizens – he told me his brother had drowned trying to swim away from the Druun in the initial attack. How do you expect me to hear that, and not…’

‘Not what, Namaari? Not hand yourself over for execution, or whatever they wanted to do?’ Raya is unimpressed. ‘Not everything is your fault, you stubborn binturi. And I refuse to let you become some sort of martyr due to some misguided quest for forgiveness.’

Her voice is raised slightly by the end, but one look at Namaari’s troubled face has her sighing deeply. She reaches out instead to wrap her arms around Namaari’s shoulders, pulling her into an embrace despite the stiff muscles she feels under her hands.

‘I wish sometimes that you’d simply forgive yourself,’ she confesses softly, the words coming easily. ‘But until then, I guess I’ll just keep reminding you instead.’

She feels arms tentatively rise up and wrap around her waist, and in response, she tucks her face in against the crook of Namaari’s neck. They sit embracing in silence for a long time.

#rayaari #raya and the last dragon #ratld #raya #namaari #raya and namaari #raya x namaari #rayaari ficlet #forgiveness of self can be tricky #and namaari carries so much guilt #but i'm sure she'll learn to forgive herself eventually

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Kurtbastian fic “Always and Forever” Chapter 3

Summary: After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Read on AO3.

Chapter 3 (4753 words)

Kurt stares out his studio window at the neighborhood below. It’s 10:15 a.m. and a Tuesday, so it isn’t as if the place is teeming with activity. Everyone living on Colony Lane seems content to stick to their own spaces, abide by their own schedules, and go about their lives without much interference from the world outside.

Kurt hates to hand it to Sebastian, but that’s what he wants as well. Isolation in a quaint fixer-upper is precisely what he needs.

Another point for Sebastian.

Damn.

He seems to be racking them up lately, while Kurt…

Kurt can admit that he’s not trying as hard as he should be, but he’s giving himself permission to be selfish. There shouldn’t be a timetable for bouncing back from loss, and Kurt got the double-whammy.

Sebastian gave him betrayal to get over, too.

Kurt knows that he should deem repairing his marriage a priority, but he also needs to do what’s right for him.

He hasn’t figured out what that is yet, but it'll come to him.

Underlying childhood guilt has him believing that he should introduce himself to the neighbors. Etiquette and all that. It’s what his mother would do. Every time his family moved, and there had been a handful of times, Kurt’s mother would bake a batch of cookies for the neighbors. She'd put a baker's dozen into colorful cellophane bags, tie the tops with curled ribbon, and take them door to door to say hello. She wouldn’t wait for people to show up on their doorstep with a casserole and a smile. She believed in being proactive. She would tell him, “New neighborhood, new life. Go out and be a part of it.”

But Kurt doesn’t want to, and the neighbors seem fine with that.

It’s been three days, and Kurt and Sebastian have only gotten one visitor – the technician who came to fix the heating. Of course, the neighbors could be waiting for them to get settled. Then they’ll pounce over with perfectly iced Gingerbread Bundt cakes and Chicken Kievs, church invites, and Girl Scout cookie order forms, like a swarm of Stepford Wives.

Kurt doesn’t care about being proactive, and his mother isn’t around to scold him for behaving like a hermit.

That may sound harsh, but it's true.

The clouds pulling together in the sky overhead, threatening rain, give Kurt an excuse to shut himself away and work on the house - an excuse he can ply without the assistance of a tragic backstory. With his laptop open on the floor in front of him, he browses those websites that feed his design fetishes: Ethan Allen, Neiman Marcus, Anthropologie.

But he's not the least bit inspired.

He’d decided to start small, take things room by room instead of attacking everything at once. But he gets stumped, staring at the screen in front of him, unsure whether the chair he’s been mulling over for the past half hour is gorgeous or gaudy.

He should focus on bringing the living room together since it’s where they do the bulk of their entertaining, provided they ever start entertaining again. And he should do something about the master bedroom, which, for the moment, houses a bed, a TV, and a dresser within the confines of four ashy walls.

Opinions on the topic vary, but Kurt has always felt that the bedrooms are the heart of the home. They’re sanctuaries where dreaming, planning, and affirmation happen. He only has the one to worry about, so he should put extra effort into making it comforting, relaxing, sensual on the off chance he ever plans on touching his husband again.

The jury is still out on that one, unfortunately.

The kitchen, he’s not looking forward to decorating. Aside from his studio, he and Grace spent much of their time together in the kitchen. They baked daily: cakes, cookies, bread, and anything else they could slop onto a baking sheet and shove into the oven. They also made jam, pickled fruit, and taught themselves (using YouTube videos mainly) to prepare various types of cuisine. Some were a hit, others a miss, but it was always an adventure.

Kurt had done something similar with his mother and her collection of vintage cookbooks, congregating around the kitchen island in the afternoons to shed the angst of public school, and spread the wings of his stifled creativity. He and his mother discussed everything in the kitchen while sifting flour and creaming butter. It was a tradition he had so looked forward to continuing.

Now, he’d rather not be bothered going into the kitchen again.

He could pick a page out of the IKEA catalog and recreate it. That should offend him. It did when Sebastian suggested it the first time Kurt redecorated their penthouse. But Kurt hardly cares. It doesn’t matter as much as it did. He can’t remember the last time he stepped into the kitchen and prepared anything more elaborate than toast and coffee, maybe dry scrambled eggs. Sebastian took over cooking duties after Grace died, which, nine times out of ten, means ordering out, if for no other reason than he gets to leave the house to pick up the food.

He knows Kurt appreciates the time alone more than he does a home-cooked meal.

Then there’s Sebastian’s office, which Kurt is decorating for the first time. He has tried to start a shopping cart for it numerous times, but, unlike the windfall of ideas he had for his studio, he can’t get into a groove. He remembers a time when thinking about decorating Sebastian’s office put a hundred ideas into his head.

Currently, he has only one.

The cheap, vomit-worthy, knock-off furnishings of the no-tell hotel room he pictures whenever he thinks of Sebastian sleeping with another man.

Kurt shivers in disgust. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy.

The room or the infidelity.

But how would Sebastian react if Kurt decorated his office to look like the business suite at the Marriott?

Kurt snickers, envisioning the sitcom-worthy shock that would erupt on Sebastian's face if he presented that to him.

"As you can see," Kurt would say, strolling through the room with his head held high atop the straightest spine pettiness can deliver, "I have chosen the most flame-retardant carpet available in subtle hues of tan and beige, a color combination well suited for concealing cum stains. This ergonomic, curved leather loveseat, for when you want to get adventurous with your afternoon romps, which, at your age, requires plenty of lumbar support. Plus, it cleans up in a snap with just a Clorox wipe, so that's a useful feature. Faux fireplace, faux aquarium, faux chandelier... are we sensing a theme? And in the corner, I've provided you a foldout of your own, for when you bring... ahem... work home."

The grin on Kurt's lips slides when Sebastian, wearing a gutted expression, pops to mind. It's an expression that Kurt didn't believe possible for Sebastian till their daughter died. He's only seen it once. He doesn't want to bring it back.

He sighs.

Revenge-dreaming isn't helping.

It isn't as satisfying as he thought it would be.

He’s not breaking through his creative block anytime soon. He puts his plans for the other rooms on the back burner and decides to spend time picking out furniture for his studio. With the exception of his sewing machines, he didn’t bring anything from his penthouse studio here, so he’s starting over fresh. He switches tabs and starts filling his online shopping cart with the basics: a new drafting table, a cabinet, a chair he’ll have to custom-upholster, a bolt of drapery fabric he can repurpose to make a bedspread (if he goes through with his plans for a foldout), and a few other miscellaneous odds and ends, nothing worth wasting too much brain-power over.

The clunk-clunk of Sebastian stacking cans in the kitchen cabinets reaches Kurt upstairs, as does the water running in the sink while he washes dishes and the squeak of the sticky pantry door when he fixes it. Kurt plans on redoing the kitchen and giving the entire room a facelift. Sebastian knows that. But repairing the door gives Sebastian something to do.

Sebastian has been considerate enough to let Kurt do his thing undisturbed for the morning. Kurt’s reluctance to talk to anyone extends to Sebastian, which Sebastian understands. He’s keeping his distance. But it’s nice to hear him puttering around the house. It gives Kurt comfort, the same way listening to his father snore in the middle of the night helped Kurt feel less alone after his mother died.

He may want to be left alone, but it’s nice to know that he’s not alone.

Especially not today.

Today did not start out good for Kurt.

Kurt woke up later than he’d intended, and when he did, he couldn’t remember where he was. Sebastian had woken up and gotten out of bed hours earlier, leaving Kurt alone to sleep in. Kurt climbed out of bed and wandered around frightened, hands crawling along the walls, searching for something familiar. Footsteps passed somewhere underneath him, and he froze. He didn’t want to venture downstairs because he didn’t know who could be there. Maybe someone had broken in, or worse - this was somebody else’s house, and Kurt was the intruder.

His heart raced. He started hyperventilating. He went from room to room, trying to figure out where he was and why he was there. It wasn’t until the second time he went into his studio that he began to remember. He saw his bag on the floor and, beside it, his sketchbook. He remembered sitting in there the day before, making plans. He remembered the wood grain of the floor, the dusty glass, the tree outside, the wallpaper, and that ripped corner by the window, which Kurt refuses to acknowledge any more than he has to.

He feels it behind him, like the sun on his back, trying to get him to turn his face to it, but he refuses. Of all the things he needs to deal with, that ripped corner and the word beneath it don’t make the list. It isn't doing the palpitations in his chest any favors.

It confuses him.

It angers him.

It saddens him.

It makes him consider what could have been, forces him to face everything he's lost. He didn't succeed in running away from his problems. He ran headlong into brand new ones.

But this is his house. He has to get used to it.

These episodes aren’t uncommon. They crop up whenever Kurt needs to adapt to change. They’re unexpected, like mines in fields he discovers he’s been running through when a second ago he was picking flowers in the park or strolling down the street.

It's their unpredictability that is the true torture.

They show up even on his good days.

His life for the last ten years revolved around his daughter. When she was a baby, he adjusted his work schedule to match her sleep schedule. They had the money to afford the best nurses in New York, but Kurt didn’t want that. He didn’t want his daughter raised by a governess. He was as hands-on a parent as there ever was.

As Grace grew, her schedule changed, and Kurt adjusted: daycare, Gymboree, kindergarten, ballet, elementary school. He dropped her off in the mornings, then picked her up in the afternoons. They spent the rest of the day going over her homework until it was time to make dinner, which they did together.

That was the great thing about being a designer and freelance editor. Kurt could work from anywhere, and, aside from doing consultations at Vogue, he could work any time.

When Grace became sick, her doctor visits and her medication regimen dictated Kurt's schedule, then her chemo.

Towards the end, there was only one item written in Kurt’s schedule - lie beside his daughter in her bed, holding on to her for dear life.

And not just her life.

His, too.

In sickness and in health, Grace kept Kurt’s life regulated.

Things flipped drastically when she died.

He felt adrift. Detached from the life he had gotten used to, he didn’t know what to latch on to. His internal clock would wake him up at six to get Grace ready for the day, only to find himself walking into a vacant bedroom. At the supermarket, he would grab her favorite cereal out of habit and put it in his cart, even though it wasn’t on the list. He would jolt when he'd come across a song he thought she’d like or saw an advertisement for a movie he thought she’d enjoy.

He has yet to stop the automatic deposits from his bank account to hers, her weekly allowance piling up on top of birthday and Christmas money. She had earmarked it for college (her decision, not his). Now it waits to be donated to the children’s hospital that took such incredible care of her. He doesn’t have the heart to empty it. She was so proud of it.

He doesn’t know what it will do to him to see the balance at zero.

But the worst moment of all, the absolute worst, was when he tried to go back to work right after they lost her.

There are many moments after Grace’s death, during Kurt’s own struggle for acceptance, that blur together, but this one he remembers so vividly, it brings a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes.

He was in the middle of a brainstorming session with his team. His boss Isabelle was there. She had dropped by with a box of cronuts and a grande nonfat mocha. Kurt hadn’t been eating. Everyone could tell. But Kurt overlooked the signs – the sharper than normal angle to his cheekbones and chin, his collarbone that showed through his skin a little too much, his hands that never stopped shaking. He had waved the food away when she offered.

An hour later, he was on his third one.

The tension of his presence in the office so soon after his daughter’s death slowly dissipated, making way for the familiar, though attenuated, back and forth banter he had so missed. Without knowing it, he was paving the way for a potential comeback. He wouldn’t have a line up for a while, and he would need to keep an eye on fashion trends as they came and went in his absence. But this, this felt so natural, so normal, it almost seemed like it was. He got caught up in the rhythm of this impromptu jam session. He smiled, he laughed.

He felt alive again.

Somewhere in the middle of outlining a rough schedule, he glanced down at the time on his phone. Mid-sentence, he got up from his chair and walked over to get his coat off the hook by the door.

“Alright,” he said with a chuckle over Chase’s last clap back at a jab from his boyfriend Ian, “thanks for everything, you guys, but I’ve gotta run. We’ll talk about this more when I come in tomorrow.”

The room went pin-drop silent. Kurt didn’t notice.

“Where are you going?” Isabelle asked, getting up from her seat on the corner of his desk and approaching, knowing that he would need her in a second, the way she always knew. Kurt has referred to Isabelle as his Fairy Godmother ever since he first walked into Vogue fresh out of high school and trying to find a foothold in the hectic Gulf Stream that is New York City. She became his pillar of support, a sympathetic ear, and a clear head whenever he needed one. She had thrown his bachelor party. Hers was the condo he stayed in the night before his wedding. She’d hosted Grace’s baby shower.

Also, Grace’s wake.

She didn’t have children of her own and didn't plan on it, but she loved Grace as much as anyone.

And hers was the shoulder Kurt cried on when he found out Sebastian had cheated.

Kurt looked at her, confused, wondering why it was that everyone around him seemed to be holding their breath. “I just… have to go pick up Grace. From school. I’m going… I’m going to be late.”

Isabelle shook her head and put a hand on his. “Sweetie… ”

It took Kurt a second.

Even after one person gasped and another sniffled, with Isabelle’s sorrowful eyes staring at him, begging him to remember so she wouldn’t have to say it, he didn’t catch on.

When he did, it hit him like an electric shock straight through his body, rendering his muscles useless, and he crumbled to the floor. Isabelle held him for over an hour in that spot until Sebastian arrived. Kurt didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go to their empty penthouse and face the truth about his empty life. He wanted to stay at Vogue with Isabelle and live in that moment where everything was alright again for one shimmering second, even if it wasn’t real.

But he had to go. He had to leave with Sebastian, who had hurt him, back to his home, even if it killed him because even though he felt like his life was over, everything else continued on. People lived, and people died. The sun set in the evening, but in the morning, it would rise again.

He just didn’t want to be a part of it anymore.

Not without his Grace.

He was cried out by the time Sebastian got him home. Sebastian undressed him, helped him with his cleaning and moisturizing routine, and then put him to bed. It was Friday evening when Kurt shut his eyes and went to sleep. He lived that horrible moment at his office over again a hundred times before he opened his eyes. And when he did, it was Sunday morning.

Like this morning, but to a greater extent, when these attacks happen, locked in his own brain, sifting through the pieces to find one big enough and sturdy enough to hold on to, Kurt loses time.

In a blink, hours go by, sometimes a day. He’ll climb in the shower in the morning, turn the water on hot, and by the time he realizes it’s cold, it’s close to noon. He has sat at the dining room table for breakfast, staring at a bowl of oatmeal, and when he found the will to pick up the spoon, the oatmeal was old and stiff, and it was dinner time. He’s gone to bed on Monday and stared at the black behind his eyelids till Wednesday.

As far as Kurt knows, it’s only around lunchtime, but he glances at the clock in the corner of his screen to make sure.

12:45.

He breathes a sigh of relief. He double-checks the date to make sure he has a reason to and sighs again.

Still Tuesday.

Kurt switches back to the IKEA tab he’d been laboring long but not hard on earlier. He looks at the shopping cart he’s been steadily filling, scrolls through his selections of personality bereft, assembly line furniture, and groans. This isn’t him. This house, this blank slate, should be an endless fount of motivation.

But he's numb.

Maybe he's rushing into this. He should give this house and the neighborhood time to grow on him before he sentences it to the mundane.

He needs a break. (Kurt Hummel need a break from shopping? Since when?) He flips to a new page in his sketchbook. For shits and giggles, he tries drawing a sketch for his husband’s office. He starts with the easy part – Sebastian’s desk. Sebastian didn’t leave that in the penthouse, so Kurt will make it the linchpin and design around it.

Things flow surprisingly easily from there once he gets started, with a pencil in his hand writing on paper instead of working on a screen: an ornamental rug, a matching leather chair, burgundy velvet curtains, a chainmail style Tiffany desk lamp, 1930s art deco décor with a soupcon of Persian flair. But he doesn’t want the room to be too dark. No. Kurt wants nothing in their house to be dark. He adds a Salento chandelier over the open portion of the room and a sweep of color – one wall, opposite a window, a lighter shade than the rest. He doesn’t know what Sebastian’s office looks like, but there has to be a wall in there that will fit the bill.

An enamel and copper vase, a Khatam inlaid photo frame, a few Negar Gari…

Kurt stops.

Would Sebastian want that? The softer elements countering the strict lines of the art deco pieces, what could be described as feminine influences, are Kurt’s signature touch. But might Sebastian prefer the art deco without Kurt’s fingerprints all over it? Isn’t that what Sebastian meant by Kurt being heavy-handed with the pastels?

Back in high school, Kurt had decorated his bedroom so that he and his stepbrother could share it. He'd skipped school so he could complete it in one day. He’d worked hard on it, trying to fuse a masculine air with his theatrical influence. What he thought was an eclectic representation of the masculine and the feminine turned into a Moroccan-themed disaster.

The word his stepbrother chose to use at the time was faggy, but there were ulterior motives behind it.

Sebastian made jabs in high school about Kurt not wearing boy clothes, comments that adult Kurt recognizes as the teenage boy equivalent of pulling Kurt’s pigtails. But at the time, they stung. Sebastian wouldn’t have made those comments if there weren’t a grain of truth to them, would he?

Sebastian has never retracted those statements, so as far as Kurt is concerned, they stand.

Kurt flips his pencil over and starts erasing. He’ll pare down the extras – trade the Tiffany lamp for a banker’s lamp, replace the rug with something more Brooks Brothers than Pier 1.

Maybe he should just opt for another IKEA recreation, but that feels like copping out, going back on his word.

He could always ask Sebastian. He swears his husband has passed by a few times, his footsteps rising and falling outside his door, but Kurt didn’t think anything of it. He figures Sebastian is passing through on his way to get something from the bedroom that he needs downstairs. Kurt doesn’t imagine the man is pacing the hallway, even if he is, trying to find a way to tell Kurt that lunch is ready. Little things like lunch, innocuous things, have become huge divides over the past few months. With anyone else, Sebastian has a history of railroading over them, hurt feelings be damned.

But Sebastian has learned his lesson. He paid a hefty price learning it, too.

Contemplating between clearing his throat so that Kurt knows he’s there and letting another meal go cold, he sees Kurt’s head lift up. It seems like an opening. Whether or not it is, Sebastian takes it.

“Lunch is ready.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kurt mumbles, brushing eraser shavings aside.

“Are you… are you coming downstairs?”

Kurt erases again, then pencils something on a sheet of paper that Sebastian can’t see. “Hmm… mmm?”

It sounds like a question and an answer, but since Kurt doesn’t follow it up with anything, it most likely means that Kurt will be skipping lunch… again. Sebastian knocks idly on the door frame, giving Kurt a second longer to tell him for sure.

“Alright.” Disappointed, he turns to leave. “I guess I’ll come back up at dinner then.”

Kurt doesn’t know why the thought returns when he wasn’t even thinking about it, why it decided to nag at his brain when he had been able to ignore it for this long, but that’s the way his brain works now. His thoughts don’t always travel straight paths. They twist and turn, taking one thing and linking it to something unrelated. Erasing the ideas he’d sketched out, removing every inch of himself from Sebastian’s office, made him think about how eager he was to be rid of that word darling from above the window, and that ripped corner returns to his mind with a vengeance.

Well, as long as Sebastian is there, he might as well ask.

“Sebastian?”

Sebastian pauses in the doorway, not daring to move. “Yes?”

“When was the last time you were here?” Kurt raised an eyebrow at the idea when it originally came to him. When would Sebastian have come to this house that Kurt didn’t know? They traveled Upstate once a year, but they always did it together as a family. And while they were here, Sebastian rarely ventured out alone. Sebastian isn’t the kind of person who would buy a house sight unseen.

Unless he had found it during one of his outings with Grace. Which would mean that Grace had seen the inside.

Grace would have seen this room and thought it would be hers, thought that they would someday live here, and Sebastian hid that word darling by the window for her and not Kurt.

The thought is so painful, it makes Kurt want to tear his nails out with his teeth so he’ll stop thinking about it.

Sebastian keeps his eyes locked to Kurt’s profile so he won’t miss the moment Kurt decides to look at him instead of the floor, the wall, or the ceiling.

“I found this house online. It wasn’t even on the market when I stumbled on it. To be honest, I’d only driven by it once. I hadn’t been inside until we moved in.”

“But you saw the inside,” Kurt asks. “Otherwise, how would you know about this room?”

“I took a virtual tour,” Sebastian admits sheepishly, “but it was extremely thorough. I’ve seen the blueprints, gone over the permits and the zoning. I had Tristan from the office look over the place when he came up to visit his folks. He facetimed me while he was here.” Sebastian furrows his brow. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Kurt’s heart beats regular again. Grace hadn’t seen it.

Thank God.

His eyes find the torn section of wallpaper, but they don’t stay there. He doesn’t want to clue Sebastian in about it if Sebastian doesn’t already know. He wants to uncover this mystery on his own. If Sebastian gets to keep secrets, big ones at that, then Kurt wants this one for himself.

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. I was just curious, you know. Wanted to understand your process. Why this house, why this neighborhood, that sort of thing.”

Kurt’s sentence comes out choppy. It’s odd how awkward talking has become for them. Sebastian used to think that the two things they had mastered were talking and fucking. They did both together with such ease. There were never any boundaries between them, emotionally or physically. Even when they were cutting each other down, which they did in the beginning, they did so with such finesse.

Not like now, when Sebastian is walking on eggshells and Kurt doesn’t want to hear half of what he has to say.

“If you come down for lunch, we can talk about my process. If you’re curious, that is.” Sebastian watches Kurt expectantly, waiting for an answer.

And while Sebastian does, Kurt looks at his sketch – Sebastian’s office, the same way Sebastian always has it decorated. This is Sebastian without him and Grace: bland and emotionless, no light, little color, and no joy. Nothing exciting, nothing nuanced, nothing to indicate that he and Sebastian are together.

Not even those snapshots he’s so proud of.

Kurt hasn’t decided whether that’s a bleak picture or not.

“Sure. I’ll be down in a sec,” Kurt decides because he does and doesn’t have an answer to that one. It changes as the day changes, and the days change too quickly.

“Alright. I’ll be waiting.” Sebastian walks away, or Kurt thinks he does. He checks the time on his clock. It’s closing in on 2.

Kurt glances up at the window, the dangling wallpaper bouncing with the breeze coming from a draft near the ceiling. It would be so easy to tear it down – grab an edge and rip, be done with it once and for all. It might even feel cathartic, exposing whatever is underneath it. But lunch is ready. He’s already left Sebastian waiting long enough.

He leaves that mystery for another day.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #sebastian smythe #kurt hummel

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rojaceartandgaming · 2 years

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A Mind Wreathed In Flame - Chapter Six

I apologize for the shorter chapter, but I figured he'd need a bit of introspection and time to lick his wounds metaphorically before things pick up in the next chapter

Tolro got back to his current home, wincing as he took off his cloak and unbuttoned his vest. He couldn't precisely see the wound on his back but he knew it was bad. The lashes and burns on his arms would be easy enough to treat - his paranoia ensuring he had basic bandages and the like in his bag - finally came in handy. But he had to at least see how bad his back was. He quickly located the mirror and took off his button-up shirt, and awkwardly sat so he could vaguely see the stab wound.

He winced as he moved. It looked bad. Didn't seem tainted in any way, but it would be damn hard to clean. But better now than never. So he got to it, hands shaking as he worked. He tried to focus, but his mind wandered to the fight.

They had no hesitation to fight. Or to try to kill. It felt like they had just been waiting to pick a fight with someone. How the hell did I even survive that? He thought, honestly surprised by all of this. I mean, the fire actually cooperated. Not well, but it did. And thank the gods for that… except I killed someone.

Tolro paused as he had started to wrap the bandage around himself, the horror of it all finally occuring to him. He started mumbling to himself. "I didn't even hesitate… I just threw him off me with fire into the wall. That must be a horrible way to go! Why did I… but if I didn't he would've… oh gods I can't think straight. And they immediately hated me more for it, and good reason? Oh god, I've killed three people now…"

He finished patching himself up, spacing out as his mind raced with the guilt of it all. Tolro didn't know what to do at this rate. He shrugged a clean shirt and vest on, deciding to at least look like he wasn't questioning his very morality. Then, Tolro sat at his desk, looking at the unlit candle.

I really want to help others. If I have this planeswalker spark and don't do so, it'd be pointless. But this past week or so, everytime I try to help someone, someone gets hurt or killed. Why should I follow my instincts if it just ends up killing the others? Sure, today I had no choice but… that was probably somebody's friend. But so was that person I stopped from being fried. Must I hurt some to protect others?

He rested his head on his arms, leaning on the table glumly. Though his guilt seemed to have multiplied, something good came to mind. He had actually protected some people. And had almost complete control over fire. Instinct may have caused him to kill an attacker but if it wasn't for that fight or flight he'd just be another random dead person from Dominaria.

So when it came to it, did he really have much of a choice in this matter? God, this situation hurts my head…

Frankly, Tolro was regretting everything at this moment. Blankly staring at an unlit candle and regretting their life's decisions appeared to be the norm for him at this rate. If he had had the energy, he could've potentially gotten… philosophical about all of this. This situation, his struggle with his magic, his guilt.

However, he was simply too exhausted for that. Harnessing that much mana, the adrenaline rush dying down, the stabbing pain in his back - honestly he just wanted to rest. As much as he would enjoy distracting himself by reading further about Ravnica's history, everything was just too… loud and painful, at the moment.

Maybe I'll feel better after I sleep…

#mtg #fanwalker #magic the gathering #mtg oc #mtg fanfic #a mind wreathed in flame #fanfic

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pinkkunt-imagines · 4 years

Text

Shao Kahn || Ego & WAP

Songs: Beyonce - Ego & Cardi B feat. Megan Thee Stallion - WAP

Synopsis: The Kahn has been pussymatized, and is need of his favorite good little concubine.

A/N: Soo, I had to go with two songs for Shao. Ego because his attitude is big and well...you know... ;) And WAP because I can imagine he was pussymatized by Sindel. Soo here it is for reader. I’d also like to mention that I’m appauled about their is virtually almost no Shao Kahn x Reader on the internet? Like only one about him on Tumblr. Ya’ll gon give him respek! It was supposed to be Light NSFW, but it got out of hand real fast into a full smut one-shot. So NSFW WARNING BELOW! Here is also Shao Kahn eating your vagina through a screen gif.

“[Name]! Where is my [Name]!?” That roar rippled throughout the palace, practically scaring anyone who heard. “I want her! Bring her to me now!”

He sure was needy today, or more like, everyday. The only one that could help him was [Name], his favorite concubine out of a cluster of various women. Something about her was pure in nature, and a natural beauty at that. It was something he had to have for himself, something he had to rip apart and destroy. He had to change her, make her see that conquering people and land was the only way to get stronger. But the opposite had been happening.

She was the saving grace of Outworld. While her Kahn was a cruel man, capable of many bad deeds, [Name] was not. While she wasn’t a big fan of his more brutal approach with imperialism, she believed that if he was going to take other realms that reforming the people would be a better approach. It was all nonsense to him at first, people didn’t need to be reformed to listen, they just needed to do it. But [Name] was pretty good at choosing the appropriate times to talk about such topics, usually during pillowtalk. And honestly, it was working, [Name] was changing the immortal little by little. Lately, he found himself taking prisoners rather than executing them at the spot, just like she wanted. Mentally he cursed her and himself while making such decisions. Who would’ve thought that the man so obsessed with power would be influenced by some ordinary human. She was making him weak.

Shao also noticed a change in his mental thought when he was out conquering realms. Oftentimes thinking of something he could take from someone and give to [Name]. He needed to hold her at night, spoil her, listen to her concerns even when they were a bore. And unlike many of the other concubines who had to do chores like cook and clean, [Name] was not required to do such labor. Many of the girls became envious towards her and Shao’s favoritism. Was this some form of love? Vice versa for [Name]. There was something oddly attractive about his lust for power, and that big mean persona he put on. He took what he wanted like some thug, and most of all knew how to make her feel good. Being intimate so many times, she was bound to fall in love with him.

When walking into the large throne room, she noticed that Shao was already bare, rubbing his abnormal large cock in between his hands. Having sex was one of the only times he’d remove his helmet, as he did enjoy kissing more than he’d like to admit. She wore a black wool coat, fully buttoned and barefoot as she approached his throne. The distance between them was about six feet apart, and even then Shao was ready to pounce out of the chair and fuck her against the cold floor.

Fingers lightly tracing the buttons on the coat, [Name] teasingly ran her hand around her covered body, Shao’s eyes watching closely in anticipation, “So impatient today, Shaowie. I was already coming the first dozen times you called.”

Shaowie was the nickname she had given him after growing closer. It was okay to call him in private, but even she knew without warning to not call him that around others. But this only proved to her even more that he had a soft spot for her.

He grinned wildly, rubbing his cock with haste. He was ready and couldn’t wait any longer. “Ah! My [Name]! How ravishing you look today. Come now, and I will rip that piece of Earthrealm clothing off your skin and devour you.”

“Only if you can guess what I’m wearing underneath~”

“For your sake, it better be nothing.”

[Name] undid the buttons on her coat at a slow tantalizing pace. Her teasing gaze caught the eyes of the lustful man, and that's when he lost it.

“Come to me, now! I won’t wait any longer.”

He hoisted her naked body up, turning her around so that her back faced him, whilst he stayed seated. With both of his hands on her curved hips, he lined himself up with her already dripping hole before shoving himself inside. God, he was so big, so thick that he was splitting her in half. But she wouldn’t have it any other way. The initial burning sensation that she felt when he was ripping her apart was something that she loved. So full and so sudden, she could hardly breathe. All that left her mouth were strangled gasps. Shao on the other hand let out an animalistic growl, that echoed throughout the throne room walls. Her walls, with a short initial spasm, had clenched onto him tightly. Shao loved to take [Name] from behind, mostly for the show of watching his cock disappear inside her.

“Mmm, yes that’s it! Take all of my cock!”

He started his impatient and sloppy thrusts, using her tight soaked pussy as a cock sleeve with no care. Shao marveled at how good her cunt felt around him. She was no Sindel. No, she was tighter, younger, and was always on a mission to milk him dry. The fact that he was allowing himself to be controlled by her pussy was in proof in itself. What he admired most was her determination to take all of him (even though he was way too big for that), even when the head of his dick kissed against her cervix; yet, he always kept pushing forward, and she never objected. Shao Kahn’s ego matched what was going on below. He had every right to boast about himself, because he surely could back it up.

“H-Harder!” She moaned, completely immersed in the pleasurable pain that was Shao Kahn’s cock.

His claws dug into her soft flesh with greed as to so seem as pure fury, while he pulled [Name]’s body back against his dick, somehow managing to go even harder than he already was. Shao’s head flew back against the throne, mouth hanging open still releasing those animalistic grunts that thundered from his chest. It was mere carnal pleasure taking over both of them. In his frantic race for release, he accidentally hit a precise spot in her, beyond pleasant: she cried out and her soaked walls pulsated around his cock, signalling her early release. [Name] was already a drooling, babbling mess, but this took the cake. She didn’t even get a chance to feel the orgasm build up, she just began squirting everywhere, as her orgasm washed over her.

“Sh-Shao! Ah~ Keep fucking me, Emperor! Don’t stop!” Most of what she had said was slurred and incoherent, but it made Shao’s cock throb anyways.

In a demanding meanor, he asked ,“You naughty little thing. Who said you could cum just yet?”

There was never a need to hold back an orgasm when haing sex with [Name], he ALWAYS made her cum first, and that wasnt even by choice. However there was one occurrence where they came at together, and it was beyond breathtaking. He’d never felt that overwhelmed with pleasure unless he was killing an enemy.

Getting up from his throne, he twisted [Name] around, never retreating his member from her slick. The turn stimulated the underside of her abused clit, sending another round of sybaritic pleasure, that all she could do was whimper. Shao grunted, wrapping his power arms around her body, bringing his hands in between her ass cheeks, and harpooning his claws into them. She wrapped her arms around his neck, looking into his glowing red eyes that were sinfully hungry for more.

[Name] forcefully pushed herself in for a heated kiss, tongues and saliva exchanging, all without stopping to slam upward into her at brutal and merciless pace. Her pussy bubbled wet and obscene sounds, which only helped to push him to his release. He held her firmly and glued to his own body, and she could hear him panting and grunting desperately into the kiss, sounding like a true wild beast.

His rhythm doubled, he was close. The hand, more like a claw, that was holding tight to her bruised ass, dragged away from under her body to reach her head. He took a handful of her hair at the base of her scalp, and pulled with a quick tug. Her head was tilted in an uncomfortable arch, leaving exposed the slope between her neck and her shoulder, in which his face dove eagerly. His panting breath came out in hot puffs, his grunts roared louder and louder in her ear, while his hips continued frantically crashing into hers at an ungodly pace, the sounds of sweaty skins contact echoing with every impact.

Shao’s cock kept hitting that sweet spot inside her and she felt that familiar pressure dangerously building up. Her walls began clenching onto him again, she was so damn close, giving the man an additional, irresistible sense of blind pleasure. His pace began to wobble, his thrusts became more uneven and sloppy. He was close by now.

Finally he gasped and froze. His grip on her ass intensified, making her fear to explode. Then, with a final, powerful push, he stiffened completely sunk into [Name]. His body pressed flush against her, his nails were like blades into her skin as he did punctuated thrusts to release streams of hot cum that flooded her squashed walls, while the excess was already spilling out of her and along your inner thigh. Simultaneously, the fire that was building up in [Name]’s abdomen finally exploded, coming in waves of lightning pleasure, that she couldn’t help but dissolve herself in it. He grunted trembling and deeply straight into her ear; then it followed his long and echoing sigh, similar to a profound relief.

Shao lifted the exhausted woman off of his still throbbing hard cock, setting himself down back on his chair and her across his large lap. Chuckling, he ran his fingers through her soft locks. “Mmm~ What a good little concubine you are.”

#shao kahn #shao kahn x reader #shao kahn imagines #shao kahn imagine #shao kahn headcanon #shao kahn headcanons #shao kahn scenario #shao kahn scenarios #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 11 #mk11 #mortal kombat scenario #mortal kombat scenarios #mortal kombat headcanon #Mortal Kombat headcanons #mortal kombat imagine #mortal kombat imagines

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jennagill · 4 years

Text

Take a Shot at Love

Summary: Katniss is new in town and Peeta is her range guide. Now rated M.

Part 3 is written for @promptsinpanem in the 15 Days to Finish Your Fic (For Kika) Round. Parts 1 and 2 on AO3 here. They’re short if you missed them in ... checks notes... 2015 and 2018.

Yes. I told him yes. His face brightened into a warm smile at my acceptance. We agreed to meet at the Club but that doesn't stop the butterflies in my stomach while I get ready in my apartment.

Right now I'm struggling with what to wear. Practical over anything else. Closed toe shoes, high neck top, practical above anything else. I don’t want a rogue shell casing burning me. Besides, it's only a Sunday afternoon, right?

So it feels like a date, but I—and anything else in my head is blinded by the flash of someone’s daytime running lights outside my apartment. It’s just someone turning around but my eyes cut to the clock and I need to leave now. Long-sleeve turtleneck and vest with jeans it is, as I slide into my boots and head out the door. The drive over to the Capitol Hunting Club is mercifully short, compared to the growing list of questions in my head. I park and grab my bow and quiver with standard arrows before rushing inside.

The main showroom is packed. Who knew so many people wanted to attend this event? How am I ever going to find Peeta in here? My mind buzzes as I scan for his face when a gentle nudge from behind stops me in my tracks.

“Hey, found you,” he greets me with another one of those disarming smiles.

He’s definitely cleaned up well. Gone is the safety hue and in its place, a fetching shade that matches his eyes.

“Hey, uh yeah. This place is crazy busy. How'd you manage the day off from work?” I ask as my eyes roam the facility and catch a few familiar faces. “Looks like they have the whole staff on point here tonight.”

“I traded a coworker for a few Saturdays. It was quite the negotiation,” he pauses for a long moment, as if he is deciding something. “Ultimately though, I told him that I had a really special date,” he says as heat blooms across his cheeks.

“So this is a date, then?” I say with caution. “I wasn't sure, so I'm glad we have that clarified.” It almost sounds like a contract, rather than romance.

“It's a date if you allow it,” he stammers as his cheeks reach beet red before settling back into his normal skin tone.

I consider this, weighing my heart, body, and head on the matter. I can only imagine the confusion my face must show until I meet his eyes and the fog begins to lift. “I'll allow it, though...having a first date on Valentine's Day? What kind of omen is that?”

“Truth be told, Katniss, I've been wanting to ask you out for months but never worked up the courage until now,” he says quietly. “I’m not placing any special emphasis on the day, I’m just happy to be here, with you.”

Well that’s hard to argue. “Okay, well where do you want to start?” I try with a smile.

“Shoot first?”

“Pardon?”

“The pistol range, then the archery range, and then the meal?”

“Oh, I don’t… really know that much about pistols, my only experience with guns is the shooting we did the other weekend.”

“Oh I have a feeling you’ll be dead on with your aim and we can rent from the club too since I don’t own a pistol. I’ll run you through a safety briefing too.”

I keep considering his motives and his actions, if they are aligned or if I’m missing something as we move to the first station. It’s not much more than a series of door frames with walls in between, just enough for two people to stand closely with a shelf at waist height to place the weapons. I watch Peeta take aim at the ringed hearts on paper hung seven yards away. Blue, purple, and pink. Pop, pop, pop, goes my nerves and heart. The sound is too much on this indoor range with the pistols, even with the noise canceling headphones Peeta lent me.

“Your turn,” he gestures and shows me that the pistol is on safety and pointed down range on the shelf. He changes the target out for good measure too.

I take the pistol in my hands, forming the teacup he mentioned and squinting at the target. The cool steel chills me—I’m more accustomed to the warm bow wood. I flip the safety off and squeeze the trigger, taking a breath between shots. A crackle of electricity runs through my shoulders and spine as I finish my clip but it’s not the same thrill found in the woods. I take another glance at the target. All of the paper hearts are shredded.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Peeta asks in amazement.

“Thanks, though I think I’ll stick with my bow or trap and skeet,” I say, flipping the safety back on, placing the weapon down, and backing away from the shelf.

Peeta sends another series of shots down range but I’m done shooting pistols for the day. My fingers are itching to get back on a bow. I go over to the archery station for some sanity while Peeta returns the equipment to the rental booth.

Red balloons are attached to the various targets on the archery range with prizes inside. Peeta takes aim with precision and hits nearly all of them. The slips float down to the floor to be retrieved by attendants. “Bullseye! Have you been taking lessons?” I ask casually.

“No. I just replayed what you told me in my head, and well—I wanted to impress you.” A lopsided grin sneaks across his face and he shuffles his feet.

His honesty takes me aback. He says everything in such an offhand way and I am foolish to have suspected ulterior motives. “Well...it shows, you’ve improved a lot since the other day.”

He beams at the praise and then it’s my turn to shoot. The attendant notices that the standing balloon targets offer no challenge for me, so he releases balloons from a ceiling net I had not seen earlier. At first it seems stupid, but it turns out to be kind of fun. Much more like hunting a moving creature, albeit a slow-moving one. Since I’m hitting everything he releases, he starts increasing the number of balloons in the drop. I forget the rest of the range and this date and lose myself in the shooting. When I manage to take down all five balloons in one round, I realize it’s so quiet I can hear each prize slip hit the floor. I turn and see the majority of the people of the range have stopped to watch me. Their faces show everything from jealous to admiration, though Peeta’s face is the brightest of them all.

The attendant calls for cease fire and I retrieve my arrows and prize slips—gift cards for the Club store and café, mostly. We venture toward the cake and coffee bar set out for this event. I wrinkle my nose at the coffee but notice that they offer hot chocolate too. “Oooh, that cake looks amazing!”

“You should have a slice, I have it on good authority that it's delicious,” he says.

He's met with a raised eyebrow.

“It's from my parent’s bakery,” he shrugs with another disarming smile. “Red velvet cake, cream cheese icing, and dark chocolate shavings on top.”

And he’s not wrong. The dark flavors burst in my mouth, sending ripple effects down my spine. The cake and hot chocolate together give me a nervous energy, propelling me toward the next steps of this date. I feel like I could run 26.2 miles now, okay maybe just a half marathon. We both finish our desserts though I have something sweeter in mind.

“Will you walk me out to my car, Peeta?”

Like a gentleman, he does and he waits patiently while I put up my equipment in the trunk.

“Katniss, may I kiss you goodnight—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish because it’s me that leans in, answering his question with my own response. His lips are surprised but warm up instantly to me. His kisses are warm. His kisses leave me dizzy with want. Amazing kisses. Toe-curling kisses. I feel a swipe of his hot tongue in my mouth and I know that I need more.

He must feel the same way since he’s pulling me closer to him and kissing my jaw and neck, or what he can reach around my sweater. His body is so firm wrapped up with mine, something I’d like to explore more in private.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be goodnight,” I say to the sinking sun and feel him pause at the shell of my ear, “maybe we can—“ deep breath “maybe we could go back to my place?”

Peeta clears his throat and meets my eyes, “Really?” His eyes cut to the parking lot, realizing that we’re still in a very public place.

“Um, yeah, I don’t live far from here and you could follow me there, if you—if you want to, that is,” I manage, though my confidence is slipping.

“Heck yeah, lead the way!” he says and grins.

“Okay, right, well let’s go,” I say before I change my mind.

If I thought the drive over to the Club was short earlier, this one flew by, my mind racing at the scenario I’ve just proposed. We’ve made it back to my place before I can second guess myself any further.

He parks next to me and follows me to the door, “This is a great location,” he chatters as I unlock it, “I mean, it’s a nice place too,” and then he’s scratching the back of his neck, looking around my sparse apartment.

“Well… as you know, I haven’t been in town very long and it seems like I spend most of my free time out at the Club, trying to compete for your attention with others,” I shrug.

“Compete?“ he laughs and hides his face in his large hand for a moment. “You don’t have any competition anywhere, Katniss,” and this time, it’s him that leans in.

Our lips have barely touched when I ask, “Couch or bed?”

He pulls back to look at me and curls that lip of his under a set of very white teeth. “Honestly, Katniss, whatever happens, you’re calling the shots.”

“Right then, bed it is,” and I pull him into my bedroom.

We spend the next few hours teasing, tasting, and exploring as much of each other as possible since Peeta only has one condom with him. He makes it last though and thoroughly fucks me. My favorite part is probably his ass. I remember checking it out on that very first day, and it’s certainly ample to cup while trying to coax him deeper into my throat or dig my heels into it as I spur him to the orgasms that finally give our bodies peace. My mind wanders just before we drift off to sleep, I just hope he doesn’t have an early shift tomorrow.

~~~~~~

Thank you @papofglencoe for the encouragement and quick beta skills on this third part! It was fun to come out of semi-retirement!

#look out for a moodboard #everlark fanfiction #prompts in panem #skeet!everlark #I write stuff #for kika

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deathlikesdeep-dish · 4 years

Text

Shower [Zoro x Reader]

Just a quick lil somethin that I whipped up this morning feat. our favorite green-haired idiot.

Hope y’all enjoy! x

Scenario: Zoro being convinced by his s/o to finally take a damn shower

Warnings: cussing (obvs), mild nsfw

It’s been 6 days. You think to yourself with a small shudder. The first few days, you almost don’t mind. It’s kinda sexy, the musty scent. It’s a reminder of the hard work that he puts himself through daily. And of course, the visual benefits of that work are certainly worth a mild stench. But 6 days? It’s beyond a mild stench now. It’s a fucking identity trait. You’d only been together for a couple months, so you don’t exactly know what the proper way to bring up this kind of shit. Like “hey babe, I’d love to really take a trip to the bone zone and all, but if we do right now, Brook isn’t gonna be the only dead one on the ship.” Even if you did say that, he’d be so confused, the adorable idiot, and probably pretty dejected too. You sigh, squeezing your eyes closed and press your fingertips to your temples.

“I’m just gonna have to manipulate the poor boy.” You decide out loud, having no idea how to manage that.

“Who are we manipulating?” Nami pops her head in the room with a sly grin.

You nod your head in a greeting to her. “Zoro,” you say with exasperation. “To take a shower.”

Nami laughs loudly. “Good fucking luck,” she’s almost crying with how hard she’s laughing. “I’ve been barking up that tree since the literal day I met him.”

This is not what you needed to hear. You groan and flop back on your mattress, clapping your hand over your eyes. After another few moments of laughing, you feel Nami sit next to you on the edge of the bed. “Y/n, the answer is obvious.”

You raise an eyebrow and glance up at through the parted fingers over your eyes.

“Oh?” You ask.

“Shower sex, duh.” Nami replies, sticking her tongue out at you with a wink.

You flush. Goddamn it. You think. Seductive manipulation is not precisely your forte. Especially with someone as completely dense as Zoro. In some ways, Zoro is one of the most intelligent people you know. He’s instinctual, able to observe his environment, adaptable and cunning in a fight. But with other people? That he actually likes? Let’s just say the wheel is spinning, but the hamster’s dead. Very dead.

“I was afraid of this,” you say gravely.

Nami rolls her eyes. “Christ, y/n. You’re acting like it’s such a chore to have sex with your boyfriend.”

“UGH.” You throw a pillow at her, and she cackles again as she stands up to walk towards the door.

“You’re a true champ, y/n. From all of us Straw-hat Pirates, we thank you for your service.” She salutes, dodging another pillow that you chuck her direction as she walks out the door.

As you sit on the edge of your bed, you grab the last pillow left and shove it into your face, letting it stifle the almost inhuman, frustrated screech that rips through your throat.

The sound dissipates, and you stand up, heading up to the Crow’s Nest, where you know the smelly swordsman will be. Nami and Robin snicker at you as you pass and you flip them off crudely. You climb up the ladder to the Crow’s Nest and open the hatch, pulling yourself inside.

You smell him before you can see him. Why am I doing this to myself? Why?

You turn towards the sound of heavy breathing and you see Zoro, in all his bare-chested glory, doing one-armed hand stand push-ups while he used the free arm to curl a massive dumbbell.

Oh yeah, that’s why. You reply internally.

His back is to you, so you’re able to watch the muscles of his back and shoulders ripple beneath his tanned skin effortlessly. He’s taken his long green coat off, leaving him in only his pants and boots. You can see droplets of sweat dripping down his back, each bead following a different muscular curve. He makes soft grunting noises with each rep and you feel the knot in your stomach tighten and your heart race.

You clear your throat softly, hoping to gain his attention. He doesn’t turn, only switching the role of each arm. So, you try again, this time a bit louder.

You watch him stiffen at the disturbance, his head shooting down between his arms to look at the intruder. His steely eyes meet yours and soften, along with his body and he gives you a grin, clearly pleased to see you. He pushes himself up and flips upright to land on his feet before turning to greet you.

“Hey y/n,” He smiles again and grabs a towel off a rack to wipe his face and hair.

He begins to walk toward you and you almost forget your mission. He looks so handsome, especially with that wide grin that he typically only reserves for you. His green hair is damp, making it a slightly darker shade than usual, and he drapes the towel over the back of his neck. He halts in front of you, his hands moving to grip each end of the towel casually.

“What’s up?” He says.

You realize you haven’t taken a breath for a few moments, and you inhale to reply to him. Rookie mistake. The smell of him hits you again, and you cough without warning.

Shit, you think. Don’t screw around, y’n. Get this damn mosshead in the shower with you pronto.

“Hey,” You reply, forcing yourself into a smile. “Just came up here to check on you. How are you doing?”

He smiles again, the oblivious bastard. “Oh, okay. I’m fine. Just doing the usual,” he replies. “Shit, your face had me going for a second. I thought something might be wrong,” He chuckles.

You pause a beat too long. He notices. Fuck. “…is there something wrong, y/n?” He asks, now somewhat nervous.

“Oh no!” You say too quickly. “No, no, nothing’s wrong. I just came up here because…” You know you need to calm down if you’re going to attempt anything that mildly looks like seduction.

You take a breath and drop your gaze, now looking at him from underneath your eyelashes flirtatiously. “I came up here because I was about to take a shower...” You place a hand on his warm chest and push up to the shell of his ear. You lower your voice. “And I was wondering if you might want to join me?”

You feel him stiffen again beneath the hand on his chest and his breath hitch. His hands come up to lightly grip your hips. “You what?” He asks, his voice suddenly a little rougher.

You kiss the soft skin just beneath his angled jaw. “Join me. In the shower.” You repeat.

His grip on your hips tightens for a second before he grabs your hand suddenly, pulling you towards the hatch of the Crow’s Nest. It’s so fast that you almost can’t process what’s happening. He opens the hatch with his foot.

“Oh, so you want to come?” You manage. He swoops you up into his arms and jumps down the hatch without regard to the ladder. You land firmly on the deck below and he doesn’t bother to set you down.

“Zoro?” You ask, mesmerized by the concentration on his face. He shifts to hold you with one arm as he opens the door to the bath house room, slamming it behind him. He sets you down and wraps strong arms around your waist, kissing your neck. “Get in the shower. Now.” He commands.

Internal screams.

And in that moment, as the water turns on and your simple, oblivious, gorgeous greenette quickly strips away the rest of his clothes, you don’t know what you’re more excited about, the amazing sex that you’re about to have, or the fact that the simple, oblivious, gorgeous greenette is finally going to be fucking clean.

#roronoazoro #zoro x reader #zoroxreader #zoro #onepiece #scenario #one piece scenario #writing #writing challenge #poor oblivious bastard

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ellewritesathing · 3 years

Text

(Un)Requited V

Summary: Isaac Lahey had gone through many twists and turns in his life, but none of them compared to the whiplash he got when you asked him to tutor you. With a few weeks until the end of the semester and the big dance coming up, he’s hoping to figure out a way to ask you to go with him before it’s too late.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 5

Word-count: 2.5k+

A/N: i’m sorry for taking a literal year to update this fic!! i really suck at endings so this was a little hard for me but i hope you like it anyway 💕

I didn’t know where else to go.

God, Isaac couldn’t have picked any better words to string together as his last words? Or, better yet, couldn’t he have just died in the street with the smallest modicum of respect?

No, he thought bitterly, God wouldn’t let him off that easy.

Isaac’s eyes fluttered open after a few seconds falling face-first in your doorway as he coughed and sputtered up some blood. For a moment, he was too disoriented to remember that he didn’t hallucinate showing up at your house, but then he felt your hands cradling his head and everything came rushing back with the force of a vicious punch to his torn-up gut.

“Hey, hey, easy,” you whispered, gently lying Isaac on his back. You reeked of fear and adrenaline. Isaac should have noticed it even before he opened his eyes, but he had been narcissistically preoccupied with his attempts not to bleed out. “What happened to you?”

Isaac struggled to lift his hand to your face. He’d meant for the gesture to be endearing, but his hand was covered in cuts and his nail beds were caked in other people’s blood. He tried to say something to comfort you, but instead of words, blood gushed out of his mouth. You swore as Isaac tried not to choke.

Eventually, he managed to get out the words “Family game night was a little intense” as you rolled him onto his side. Despite your fear, you managed a weak laugh at his joke. Isaac spat up what he hoped was the last of the blood and tried to pull himself to a seat.

With a little more air to his lungs and a few more seconds to process, Isaac finally realized that all this blood must stain. When you scrambled back to him with a first-aid kit and Isaac’s heart managed to start again, he said, “I’m, uh, sorry about your rug. I’ll buy a new one, I swear. I just-”

“Isaac, I don’t care about the rug.” With a breath, you forced a smile at him. Gently as your shaky hand could manage, you reached out to touch the open wound on his forehead. Visibly, you didn’t look afraid, but Isaac knew better. Your heart raced. “What can I do to help you?” you asked softly.

For some reason, Isaac felt like you knew about him. About his inhuman tendencies. The thought spurred about twenty others just like it, and each one was more unbearable than the last. Isaac couldn’t bear the thought of you knowing he was a monster.

“I should go,” Isaac blurted out. “I’m sorry I ruined your night with Stiles. I’ll go and you guys can-”

Isaac pulled his head away but stopped fighting when you pushed down on his shoulders to keep him in place. “Isaac,” you said, still gentle but more forceful this time. “Please stop apologizing and let me help you.”

In the second that it took Isaac to make up his mind, he didn’t need superhuman hearing to listen to your heart beating out of your chest. Or maybe it was his own heart racing. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You touched his face again and smiled. Your smile faltered when you looked down at how torn apart he was. “Can I take you to the hospital?”

“No. I, uh-” Isaac closed his eyes and tried to think. There was no way Derek would let that happen. “I can’t go to the hospital. Can I- could you get me some water? Please?”

It took you a moment but you nodded. You still didn’t move. Hesitantly, your hand hovered over Isaac’s hand on his chest - like you wanted to hold it but couldn’t bring yourself to touch him. Isaac realized that you were afraid of hurting him. “I’m really afraid that you’ll fall asleep while I’m gone and then you won't wake up again,” you confessed.

Isaac could have laughed. He wasn’t exactly used to people caring if he woke up, and you looked so nervous just at the idea of touching him. He lifted his hand to press your hand to his chest. “I won’t go to sleep. I promise.”

But you still didn’t move. You frowned at Isaac’s blood-caked hand covering yours. “I want you to know …” Taking a breath, you looked up from his hand and to his face. “There’s nothing going on with me and Stiles.”

“There’s not?”

“No.” You took another breath and shook your head. “It feels really dumb now. He, uh- he’s in love with Erica and I, um … I have feelings for you,” you said. “He had this idea that if we pretended to date then you guys would get jealous and maybe … I don’t know. It sounded good at the time.”

“Most of his ideas do,” Isaac mumbled. He moved to get a better look at you and winced again. Still, he had to know if he heard you right or just imagined it. “You really have feelings for me?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious,” you said.

“I’m pretty oblivious,” Isaac said. You laughed and Isaac’s heart beat faster - which probably wasn’t advisable for anyone with as many open wounds as he had, but Isaac didn’t care. If he was going to die, knowing that you had feelings for him was better than he’d expected to go. “Do you maybe wanna get dinner sometime? With me, I mean.”

You let out another short laugh and smiled. “If we make it through tonight, you’ve got a date.” Promising to be back with water, you squeezed Issac’s hand lightly and got to your feet.

A date, Isaac thought. He didn’t get too long to grin about it before the angriest looking ball of fluff Isaac had ever seen nudged his leg. Magnus made a noise somewhere between a growl and a meow, but at least he didn’t bite him.

“I’m doing the best I can, alright?” Isaac mumbled. He held a hand out to Magnus but he looked offended by all the blood. Taking a deep breath, Isaac tried to force a shift so he would heal faster. He couldn’t change. Instead, Isaac fumbled for the first-aid kit and started cleaning himself up.

His clumsy hands didn’t get very far before you knelt beside him and offered him a glass of water. Isaac reached for the glass but his fingers were too numb to wrap around the glass. One of your warm hands covered his cold hand and the other tilted his head back, your thumb brushing the bone in his cheek that his father had embedded with glass.

The water felt foreign and stolen; a kindness that Isaac had never been gifted before.

After the last drop of water had been drained from the glass, Isaac closed his eyes and took a breath that pushed at his ribcage. It still hurt, but he could feel his bones mending and muscles knitting together again. You and Magnus were gone when he opened his eyes, but you were back again in a few minutes with a washcloth and bowl of warm water.

First, you cleaned his hands and face, washcloth as soft as the hands that wielded it. Delicate, precise. Every second that passed peeled back more of Isaac’s tarnished veneer and softened his edges. Then you took off his ruined dress shoes and blood-soaked socks. You unknotted what was left of his tie and lay it in the palm of his broken hand. Slowly, gingerly, you undid each and every button of his shirt to lay his mangled upper body bare. Sucking in a breath, you washed away all the hurt and bandaged what was left.

Isaac wasn’t sure if there was still a piece of him that hadn’t been broken.

For the first time in what felt like years, your voice replaced the sound of rinsing, wringing, and wrapping. Your hands knotted nervously in your lap, but the smell of fear disappeared long ago. “Are you okay?”

Isaac was afraid of breaking the moment if he spoke, but he forced himself to try. “Doing better now,” he said with a smile. He wasn’t sure how comforting his smile was.

You gave him a matching unsure smile. “Good. You had me worried for a second.”

“Yeah?” Isaac straightened up slightly. His smile felt a little more genuine as he tilted his head to get a better look at you.

“Yeah, I thought I’d have to get a new algebra tutor,” you teased with a hollow laugh. Isaac laughed, ribs aching, and your shoulders relaxed. You untangled your hands to touch the frayed edges of his tie, his open fingers grazing your wrist. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Twitching his fingers, Isaac curled his hand around yours. The tie was the only thing keeping his palm from bursting into flames at your touch. “Me too.”

---

“Dude.”

Isaac gritted his teeth and kept packing away his lacrosse gear. Ignoring Stiles Stilinski was a near-impossible task, but it was one that Isaac grew better and better at each day - and one that Stiles made more difficult each day. He tapped on Isaac’s locker rhythmically.

“Dude,” he repeated. “Don’t ignore me. You can’t ignore me.” Stiles hung on the locker door and forced his head around to peer inside. “I’m unignorable. It’s my superpower.”

Not taking his eyes off the messy lacrosse gear, Isaac mumbled, “I thought your superpower was being annoying.”

“I’m sorry, what- what was that?” Stiles stepped closer. “I didn’t hear that over the sound of you completely failing to ignore me.”

Isaac shoved the last of the year in his locker and slammed the door shut, careful to make sure Stiles’ fingers were out of the way despite his careless facade. “I said,” ignoring Stiles jumping out of the way and his outburst, “That being annoying is your only superpower.”

“But you admit that I have a superpower?”

“Dude, do you ever stop talking?”

“No. Now stop complaining and just listen to me, alright?” Stiles said. He waited for Isaac to nod in agreement before going on. “It’s your first date since the whole, you know, bleeding out in her foyer thing. You need a plan. Now, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but-”

Isaac let out a deep breath and looked at his locker for a second in hopes that would help him come up with the right words. “Stiles, I’ve been thinking about this since I was seven years old. I think I’ve got it covered.”

Stiles was quiet as he rocked on his heels and ran a hand down his face. “God, you don’t have anything planned, do you?” Isaac was quiet for a heartbeat too long and Stiles smacked him on the shoulder. “Ten years and you’ve got nothing! This because that stupid scarf keeps cutting oxygen off to your brain.”

“You took Erica to Chuck E Cheese on your first date, dipshit. I don’t think you get to judge anyone.” Despite his snark, Isaac was kinda hoping Stiles would have something in that idiotic brain of his. Stiles, however, was too busy arguing that Chuck E Cheese has something for everyone at very affordable prices to be any help.

Luckily, Scott finished his talk with Coach and started walking over. He pulled a face when he heard what they were arguing about. “Do you guys ever not argue?” he asked.

“Yes,” Stiles said, at the same moment that Isaac said: “No.”

“Jesus.” Scott sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I think I’ve got an idea. Stiles, think you could keep the Hales busy for one night?”

Stiles got a smile on his face that could only be described as purely malevolent. “I’ve got a couple of ways to keep them occupied.”

Scott nodded at him. “Great.” He patted Isaac’s arm and nodded towards the parking lot. “Come on, you’re with me. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

---

Isaac hadn’t gotten sick since his sophomore year. Two years with no cases of flu, no nausea, and no fevers. Two years without the headaches he’d been prone to since Camden shoved him into the sidewalk and his dad wouldn’t take him to the hospital. Two years full of healing from broken bones in minutes. Isaac was so used to being perfectly healthy that he’d forgotten what it felt like to want to throw up, but he was so anxious before your date that two years' worth of nausea hit him like a ton of bricks.

As he let you into the newly redecorated loft, Isaac was fairly confident that he was having a heart attack. He led you to the faux dance floor and tried to be polite as he rattled off the signs of a heart attack in his head. Pressure in his chest? Check. Nausea? Check. Shortness of breath? Check. Cold sweat? Probably.

Oh, god. What if you wanted to hold his hand and they were sweaty?

“You did all this for me?” you asked, fingers barely grazing the star-shaped lights as you reached above your head. Isaac would have had a hundred heart attacks if it meant he could see the wonder on your face when you turned to him just one more time.

“Yeah,” Isaac said quietly. It felt like looking at the sun; if Isaac looked at you for a second longer then he’d be blinded, but he couldn’t look away. He took a step closer. “I kinda ruined our last dance. Thought maybe we could try again?”

“Well, I think you do still owe me a dance,” you said with a teasing smile. You stepped closer to him and took Isaac’s hand in your own, and somehow, his heart didn’t give out. “And I owe you a very gentlemanly kiss on the cheek.”

Isaac might have spoken too soon about his heart. “Come again?”

You laughed and put your other hand on the side of Isaac’s neck. “Before you left to almost die, you kissed my cheek.”

Isaac did his best not to groan. Not only did he show up to your house when he was on the verge of dying, but the last image you would have had of him was him kissing your cheek like some loser from the 1800s. “I did do that, didn’t I?”

“I thought it was sweet.” You looked down and laughed. “It was actually the first time I thought that maybe my feelings for you weren’t so unrequited.”

Isaac would have laughed if he wasn’t so surprised. “Wait, you thought you were the one with unrequited feelings?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re way out of my league,” you said. You untangled yourself from him to count on your fingers. “You’re on the lacrosse team, you’ve got a 4.0 GPA, popular, extremely good looking, kind of a bad boy but still somehow the nicest person I’ve ever-”

Isaac used one hand to cover yours and the other to cup your face. Before he lost his nerve, he kissed you. He rested his forehead to yours when he pulled away. “Just so that you know,” he said quietly. “Your feelings are requited. Totally, completely, one hundred percent requited.”

“Totally, completely, one hundred percent requited,” you repeated. You smiled and put your arms around his shoulders. “I like the sound of that.”

Tagged: @lettherebelovex @britty443 @ietts @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @chocolate-raspberries @jellybelly-jones @f1nal-g1rl @linkpk88 @iclosetgeek @lyanna-the-giantsbane

#(un)requited #i watch teen wolf for the plot #teen wolf #isaac lahey #isaac lahey fanfiction #isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey x reader

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completeotometrash · 3 years

Text

Stressed Out (Ikesen Kenshin)

@nad-zeta asked: Hi hi love! Eeeeep! Its been a while since ive spammed ya box🥺🥺❤❤ hehehe! I see your requests are open so i just had to jump! Low key been feeling super down lately and crushed by all the work that needs to get done....... so here i am to ask for some fluff and bunnies to ease the soul❤❤❤❤❤ hehehe could i pretty please request a mc x kenshin comfort fic🥺🥺🥺 lol one where mc has been over working to the max and needs a little break❤❤😳🥺🥺 hehehe if ya need anymore detail or inspiration feel free to dm me😳😳☺☺

Love ya lots! Sending hugs!❤

___________

Ah, Zeta! I love seeing you in my askbox so much <3<3<3. You’re the cutest. I hope you are doing ok??? You better not work yourself too hard or I’ll come over there and suffocate you with my love. D: Or perhaps I will anyways, it’s quite tempting.

Anyways, this came much softer then I intended. But I must say, I’m quite happy with it ^^. Bunny boy fluff onw~!

Word count: 1.4/5k

TW: None

Reader has she/her pronouns

Tired.

Kenshin had noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the way she began tying up her hair more instead of combing it, not changing as often. He watched as the smile on her face changed to only a meek grin, how the light in her eyes seemed to crease. Her energy was draining on the daily, her bones seemingly heavy like weights by the way she walks. He looks outside, watching as the sun begins to descend from the horizon.

To tell the truth, she had not been feeling like herself lately. There was so much to do after she properly moved to Kasugama. She had become more well-known and offered to complete more sewing commissions. It seemed as if there was never any time, and if there was, it would quickly slip from her fingers. She would find herself not wanting to get out of bed in the mornings, let alone put on a fake smile for other’s pleasure. Her eyes skim across the velvety fabric in her hands, dropping it with a defeated grunt.

Setting her needle to the side, she rubs her forehead, dragging her hand down to rub her eyes. The weight of everything was beginning to crush her, it was suffocating. She was slowly losing the passion and inspiration she once felt when making clothing. Trying to find the fun in something when it becomes overwhelmingly urgent is nearly impossible.

She had not even noticed the sound of the door opening behind her, or the footsteps that followed. Shakily she inhales, head drooping downward. Her throat is dry, her hands began to shake from the tension in them. Everything had begun to crumble out of control.

When a strong pair of arms wrap around her shoulders, she gasps with surprise. Her heart races in her chest, threatening to explode. A familiar hand traces her arm gently, bringing her a slight sense of relief. Hot breath tickles the sensitive skin on her neck, lips pressing there.

“You need a break. The sun is coming down and you’ve been working since this morning.”

Kenshin’s voice is sultry, deep. It holds so much intensity that she almost melts into her chair. She wants to lean into his touch, let him take her away so that she never sees a needle again. But her actions differ from her thoughts. Straightening her posture, she cringes at an error she notices she made in her stitching. “I will later, I messed up here; the thread will be visible when wearing if I don’t fix it.”

She can feel his glare even without seeing him. His displeasure radiates off his body in an almost radioactive way. “The stitching can be done at another time, come with me.” His command makes her grimace.

“But it can’t… I promised that it would be done by tomorrow and they’re paying me for it. If I cancel now, what does that say about me as a person? I want them to buy my clothes more in the future, they are nice people. I only need a few more hours and I’ll be finished.” She lifts her needle yet again, pulling out her previous stitches from before. She had previously decided that she wanted to start making money for herself instead of just lending some off of Kenshin is she would be living in the Sengoku.

Standing up straight himself, he turns and looks around the room. Multiple different kimonos hang around them, each made by her with high amounts of precision and skill. It had been so long since they’d been intimate with one another, this was the most he’d even talked to her all day. He kneels at her side, paying attention to her hands.

He of all people knows what it’s like to consume yourself with something. For many years, his entire life was revolved around war and training. Nothing else mattered to him. At the time it seemed ideal, but looking back at it, he knows it was all just pure misery. An unhealthy way he chose to cope.

The woman he loves needs help- it became clear to Kenshin that it was his turn to do so.

He takes her palm in his own, clasping it gently with his calloused fingers. He notices how red hers have become. He rubs them gently, and she doesn’t stop him. She feels as if she cannot, for, the relaxation that encases her body is too much to deny.

She’s missed his touch; it’s been far too long.

Without saying anything, he takes the things from her lap, setting it to the side. She cranes her neck around in circles, closing her eyes. In an instant, strong arms are reaching out from under her, lifting and pulling her against his chest. She feels a tinge of guilt for giving in, but the ever-growing exhaustion triumphs all. She wraps her arms around his neck loosely, letting him take her away.

He sets her down in a chair, and she can hear him begin to pour water into a tub. Her eyes open and watch. “Oh, Kenshin, you don’t have to-”

“I want to.”

Her eyes begin to water as he helps her slip out of her clothes. She gets in the tub, letting the water sooth her tense muscles. Kenshin joins her shortly after, pulling her close to him. They sit there in silence for a while, he washes her thoroughly, wiping away all the stress he can. His hands soothingly glide against her neck, back, and anywhere else he senses even the slightest discomfort.

And finally, she presses a kiss to her temple, resting his head against her shoulder. “What’s been going on?” His question is clear, voice deep as he whispers in her ear. She didn’t know how, but it was as if everything began pouring out of her in that moment. She could feel the hot tears stream down her cheeks, ones he wiped away with the gentlest of touches known to man as she began to explain everything.

She told him about the pressure she feels and the guilt that lingers when she thinks of disappointing everyone. How she’s started to become repulsed by the thought of sewing, and that waking up and getting out of bed has become a difficult task. At one point, her gentle cries became full on sobs, her body shaking more and more.

Kenshin only pulls her close, listening to everything she needed to say before speaking himself.

“I love you with all of my heart, ___. I’d die for you. I need you to know that you do not need to work yourself so hard to make yourself useful. You are perfect, and if anyone ever makes you feel any different, then I will need their name so that I can kill them.” The seriousness in his last statement makes her shiver.

He continues, “Please do not overwork yourself. We will get through this, together. I don’t want you being so stressed out. You deserve a break, and to never feel this way again.” Kenshin takes her chin in his hand, “I am amazed with how strong of a woman you are. You are so strong, for that matter, that you make me stronger. I want to do the same in return.”

She is truly left speechless. Kenshin was never the verbally affectionate type- or the best with words at all, for that matter. And yet, here he is, speaking from his heart. She turns around properly, looking into his eyes. They seep with love and intensity, boring into her soul. He adores her with his entire being, as he always will. The look alone stirs a warm feeling in her chest.

His tender lips crash into her own, pressing the softest of kisses there. Her mind goes blank as she hugs him tightly.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Being lifted back to their shared bedroom, he lays her onto the futon, pushing her hair out of her face. She smiles, but this time, it’s genuine. Her mind and body feel light again, she feels as if she is unstoppable. Although, she becomes slightly confused when he walks to the other side of the room, opening the door to the garden.

Suddenly, a large flash of white, black, and brown fills her vision. Balls of fluff topple onto her freshly cleaned body. Little noses tickle her sensitive skin, a fit of giggles escaping her lips. All the small furry companions only seem to be spurred on by this, laying on top of her like a warm blanket.

Kenshin can only bring himself to smile at the scene, watching her burst into yet another hysterical fit of laughter. He decides in that moment that there is absolutely nothing better than seeing her smile, and regardless of what it would take, he would always seek to find it.

#ikemensengoku #ikemen sengoku #ikesen kenshin #Ikesen #kenshin uesugi #kenshin #kenshin fluff #fluff #comfort fic #ask #this fic helped me get out of my writers block funk oml #This is like the first time i've wrote in over a month

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anjuschiffer · 4 years

Text

Wasn’t Meant For You but For Him

I know I’ve been quiet in terms of updates, but this is what I’ve been working on for the past two days! My first Timari! *squeal*

Thank you Vivi for encouraging me to write this! Also want to thank @eve-valution for beta-ing!

@-@-@-@-@

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life

@-@-@-@-@

Pairing: Timari

Context: This is years after highschool, possibly 5-6 years (I can’t count)? Gabriel isn’t HM here and HM was defeated a year after highschool was done for both Adrien and Mari. Mari isn’t the Guardian, since Fu was never discovered, however Adrien and Mari knew each other’s identities. Mari and Adrien are 24, Tim 25 and Damian is 17…

@-@-@-@-@

AO3

@-@-@-@-@

Richard yawned as he made his way to the kitchen, noticing a dim blue light peer through the crack of the living room, deciding to poke his head into the room.

His eyes laid straight onto Tim, his attention on the television screen, his coffee spilled on the floor, his laptop and documents spread on his table long forgotten and covered by the lone mug.

Wondering what had captured his brother’s attention, Richard decided to look at the television screen, then and there connecting the pieces.

“-and there you have it! Straight from the groom-to-be father’s mouth!”

Richard watched as Tim got up and left the room, giving Richard a nod as he left.

“The wedding of the year! Of possibly the century! The unification of the mysterious designer -MDC- and the face of Agreste - Adrien Agreste!” The tanned skinned reporter with a beauty mark above her eyebrow said. “And you’re saying that MDC will be revealing her actual face at the wedding?”

“She is, without a doubt, along with her actual name.”

“You heard it here first everyone! France’s beloved designer, MDC, will be revealing her face and name at her wedding! So don’t forget to joint down the big-”

Richard turned the television off, a click escaping his mouth as he cleaned up the spilled coffee on the floor and took the mug with him.

-----

“I can’t believe that I’m late for my own wedding!” A woman said, bouncing her leg as she kept looking outside her window to see if the limousine was anywhere near the church, Goliath Cathedral.

While the cathedral was lovely, it was nothing compared to the Gotham Cathedral. Despite the Cathedral never being restored, its stone gargoyles and rusty bells attracted Marinette to the 800 foot, moss covered building.

It would’ve been wonderful to have the wedding there -no- to even walk inside the cathedral if it were ever restored. It’s lovely interior was filled with history, the unreachable ceiling would’ve enthralled the people when the music started, drawing everyone into an ethereal trance.

The real trance, however, would start when Mari would step into the monotone room, her pure white dress becoming the centerpiece of adoration. The very dress she had on. An MDC original.

A dress made of tulle and lace, two materials and nothing more. The lace will create the sleeves and cover the bodice, forming an off-the-shoulder top. Tulle will create the skirt, lace once more adorning the hem of the dress and train that would be two meters in length. The veil would also be an MDC original, each crystal in that veil to be sewed on with joy and precision, an emotion that still radiated from Marinette since the day she started sketching her wedding gown.

“-Earth to Marinette!” Alya yelled, causing Marinette to let out a squeak. “About time you snapped from your trance!” Alya said with a giggle. “We’re here.”

“Already!” Marinette said with disbelief, looking outside her window once again, watching how crowded the streets in front of Goliath Cathedral were flooded with people of all ages and races, Marinette feeling something weighing on her. “Mon Dieu.”

“Well, Gabriel did make a huge fuss about your grand day.” Alya reminded her. “As much as I wish that I was the one to comment over your wedding, I couldn’t say no to being your Matron of Honor.” Alya said, really wishing to be the reporter to comment on her BFF’s grand day, but knew this task will always be of greater importance.

Marinette melted at that, throwing herself at her best friend. “Woah there girl! I can’t have you crying before your big dream comes true!”

“I’m sorry! I’m just-”

“You just can’t wait to finally marry Adrien after all these years of-”

“Alya!” Marinette squeaked, squeaking once more when Alya tackled her.

“You deserve this Marinette.” Alya said, wrapping her arms around her friend. “You deserve this and so much more.” Marinette resisted the urge to cry. “Finally, after defending Paris for so many years and after getting your breakthrough as MDC… you can finally get your happily ever after.” Alya gently pushed Marinette away from her, wiping off the tears that slid down Marinette’s face. “Now! Let’s not be a minute later than what we already are!”

Marinette nodded, pep talking herself as she watched the door be opened for her, emerging out of the limo and stepping into the sea of cameras, smiling and waving as they captured the moments that would lead her to her life as Marinette Agreste.

-----

“He’s not here.”

Marinette felt lightheaded, her heart beating loudly in her ears, her chest tightening and becoming unbearable.

“Get me out of here.” She whispered. When she felt no one come to her, she said it again, not registering how loudly she said it. “GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

She didn’t know who grabbed her, but someone did, leading her back to the limo that was still awaiting for her, or rather for the couple that was supposed to be.

She heard as cameras clicked and let out a shuttering noise that rang in her ears, she watched as lights went off as they capture her face in that moment,

Marinette kept looking forward, barely hearing Alya yell at the driver to get them somewhere.

Marinette felt as her entire body shaked, looking down at her bouquet of flowers.

White roses - purity...innocence...

Baby’s breath - everlasting love...

What a joke…

The limo came to a halt, Marinette looking up to see what stood in their way from getting out of the area.

Her eyes widened upon seeing Adrien step out of his car.

She didn’t know when she got up and out of the limo, but she finally regained her composure when she heard the words she dreaded to hear on her grand day… their grand day.

“Mari, I’m sorry.”

Three words… that’s all it took.

Walking up to Adrien, feeling her anger shake the flowers in her hand, she lifted them up, connecting it to Adrien’s face, watching as flower petals scattered around them and the road beneath them. “How dare you show your face to me!”

“Mari, I tried calling you-”

“YOU ALWAYS SAID WE WERE MEANT TO BE!” She hit him again, wondering when the petals were going to stop scattering.

“I’m here now. I-”

“YOU TALKED ABOUT ETERNAL LOVE AND YET LOOK AT US!”

“Mari, I’m-”

“YOU HUMILIATED ME! ME!” Marinette yelled, feeling hot tears trailing down her face, hitting him again and again, never noticing that the petals were already gone and battered, the stems of the bouquet bent and worn.

Seeing Adrien with guilt spelled across his face, Marinette looked him over one last time before running off, never hearing Adrien nor Alya yell out her name as she disappeared into an alley.

-----

Tim let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair, hearing Bruce’s words ringing in his mind.

“You’re not in the right mind. Come back when you’re ready to do your work properly.”

How exactly was he supposed to do that?

MDC’s wedding was today. To-day.

And no, that wasn’t what upsetted him, oh no.

It was the mere fact that she would be revealing herself to the world, something she said that she would never do until she felt comfortable.

So when Tim heard through Gabriel Agreste’s mouth that she would be revealing her face at the wedding -a wedding in which she later commented that she wanted to be private, but later was pressured into making it public- Tim couldn’t help but become upset for her.

Everything that she had worked so hard for, the respect and dignity she had built for herself all crumbled within a few moments… her years worth of effort, gone by marrying her highschool sweetheart.

To make matters worse, Tim felt like Gabriel was the one behind the wedding and not his son.

Tim sighed as he wondered why he was even letting this all get to him.

Looking up, he didn’t expect to find himself wandering the park.

He also didn’t expect to see a bride-to-be, oddly feeling like he had seen her before.

He heard sobs escape from her tiny frame, watching her rip the skirt of her gown with no effort, watching as she continued to rip the gown to shreds, the fabric laying at her feet, battered and covered in dirt.

He took a step forward before stopping himself.

Who was he to interfere in her life. Hell, what can he even do to stop her from crying?

He didn’t need to be told when he watched her turn around, Tim finally piecing why her back seemed so familiar, why her ruly midnight hair stunned him and why her dull, puffy bluebell eyes caused his breath to hitch.

He had seen her face before leaving his office. She was the reason why he couldn’t focus at work. It was her…

But why was she here? Wasn’t she-

No…

It couldn’t be…

She didn’t deserve this…

No…

How could he?!

Tim slowly approached the woman he had secretly admired since he could ever remember.

Taking the fabric away from her hands, the thing that was once her veil, a fabric that she happily worked on as she streamed her progress on her wedding gown over the course of six months…

Tim could only stand there… wondering what to do next.

“Would you like some coffee?” Tim offered, watching as something returned into MDC’s eyes. She nodded, slowly rising to her feet, collapsing as soon as she got up. Luckily, Tim had caught her in time, the woman now dangerously close to his liking.

Fishing for his phone, Tim called his most trusted family member.

“Hey Alfred… I need your help. Can you make sure there isn’t any type of paparazzi near me? We have a runaway bride that would be grateful to not have any more drama added to her big day.”

------

Adrien walked into the reception hall with his head hung low, too embarrassed to face his friends, feeling eyes pierce through him as he walked towards his former classmates.

He could feel Nathaniel and Marc’s gaze pierce through him, years of working with them allowing him to know who’s gaze was who. He could also feel Juleka’s and Mylene’s, thanking Kwami that Kim and Alix weren’t here.

They would’ve killed him the minute he walked into the room with Mari by his side. But he didn’t need to hear their disappointment when he could already hear everyone else’s.

He could already hear the murmuring as people noticed the empty space beside him.

Where was the bride?

“What were you thinking, Adrikins?!” Chloe yelled, storming to her childhood friend upon seeing him, Sabrina close behind her. Adrien watched as her black dress with golden trims approached him, wincing upon seeing a name hiddened at the hem of the dress. “How could you do that to Dupain-Cheng?!”

“Marinette didn’t deserve that.” Sabrina added, watching as Rose and Ivan stood in front of him, acting as a wall between the two.

“You guys are being too harsh on him.” Rose stated, glancing towards Ivan, as if pleading him to back her up. “He was just nervous.”

“Rose is right. Give Adrien some space to breath and rethink-”

“Rethink?” Juleka scoffed, everyone turning their heads to see Juleka make her way through the reception doors. “Seriously Ivan? Rethink?”

“Juleka, calm down.” Rose whispered, not seeing the anger in Juleka’s eyes diminish in the slightest, instead, it grew.

“No Rose!” Juleka making Rose wince. “You’re telling me to forgive this idiot for leaving Mari at the altar?!”

“Juleka, you’re being too harsh-”

“No I’m not Rose and you know that!” Juleka looked at Adrien, her eyes narrowed. “How dare you ruin Marinette’s dreams like that? How dare you mock Marinette’s feelings! How dare you!”

“Juleka!” Another voice shouted, gaining everyone’s attention, but Juleka’s. “That’s enough!”

“Lu-” Adrien could hear the gasps that filled the room as his vision shifted to the side, his face aching and on fire.

“You had one job Agreste.” Luka growled, Adrien not daring to face Luka.

He knew that Mari meant a lot to Luka. She was like a sister to him, the two were inseparable when they were younger. “You were suppose to make her happy Agreste and yet here you are, not feeling a single shred of shame that-”

“I told her that I was-”

“Sorry?” Luka let out a dry laugh. “Sorry doesn’t cut it buddy. I told you what would happen if you made her cry.” Luka grabbed Adrien’s face, forcing him to look at him. “I swear, if I see you anywhere near Marinette, if you dare to talk to her again, I will find you and I will tear you to shreds Agreste. I don’t care if I have become a villain once more to protect those I love.” Luka let go of Adrien, the ex-groom falling to the ground, shaking.

“Mark my words Adrien Agreste.”

Adrien heard Luka and Juleka walk out, hearing another pair stop before walking in, watching as they crouched to his level. Kagami looked at him with disappointment, a frown on her face.

“Kagami.”

“Seems like Luka beat me to the punch.” She said, her frown curving a bit. “Literally.”

Adrien didn’t utter a word as she rose, helping him get up. “I also came to tell you something else before heading to your father.” Kagami smirked when she saw him tense. “The Tsurugi’s will no longer work with the Gabriel brand. Our relationship is over.” Kagami headed for the door before stopping to take one last look at Adrien. “Seems like Lady Luck is no longer on your side.”

------

Marinette stirred, jolting up when she felt soft comforters covering her and a mattress beneath her. She noticed an elderly gentleman standing near the doorway, letting his shoulders relax when he saw her.

“I see you are awake, Miss...?”

“Marinette.” Marinette started, scanning her area. Where exactly was she?

“Do not worry, Miss Marinette. No camera nor paparazzi knows of your location.” He assured, watching as Marinette let out a sigh of relief. “We also have some attire prepared for you if you so wish to change from your current one.”

Looking down onto herself, Marinette quickly took the offer, slipping into the slightly oversized shirt and a pair of jeans that fit her loosely, also thanking the gentleman for also giving her some comfortable footwear. Sneakers were definitely better to walk in than heels.

“Thank you,” Marinette said, walking out of the room she was in, her battered wedding gown in hand. “Do you happen to know of a good way to get rid of this?” Marinette motioned to her gown, the gentleman giving her a knowing look.

“Of course Miss Marinette.” He said, motioning her follow him. “The manor is always prepared for anything, especially when it comes to getting rid of unwanted clothing articles.”

“And before I forget,” the gentle said, bowing. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth. Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

-----

Tim sighed as he dragged his hands down his face, settling with trying to rub his temples in a futile attempt to get his mind into the right place.

MDC was in the manor.

She was finally in front of him, so why was his chest aching instead of fluttering like he thought it would when he imagined the day he got to meet her?

He stared out the window, noticing smoke rise into the air, Tim feeling his heart stop.

It was coming from the garden.

Quickly, he made his way to the source of the fire, finding Alfred flipping what seemed to be a white piece of fabric, tossing it into the flames, Tim finally noticing the sigh of relief coming from MDC.

He didn’t dare to speak as he saw her lock eyes with him, her hair a bit more tamed than what it was earlier, the corner of her eyes red and no longer puffy.

“If you do excuse me, Master Tim.” Alfred said, breaking the spell that drew the two into a staring competition, causing said duo to turn away, not wanting to acknowledge the heat that dared to spread across their face.

“It’s fine Alfred. You are excused.” Tim managed to say without a stutter, watching MDC from the corner of his eye.

He watched as she went back to watching the flame burn the remains of her supposed grand day.

Seconds became minutes and then into an hour, Tim never realizing when the flame had died out. He honestly didn’t care that he was still looking at a dark pit filled with ash. As long as she stood by the makeshift fire pit, he’d stay there to keep her company.

“You know,” MDC spoke, Tim noticing how soft it was, how lifeless it sounded. “I spent six months sewing it, only for it to be destroyed within an hour.”

“I know.” Tim said, not noticing her whip her head towards him, her eyes large with horror. “I remember how you keep doing samples of the lace over and over again, saying how you kept messing up, even though each sample was meticulously done to perfection.” Tim didn’t notice how she backed away from him. “Even though you couldn’t hear me, I keep saying how you’ve improved since the last time and how you kept seeing each one as a failure because you were using new techniques you learned a week prior in comparison to the ones you started out with when you first started your career.”

When Tim decided to look at MDC, he noticed that she was crying again, standing two meters away from him, and yet one step was soon taken closer to her.

“You… you know who I am?” She asked, her hands shaking beside her face.

“Um, yes? You’re MDC.” Tim answered, watching as she shook even more.

Where was Dick when you needed him?

Tim slowly approached her, going to place his hands on her shoulders when he hesitated, his hands hovering over her. “Listen, can I call you Bean?” Tim said, cursing himself for not having Dick nor Jason’s ability to give proper nicknames.

“Bean, I didn’t mean to scare you. If there’s anything I can do to make you forget what happened earlier, please tell me.”

“Nettie.” She whispered, Tim barely catching it. “Call me Nettie.” She lowered her hands as she looked at him.

“If that’s what you want, Nettie.” Tim wondered why he adored the way it fluently rolled off his tongue. “Are you still up for that cup of coffee I offered earlier?”

Nettie gave him a small smile, nodded. “Alfred makes the best coffee.”

-----

Gabriel fumed as another person reported to him that another video of Marientte and Adrien’s dispute went online, the PR having difficulties taking the video down.

“What part of “get rid of it at all costs” don’t you incompetent fools understand!” He yelled, watching as people scattered to fight off the damage Adrien had done to the Gabriel brand.

Gabriel had planned everything to go according to plan, twelve whole months to plan this day to the utmost perfection, to be the most spectacular day for him and his brand, all for Adrien to ruin everything thanks to having cold feet.

Gabriel had taken everything into account, everything that would possibly make Miss Dupain-Cheng to call the wedding off, only for his stupid blood to let him down.

“Sir.” Nathalie said, gaining Gabriel’s attention. “We have a problem.”

“What is it this time?” He dared to say through gritted teeth.

“We’re receiving heavy backlash from-”

“When will anyone-”

“It’s Mr.Drake-Wayne, sir.” Nathalie managed to say, holding her breath as she watched Gabriel ingest what she just told him. “After saying how incompent and embarrassed we should be, he declared taking complete control over MDC’s PR and her entire business.”

“No.” Gabriel whispered, feeling himself get cold. “There is no way-”

“He just announced it sir.” Nathalie said, showing him her tablet screen, Gabriel snatching it to get a closer look. “MDC is now protected by the CEO of Wayne Enterprises and there is nothing we can do.”

-------

Tim pressed something on his screen before tucking his phone away.

“Something happened?” Nettie asked, sipping some more of her coffee. Tim hadn’t lied. Alfred made the best coffee Marinette had ever sipped since she had gotten to Gotham. Maybe in her entire life.

“Some damage control, nothing more.” Tim assured her, watching as she looked into her coffee.

After drinking their first cup of coffee, Nettie had asked for a favor, something Tim couldn’t say no to.

She wanted him to deal with her PR, seeing as she wasn’t in the right head to do so.

After getting her sign of approval and calling a few people, Tim gained control of the rumors and content that surrounded and included anything that mentioned and dared to mention the disaster at the cathedral.

Under different circumstances, Tim would’ve been over the moon upon having the chance at being in charge of MDC’s PR, but right now, it wasn’t the time to celebrate to his heart's content.

He had someone else to cheer up.

“Say Nettie.” Tim started, placing down his mug. “What do you think about staying for dinner?”

Nettie blinked, sipping into her mug.

“If it means staying indoors and away from the rest of the world, I’m down for it.” Tim smirked.

“Just gotta warn you, I’m not the only Wayne that lives in this manor.”

——

Marinette only meant to stay at the Manor until things cooled down, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

She kept elongating her stay at Wayne Manor, bonding with each family member over the passing days.

Alfred, she quickly bonded with. After asking for permission to the kitchen to stress bake, Alfred shared some secrets on his cooking, Marinette in turn sharing her secrets in baking. From baking and cooking, the two started to chat more, Marniette adopting him as her third grandfather.

Bruce… she was still trying to get used to him. While they spoke quite a lot when it came to business… Marinette would always run short in talking about other things, usually their conversations ending in comfortable silence. However, Mairinette did manage to find out something to blabber about: grandkids (or rather children in general). Marinette would share her fantasies about having children, Bruce asking if she would ever adopt. Marinette would laugh and comment on how she didn’t want to be a serial adopter like him. That always got a laugh from the man.

Richard, or Dick as he insisted, was a sweetheart, helping her whenever she would wake up from her nightmares of her former life and from that disastrous day. He’d stay up until she felt better and held her hand as she drifted to sleep. He would never mention the incidents, knowing and respecting Marinette in that manner. She also couldn’t help but respect him for skills, finding something new about herself whenever she would join his gymnastic warm ups.

Jason was… the brother she wished she had. They would banter about what food to have for lunch, always resulting in having to play a game to decide who would choose. When it wasn’t that, it was wrestling each other, Marinette having the upperhand due to her small stature, only to be overpowered by the baberious man. She enjoyed learning new attacks although she hated having to lose to him in the majority of their sparing.

Damian… he was the little brother she’d always wanted. While Tim told her he was the most annoying person to spend time with, Marinette would beg to differ. He just needed some guidance. The two bonded over animals, Damian showing her his favorite part of the mansion. When she walked into the room, she swore she was in a pet store,every wall was filled with dog supplies and toys. Ace and Titus wagging their tails as soon as Damian walked into the room, the dogs immediately taking a liking to Marinette. Even the rather bratty Alfred the Cat had taken to her quicker than with the rest of the family that wasn’t Damian.

When it wasn’t pampering Ace and Titus, it was sparring, Marinette thanking him for not holding back like Jason and Richard. He’d expose her openings, apologizing as he would hit her. After training, she would teach him to bake, enjoying how he would blame the ingredients for not working and coming to Marinette for help. Mari’s best parts would be when he would lighten up when a pastry would come out perfectly after a few tries.

Tim… he was… she had mixed feelings about him. Being a fellow coffee addict, Marinette could sympathize with the need to drink more and having to deal with late night work. Sometimes she would stay up with him, pulling a blanket over him, although there were times where she would end up covered by a blanket. She found out he liked her opera cakes; Damian would always request one, only to share it with Tim every now and then.

He was respectful of her space, always checking up on her in his own odd antics in the form of a mug of coffee for a new tiny plushie. (She now had a wall dedicated to them.) He never once brought up her work as MDC, something she was glad for (she wasn’t ready to go back just yet). He was the one to give her a room, provided her whatever she needed, even a new family… but Marinette knew that he was more than just that…

What exactly was he, she would have to wait to figure that out herself.

------

“What do you mean you can’t find her? That you can’t reach her?” Gabriel seethed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

It’s been two weeks since MDC had gone missing, no one knowing where she was.

Gabriel had tried to open a line for people to call when they had any clues as to where the rising design was at, only to get an influx of false claims, prompting him to shut it down.

“Mari isn’t answering any of her phones, not even Alya knows where she is at.” Adrien reasoned, really hoping his father wouldn’t make him recall Alya.

He could still hear screams in his ears, Nino having to answer the phone call before giving him his own two cents on Adrien’s actions towards Marinette.

“Listen Adrien, you have to find her.” Gabriel said soothingly, placing his hands on Adrien’s shoulders, the young adult wincing at the pressure. “If you don’t, let’s just say you can say goodbye to your dream of being forever with your lady.”

------

Titus and Ace were enjoying another day out in the manor garden, laying by Nettie’s side as she meditated to her heart’s content.

She was practicing this new technique that Damian’s friend Raven had taught her, when a noise caught Titus’ attention. With a single glance towards Ace, Titus went to investigate, quickly finding the source. Without a second to lose, Titus barked a command to Ace before sprinting towards the manor, knowing he had to find Damian, and fast.

Nettie was in danger.

------

Marinette breathed in and then out, focusing on her breathing when it came to a halt when she heard Ace growl and her name being spoken by the one person she never wanted to see again.

“Marinette.”

Her focus snapped and she felt her entire being freeze. How did he find her? How did he-

“Marinette, I’m so sorry about leaving you there, for leaving you at the steps of the cathedral instead of being by your side like I promised to be. Because you were right. I hurt you and I’m sorry for that. I should’ve kept my promise and should have gathered the courage to push my nerves down.” Adrien continued when Marinette remained silent, her bluebells staring at her with unshed tears. “We were meant to be Marinette.” Adrien said softly. “Will you marry me?”

A wind blew around them, its whistle snapping Marinette back to the present.

“No.” Marinette quietly said, stepping away from Adrien, feeling Ace began to intensify his growl. “I don’t want to marry you Adrien. Not today, not tomorrow, never.”

“But Mari!” Adrien said, grabbing her arm. “We are meant to be.” Ace began barking madly, circling around the two.

“Adrien, let go!” Marinette exclaimed, biting down on her tongue as Adrien clawed his nails into her wrist.

“You’re. Coming. With.Me.” Adrien gritted through his teeth, pulling Mari towards him, only to yelp in pain when Ace bit him. “Damn mutt!” Adrien hissed, attempting to kick Ace, but failing. However, he did manage to grab Marinette again, even if it was by her hair.

Marinette felt tears escape her eyes, placing her hands over his, lowering herself, twisting to face him and bring herself up, watching as his grasp on her hair loosened. She quickly kicked him on his knee, not turning back as soon as he howled in pain.

However, she knew it wasn’t enough when he grabbed her again by her hair, causing her to jerk backward, holding in a yell as her entire scalp ached.

Again, she twisted her shoulder towards him, punching his groin area and striking his back with her elbow and throwing him forward, where his face collided with the ground.

Without giving him a second to react, Marinette stood on his knees, pinning his arms behind him.

But she was a second too late.

He pushed her off of him, pushing her down by her throat.

Marinette pushed him off using her legs and punching his face as he flung off, launching herself at him to punch him again, turning him over and hooking her arms under his own, struggling to put both of her hands at the center of his back.

Establishing her position, Marinette grabbed both of his elbows, her arms still hooked and flipped him over, her body crossing his and holding him into an excruciating pin.

She ignored the yells and cries that escaped him, yelling at Marinette to let him go, to free him before things were going to get worse for her, but she added more force into her hold, screams piercing the garden.

Marinette didn’t know how much pressure she had put into her hold, nor when Adrien passed out nor when all the brothers got to her.

She didn’t know when she was pulled away from the pale Adrien and pulled into Tim’s arms, feeling circles being rubbed against her back as Tim whispered to her that she was alright, that she was safe.

It wasn’t until she saw Titus and Ace at her side and Damian asking Tim if she was alright that Marinette finally understood that she was okay. That she was going to be alright.

The boys watched as Nettie broke down, her wails and sobs echoing throughout the garden, watching as she gripped Tim’s shirt and cried into it, Tim wrapping his arms around her frame, nuzzling his head against hers, continuing to whisper to her that everything was alright.

-------

“-and I will continue to hold my charges against A-”

Marinette turned off the television, staring at it.

It was over.

Adrien was behind bars, the Agreste brand tarnished and cancelled, Gabriel now dealing with lawsuits thanks to his son’s actions.

She can finally move on...

A mug appeared before her, Nettie not having to look up to see who had brought it.

She took it, a frown still on her face.

“Do you regret it?” Tim asked, sitting beside her on the floor, laying his legs beneath the coffee table.

“Not one bit.” Nettie said, letting out a sigh. “I’m… actually glad I didn’t marry him.”

“Hmmm..” was all Tim could say, sipping his own cup of coffee. “So, what now?”

“I… don’t know.” Nettie said thoughtfully. “Actually… I do know.” She said, turning to him. Tim blinked as she leaned into him, placing a kiss on his forehead.

A spark ran through Tim, making him balance his reaction between freezing upon being kissed and holding onto the mug he had in his hand. “Thank you… for everything.”

Tim remained silent as Marinette got up and left the room, leaving her mug behind.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but when he did get up, he ran.

He ran to where she could’ve been, where she used to be, but didn’t find her anywhere within the manor.

Her room was empty, but her things remained, the plushies she gave still on the wall.

As he got to the foyer, he found Damian, who seeked comfort in Titus.

“Damian. Ha-Have. You. Seen. Nettie?” He asked between pants, getting a frown from him.

“She just left.”

“Where?”

“She said she was heading back to Paris. Something about- hey!” Damian yelled as Tim ruffled his hair and sprinted out the door.

Please let him get to her...

-----

“-passengers for flight 6236 to Paris please go to Terminal 3.”

Marinette let out a sigh as she grabbed her luggage and started to walk towards her gate when the announcement tone rang again.

“-I promise it’s going to be quick!” A voice echoed through the intercom.

“Tim?”

“Ne-Marinette! Please. Don’t go.” His voice said, Marinette feeling her chest ache upon hearing his voice crack. “I know we’ve only known each other for a short amount, but hear me out.” She listened as he took a breath. “I love you.”

Marinette dropped something, but she didn’t know what. It didn’t matter.

“Even before we met in person, I was enthralled by your work, your delicateness when you sewed and when you would bake things.”

Run.

“I remember when you broke down during your video and spent the entire two hours explaining why you were crying, making me want to find out where you lived to tell you that everything was going to be fine and that everything was going to work out.”

Run!

“I remember when you won your first fashion competition for Audrey. I cried when you showed off your winning designs that you worked day in and day out, the days that you spent working on designs you drew with your prickled covered hands and sprained wrist.”

Find him!

“I remember when you eagerly shared with us how you planned to debut, going into details about your launch before you panicked because you let out confidential information, saying how you wanted to remain a mystery to the public. You didn’t want anyone to know who you truly were until you felt comfortable about it.”

Where was he?

“Then when I met you,” A pause. “Even with your dress tattered and ripped, with your hair ruly and out of it’s crown and your eyes red to the brim, I was still captivated by your beauty.”

There he was.

Marinette allowed herself to breath, panting heavily as she walked up to the booth where Tim was, tears running down his face.

“The days we spent… I truly treasured… so please… don’t-”

“I’m not going anywhere.” “I’m not going anywhere.”

Marinette said, hearing her voice echo throughout the airport as she cupped Tim’s face into her hands, wiping his tears with her thumbs with such tenderness.

“I love you too.” “I love you too.”

With those words, she kissed him, soaking in the moment, feeling Tim place his own hands over hers, leaning in to deepen their kiss.

“I love you.”

#maribat #timari #gabriel isnt HM but still a bad dad #damian wants mari to stay #anju writes

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