#I hate that I hang on your every word like a life preserver | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

javier-pena · 2 years

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defiance

Part 3 of Hubris

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Is there more between Dieter and you? Your heart would like to think there is, but that rational part of you knows better.

Notes: Okay so I said I was gonna post it tomorrow, but it's done, so here it is! I can't believe this tiny one-shot is now a three part series with more parts yet to come. I want to thank all of you who are reading along, leave nice comments, send me nice messages, and hype me up! I love you guys so much and I hope you're enjoying Part 3! As ever, i owe everything to Dani @javierpcna who outdid herself this time with giving me feedback. This series wouldn't exist without you, Dani 💚

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“We’re not done yet.”

Those four words echo through your head with alarming frequency and at wildly inappropriate times. In the middle of an important phone call, during the weekly dinner with your parents, while Hans shouts you down. There was only one time – this morning, in the shower – when you were able to do something about it. The muscles in your throat tightened with the memory of his fingers digging into the soft flesh there while you rubbed your clit so hard and fast you came in under a minute. You hated every second of it, hated how the thought of him made you see stars while your whole body shuddered, hated how good you felt after you had pushed through the initial feelings of shame.

It doesn’t help that you have to go to work every day and see him there. It was bearable when you were both still in a professional relationship. Yes, he was an actor you admired, he was fun to be around, he said “please” and “thank you”, he wasn’t above talking to the crew. It was even still bearable after he fucked you against the wall in his trailer because you were both in agreement to avoid each other. But now?

Now he isn’t even pretending to avoid you anymore. Whenever your eyes find his, he stares at you openly, fire in his gaze, he stares daggers into you that make you squirm and ache. It doesn’t help that you cannot avoid each other on set anyway, that those dreaded four words ring through your head whenever you come close to him, whenever you hear his voice, smell his expensive cologne, see his broad shoulders gently push past the people waiting at the lunch buffet. It makes it impossible to forget. And whenever he stares at you with fire, you answer him with ice, throw up your walls, push him away with glares and indifference. Because you don’t want him to know … You don’t want him to know the prospect of him keeping his word sends chills down your spine.

Despite all of this, you’re in a good mood today. There were no embarrassing sex scenes to be shot, everyone was on time, and even Hans’ new task (“Do an inventory of the makeup trailer, I’m sure those people are stealing.”) can’t dampen your mood. You hum quietly while counting bottle after bottle, tube after tube, brush after brush, taking notes on a piece of paper.

Your guard is down, your mind is allowed to wander, and it lands on the scene you were shooting today: the Big Duel (Hans’ words). It is your favorite scene, the one that drew you to the project when you first read the script because it shows a vulnerable side of Hector’s character – it shows he is not afraid to die for the people he loves. But you could never have imagined what Dieter would do with those black words on white paper, how he would give them life and meaning far beyond what your brain imagined when you flipped through the pages for the first time so many months ago. And you’re convinced the scene doesn’t need any post-production, doesn’t need to be tampered with. You want to preserve the image of his shirt hanging in shreds, barely covering his chest, his hair wild, him snarling insults at the main villain while dodging his blows, parrying them with his own sabre. It was only the look in his eyes that finally made you avert your gaze, made you ashamed to look because it brought back memories of seeing it directed at you just three days ago, when he was so angry with you for not finishing what you had started, when he hated you for it.

This is the only part of this day you want to bury so deep even your loud mind won’t be able to reach it anymore. Because it only made you remember what you did afterwards, after he had stormed out, his face still red with arousal. You feel so ashamed of your actions, of masturbating right there in public – you didn’t even have the composure, the self-restraint to drive yourself back home.

You hate him so much for this. You hate him for making you feel so vulnerable and out of control.

That memory awakens a feeling of mild irritation and puts a dent in your good mood. It doesn’t help that this silly task is irritating you now, too. It makes your mind wander more than it should, gives you an itch you long to scratch. All of this has nothing to do with Dieter, it cannot have anything to do with him. Most of your irritation is due to that little voice that keeps telling you you’re lying to yourself.

The itch gets unbearable, especially at the back of your neck. You run your left hand over the clammy skin there, letting out a deep sigh. And then you spot it – a shadow, the flicker of a reflection in the brightly illuminated makeup mirror before you.

Dieter Bravo.

It explains the tingling, the clammy skin, your rapidly beating heart. Fight or flight. But you force your face into a mask, quickly scan the man right behind you. Fight … not flight.

The smirk on his face, his trademark, the one every single magazine mentions when they do a feature on him, is subdued this evening, like he knows he doesn’t need to put any effort into this – he has already won. He leans against the wall of the trailer, at ease, arms crossed over his chest. His chest … the one you saw in great detail today, just covered by some shreds of fabric. Now, it’s hidden beneath a white shirt that might be a size too small. It clings to his torso in just the right way, showing off his muscled chest and soft belly (god, he’s doing this on purpose, isn’t he?). His arms, thankfully, are covered by a light, black jacket that goes well with his tight, dark jeans that are held up by a black leather belt with a ridiculous belt buckle of a bald eagle with spread wings. But the thing that catches your attention, the thing that draws you in like a magpie is drawn in by a shiny coin, is the gold chain around his neck, glinting against the white of his shirt, even in the ugly trailer light.

You’re definitely not staring, admiring how well it goes with the earring in his left ear.

“What do you want?” you snap at his reflection. “I’m very busy.” You tap your nails against the clipboard rapidly, impatiently.

His disarming smile would work on any other woman, you’re sure of it. “Now, don’t be like that,” he says, lowering his arms. “I just want to ask you something.”

Oh, you know exactly where this is going. Been there, done that.

“Yeah, right,” you snort, lowering your gaze back to the task at hand.

You should know by now there is no way to get rid of him if he has an idea firmly anchored in his mind.

“That thing you did,” he begins, and you can hear the smile slowly vanishing off his face, “that wasn’t very kind. What have I ever done to you?”

You could play coy, pretend not to know what he is talking about to make him squirm, but you’re not in the mood for games tonight. You’re in the mood for a fight. Just some way to release the sudden bursts of irritation you’re feeling. With a shove against the makeup table, you whip around to face him, your arms wrapped around yourself.

“You’re a smug asshole who thinks he can treat people in whatever way he wants just because he’s somewhat decent looking.” It’s a fragmented description of the issue at hand but saying more would give too much away.

“Says the person who likes to masturbate while watching my movies.”

You take a deep, steadying breath, in through your nose, out through your mouth. You do it again. If you’re not careful, your whole body is going to start to shake with anger and you cannot let him see that. You won’t even let him see the anger and the hurt in your eyes, directing your gaze to his curls that are still perfectly styled from today’s shoot.

Fuck him.

He’s truly not beneath using this confession against you, the one you made while being drunk, while being high on happiness about the Dieter Bravo talking to you, the actor, the man you’d only heard good things about, the one who is so brilliant at what he does for a living the Academy gave him an Oscar as best actor for starring in a comedy. The Dieter Bravo who had refused to drag his ex-wife through the mud after the divorce although countless of tabloids had tried to make him to it. The Dieter Bravo who once used his own money to put the crew of an action movie he was working on in a better hotel after the production company had messed up. The Dieter Bravo who had made you unashamed to explore your own sexuality by refusing to use sex in movies to shock, by always talking about it as a normal part of life.

The thing that hurts you most is how wrong you were about him. He is, after all, just a man, one who’s ready to use a woman’s sexuality against her to embarrass her, to belittle her, to hurt her. You were right to hate him all along. And all that is left is the desire to hurt him in turn.

Your voice shakes when you answer him – with anger, not hurt (it can’t be with hurt, you can’t let him play with your emotions like that). “I used to like you, Bravo. I thought you were different from the other stuck-up actors, but you’re all the same. You all fuck whoever you want just to feel something.”

You quickly muffle that tiny little voice that tells you you’re doing exactly the same.

Those words don’t have the desired effect on him. Instead of throwing you an angry glance and storming off he does the opposite – he walks toward you slowly, menacingly, with purpose in every step, pulling his jacket off his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground in one smooth motion. His arms are still shiny from the fake sweat they sprayed him with earlier, and the light gives them a golden glow as he runs his fingers through his hair, making his curls even messier.

A lesser woman would have given in. A lesser woman would have let him have his way. But you’ve seen this before, this seduction, and it doesn’t impress you anymore. He has one trick he uses on everyone, but it won’t work on you a second time.

“And you’re not even that good at it,” you add.

If you’re getting to him, he’s not showing it. His smile doesn’t flicker once as he keeps walking toward you until he’s right in front of you, so close you can see the shadow of your own reflection in his dark eyes.

“What if I don’t want to fuck just anyone?”

You snort to mask the way your breath hitches, to quieten your heart fighting against the constraints of your ribcage, fighting for you to listen to him, to believe him. You can’t; it would be ridiculous. He’s just a man like any other man, thinking he has an easy job of getting in your pants. They will say anything to you just so they can fuck you and leave you. It has happened before and Dieter Bravo, of all people, won’t be any different. Still, his scent is suddenly everywhere, manly, so strong after a day on set, the physical exhaustion that comes with it, and you have to struggle to get the next quip out, to not just lean into him.

“Then why are you doing it?”

He’s so fucking close to you – why is he so close? It feels like you can’t breathe, he takes all the air out of the tiny space left between you.

“Oh,” he says, his smirk flickering for the first time, “you think that’s what this is?”

Seeing that flicker, seeing that tiny crack in his walls, hearing him speak with a voice that you would interpret as earnest if he wasn’t a brilliant actor, makes your throat close up. You’re on dangerous ground now and if you’re not careful you’re going to be sucked in and suffocated.

“What else is this then?” you ask, your jaw set.

“Do you want me to show you?”

He’s offering this to you. There can be no other way to read this – you don’t want there to be any other way to read this. And he almost sounds sincere asking it, too … you almost believe him.

But you can’t let him in.

“Believe me, Bravo,” you reply, with a smirk of your own, “you’re really not that great that I have to ride your dick constantly.”

He raises a hand and for a second you think he’s about to cup your cheek, but then he lowers it again. “Such a pretty lady, yet such a foul mouth.”

The spell is broken. You don’t want to believe him anymore. You want to get away from him, wallow in self-hatred for allowing yourself to hope yet again, for falling for the wrong man yet again. Averting your gaze, you try to push past him, but he grabs your hips, pulls you back, pushes you against the makeup table behind you.

“I told you we’re not done yet.”

Fuck.

You’re so turned on your teeth hurt, your limbs are tingling, you try to press your thighs together because your cunt is clenching, begging to be filled by him. He ghosts his lips over your jaw, all the way up to your ear, his breath hot against your skin and it doesn’t help you in winning this battle over your basest desires.

He whispers, so low and close and there his words become your entire world. “I’m going to make you take it all back … You’ll be begging for my cock once I’m done with you.”

And before you can protest, before you can push him away, before his words and their meaning even reach your brain, he whirls you around, hikes up your shirt, pulls down the leggings you’re wearing, gets down on his knees, and buries his head between your thighs.

You fall forward with a shout at the first contact of his hot mouth against your throbbing cunt. His tongue darts out immediately, tastes you, licks into you, making your hips quiver. The makeup table beneath you rattles; you register how all the little tubes and bottles are toppling over but you couldn’t care less. Not when each of his licks sets your skin on fire. Not when the hold he has on you is so strong it feels as if he’s scared you’re going to fly away, as if that loss would be his end. You just lower your head and bite your lip, completely lost in the sensation of him licking you like a starved man.

And then he moans.

It’s the lewdest sound you’ve ever heard. Definitely the lewdest sound any man has ever made for you. And he moans right into your cunt, with your taste on his lips and tongue. You don’t join him, you can’t, but you let out a breath of air and you relax against him before you can catch yourself, giving yourself over to him.

He notices. He notices how your muscles go slack, how you widen your stance to let him in more. And he stops. He stops his relentless onslaught, the frantic licks, he even lightens his hold. And then he kisses your inner thigh, a quick peck of his wet lips against your burning skin.

It’s a touch that makes you freeze more than anything he has ever done. But before you can decide how you feel about it, he mumbles into your skin.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet … all for me? I bet it’s all for me, you little liar.” A chuckle. “Does it turn you on that much to fight with me?”

It’s a question you don’t want to answer, not even just for yourself. Instead, you ball your hands into fists so hard your nails dig into your palms, leaving half-moon indents. They become even deeper when he runs a finger through your folds slowly, gently, a movement like a caress, followed by a sucking sound and a low moan. The urge to observe, to see him lick his finger clean of you becomes unbearable when you hear that sound, your head spinning with pride at how much he’s enjoying this.

“Here’s what we’re going to do …,” he says once he’s satisfied. “You’re going to watch your face in the mirror, watch what I’m doing to you … and you’re not allowed to come until I say so.”

You’ve never hated anyone more.

You’ve never wanted anyone more.

“Fuck you, Bravo,” is the only response you manage.

He slaps your exposed backside, not so hard you feel a sting, but the sensation of his hand landing on your skin shoots straight into your leaking cunt.

“Is that understood?” he asks.

You’re so wet you can feel it leak down your thighs, and god yes, you want this, you’ve never wanted anything so much your entire life, so you give him the answer he wants to hear.

“Yes.”

He gently strokes his thumb across the spot he slapped. “There’s a good girl now.”

Before you can analyze how these words make you feel, your mind becomes a clean slate. He licks into your folds again, open mouthed, still the same starved man he was before. The wet sounds of his tongue against you fill the trailer, a depraved soundtrack to your activities. Suddenly, you do want to do as you’re told, you do want to watch the effect he has on you in the brightly lit makeup mirror that exposes every wrinkle, every tiny hair, every miniscule movement on the face of the person looking into it.

You raise your head slowly, scared of the sight you’re about to face, yet eager for it. No amount of preparation could have prepared you for your glazed-over eyes, your furrowed brow, that bead of sweat running down your neck. You see it all, every tiny twitch of your cheek, every inch your mouth opens wider, every tightening in your throat. And there’s that spark in your eyes, kindled by the realization, the acknowledgment that this feels fucking amazing. The way he licks into you, the way he holds you in place, the way he moans against you … it all makes you hungry for more, a hunger that is written all over your face, ancient, carnal, selfish. Every time he groans, “Fuck,” against you, buried between your thighs, every time he grips a handful of your ass and pants, “Shit, you taste amazing,” it pushes you closer to the edge. And you’re not afraid anymore.

You’re not afraid to show him, to let him hear how much you’re enjoying yourself. You join in, moan at the way his tongue flicks in and out of you, gasp at the sensation of his teeth digging into your soft thighs from time to time, and you encourage him, you encourage him with a breathless, “Yes, fuck, that’s it,” and a delirious, “Fuck, Bravo, you’re so good at this”. He makes you scream after that by pressing a finger against your clit, so you push your hips back into his eager mouth, tiny sobs tumbling out of your open mouth, riding his face in desperation.

You don’t care anymore. You don’t care that he’s using you. You don’t care about keeping your desires hidden from him. All you care about is how good he makes you feel and how much you love every second of this.

Before you can chase the fuzzy feeling at the edge of your consciousness, before you can let yourself get overtaken with the hunt for release, he pushes two fingers into you, and you gasp, immediately clenching around them and pulling them in deeper. He rests them there while he pushes himself off the ground, revealing his flushed face, his unruly curls, that smirk you love so much. With a deliberate motion, he wipes his mouth and chin and nose clean with the back of his hand, then rests it on the small of your back, pushing you down against the table beneath you. Finally, his eyes find yours in the mirror, his gaze taking your breath away with the intensity you find there.

“Tell me you don’t hate me, and I’ll let you come.”

It’s a simple request, easily enough fulfilled. It is right there, on the tip of your tongue (“I don’t hate you, I don’t hate you, I don’t hate you”), but you can’t bring yourself to say it. Instead, you let out a frustrated groan and lower your head, unable to look at him for a second longer because it will make you break. He will make you break. But he grips your hair and pulls you back up, so you’re forced to look at yourself in the mirror, look into his eyes.

“Say it,” he commands, untangling his fingers from your hair with a shove.

You can’t, so you shake your head no.

“Come on, admit it.” He roughly shoves his fingers deeper into your cunt, making your hips lift off the table. “I know you don’t hate me.”

You bite your tongue, you force yourself to keep your mouth shut. His face falls, you see every detail of it in that brightly lit mirror, and for one hopeful moment you think he’s going to make you come anyway, but instead he pulls out of you. You feel the loss like a punch to the gut, but you only have yourself to blame this time.

Before you can ask for his forgiveness, before you can bring yourself to realize this is what you want to do, he unzips his pants and takes out his cock. Your fingers immediately flex with the memory of being wrapped around it, and your breath catches in your throat when you see how hard he is, how swollen and red and leaking. He runs his hand up and down its length, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until a different pitch of wet sounds fills the trailer. You squirm against the grip he still has on you, desperate for some release, but he doesn’t allow you to move. Instead, he’s making you watch his straining and bulging arms, his tightening neck, his rapid movements so fast the chain on his chest swings in time with them.

He's making you seethe desperate look on his face, his walls completely down now.

He comes with a low grunt, eyes on yours, mouth hanging open. He spills all over your exposed ass and thighs in hot ropes and you moan at that sight, at how it feels to have him on you like this. Your cunt pulses desperately, and you sob, eager for any kind of release, but you missed your chance, and now he’s just using you again, thinking only about himself.

It’s your own damn fault.

He finally lets go of you and your face grows hot with humiliation. Now that he’s done, the shame sets in, hot and heavy on your heart. You want to disappear, you don’t ever want to see him again. But then something damp touches your skin, and you whip your head around to gaze over your shoulder only to find him cleaning you up with a wet tissue, his movements deliberate yet gentle, making sure he doesn’t miss a spot.

There’s disappointment on his face, just a flicker of it, but you catch it, nevertheless. You can’t bear it, so you look away again, waiting for him to leave you to wallow in your shame and guilt.

But then he leans down, close to you, and he whispers, “Let me know when you want to start being honest with yourself …” His voice catches on hesitation before he finishes, “… because I don’t hate you.”

***

[<< Part 2] [Part 4 >>]

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#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #the bubble #fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #things are getting serious ........#this is a real series now huh

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jesusintheleast · 3 years

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Are You Hating Your Life Right Now?

What does that even mean?

And is this a good thing or a bad thing?

“The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” (John 12:25, NIV)

What does it mean to “hate” your life in this world? For me, when I think of the word “hate” I get the feeling that I really do not want to do what I’m being asked to do. It’s like it’s one of the “last” things on my list …. if I had the choice of how I wanted to spend it.

So what is Jesus saying? It’s like he’s saying, “Your life is filled with enough “purging” and frustrating situations, that you really cannot say that your life is a “joyride.” Still, you hang in there, and face whatever you must face… but it’s really not easy at all… or what you would have chosen. “

But the question emerges, “Why is it that you hang in there and do the best you can?” I think it’s because we honestly feel that whatever “it” is that we are facing at the moment , is something we ought to be doing whether we like it or not.

And there’s another angle from which we can view what Jesus was saying. It seems like Jesus is asking us to grab hold of one simple, but profound principle. It’s like Jesus wants you to able to say, “I really don’t care about how my life turns out or how it appears to myself or to others. All I need to do is to be faithful to God’s calling in my life in the “here and now.”

In the Amplified Bible, this verse is rendered: [Whoever has no love for, no concern for, no regard for his life here on earth, but despises it, preserves his life forever and ever.]

And here’s some synonyms from the Roget’s 21st Century Thesaurus that I feel bring to life what Jesus was meaning in our contemporary manner of thinking about the word “hate” in this context. It means to “have an aversion to, have enough of, have no use for.”

But the key to grabbing a hold of the further depths of what Jesus was getting at is revealed in following verse-John 12:26. “Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be. My Father will honor the one who serves me.”

You see this idea of serving entails “giving of yourself,” and not really caring how about great or not great you are in your own eyes or others.

Doesn’t sound so difficult, does it? But let’s be honest… how many of us “jump” to being a servant? Not many.

But Jesus is telling us, “Hey everyone, your life should be trying to follow mine as close as you can… and wasn’t I a servant to you?” It’s like “your ministry” is whatever God is placing right before you each and every day. That’s it.

And so, maybe we shouldn’t so surprised whenever we find ourselves confronted with so many daily situations which can be frustrating and “purging” to our very way of life. I guess it’s not surprising because this is where Jesus can be found… reaching out and serving the least and the last.

But what if you’re the type of person ( I know I am!) who just can’t help being so worried about being noticed or honored for your service to the Lord? Well, not to worry, for Jesus says he understands. He says in effect: “Don’t worry, my Father will be giving you his honor, his love , and his recognition.”

Of course, he doesn’t tell us if any kind of honor or recognition will take place here on earth… or if we’ll have to wait till we join him in eternity.

But that ought to be alright with us, right?

Still, there’s just a little more that we ought to be “occasionally” aware of? And it’s the fact that we ought to be discovering that it’s only because of God’s grace, and mercy, and love that we’ve been able to “do anything at all” of value for him and his kingdom. It’s him that been holding on to us all this time.

So what does all this boil down to?

I’d say that the only thing that really matters is what God thinks. That’s all that will matter when we stand before him.

And so, if we’re humble and quiet and attentive to God’s guidance for our lives, then we can have peace and not be so stressed out or introspective about how our lives may appear to others, as well as ourselves.

And why is this? It’s because God has chosen us (you or me) for this or that role in his kingdom… and who are we to question that?

Don’t you just “hate” this life?

Thanks for stopping by. Chris.

#blog #post #life #questions #chicago #significance #purpose

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zodiakuroo · 3 years

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Love Thy Brother

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Content: 18+ dubcon/noncon, dabi’s canononical dick piercings manhandling, rough sex, corruption, degradation, humiliation, manipulation, blackmail, spit, stepcest, loss of virginity, dacryphilia, mentioned breeding, blasphemy and sacrilege : 3

Word count: 4.1k

Notes: secured my spot in hell with this one for sure anyways touya-nii go brrrrr

part 2 here!

But he that hates his brother is in darkness, and walks in darkness, and knows not whither he goes, because that darkness hath blinded his eyes. – 1 John 2:11

Gaining 4 new siblings as a young adult is not something anyone expects, you think, but you’re grateful to have been accepted into Enji Todoroki’s family nonetheless.

Fuyumi was the big sister you always wanted, kind and nurturing, always happy to let you borrow her clothes and give you advice. You and Natsuo the closest in age. He was warm and friendly and while he teased you a lot it was never mean spirited, just the kind that was typical between siblings. Shoto was quiet in nature and though it took him more time than the rest to warm up to you, eventually you two became friends as well.

And there was Touya…..

Well, Dabi as he prefers to be called.

When you first met him, you were terrified, the shock of seeing him made you hide behind your mother instinctively. The Todoroki clan looked every bit the perfect suburban family except for Dabi. He had his hair dyed jet black, with seemingly more tattoos than clean skin. He had several cartilage piercings in his ears as well as three small studs in his nostril and a barbell through his eyebrow. He scoffed at your scared reaction, sticking out his tongue to show you the silver ball on its surface and sending a wink your way.

Admittedly, felt guilty for judging Dabi based on his appearance, but you would soon come to find that sometimes it’s better to trust your judgement.

At first, Dabi ignored you, acted as if you didn’t exist. And the times when he was forced to acknowledge your presence in his family he acted as though you were nothing more than a nuisance. You thought that you might have offended him somehow but Fuyumi assured you that Dabi was just like that and that you shouldn’t take it personally. “He just needs to get to know you.” She said.

She was wrong though. Dabi couldn’t stand you.

Everything about you infuriates him. Prancing around in those frumpy sweaters and modest skirts like anyone would bother to lewd you anyways. Lest they attempt, you wear that gold cross necklace everywhere you like a big old “PROPERTY OF JESUS” tag. Your insistence to say a prayer every time the family dog so much as farts. The way his entire family seems to be enamored by your church girl act. Perhaps what he hates most is the way you look at him, poor delinquent Dabi, like you’re so much better than him. Sanctimonious bitch.

Then he noticed how you were with Natsuo. How you would pout and whine when he teased you and sometimes, to everyone’s shock and amusement, banter back and forth with him. Let’s be clear here, he didn’t care about you. He cared about attention. You were giving too much of your attention to his younger brother and that just wouldn’t do.

Pretty soon, Touya was in on the teasing. He started out by making fun of you for being so conservative. Low-hanging fruit. You’ve heard it all before so it didn’t wrench much of a reaction for you but that just made him more determined. Sometimes it got downright mean, earning him a scolding from Fuyumi. Not that he would listen anyways

Then it got physical. It started innocently enough, Dabi would tug on your hair, snatch food out of your hands, kick you underneath the dinner table. Albeit childish, it was incredibly annoying. You would shriek and yell for him to cut it out and after finally getting the desired reaction from you, he became hungry for more.

So he started taking more risks. When you were in the kitchen alone Dabi would brush his hand under your skirt making you squeal. That progressed to him flicking up your skirt to catch a glimpse of your panties which progressed to him spanking you so hard, you’d think of him every time you sat down for the rest of the day.

On the days when he was in a good mood (read: stoned out of his mind), he would pull you into his lap and hold you there, blowing smoke in your face that made you cough so that he could laugh. Sometimes he would let his hands wander, over your chest and between your thighs while you squirm in his hold. He’d say “Anyone ever touch you like this? I hope not, I’m sure it would piss off Jesus”

As if the touching wasn’t invasive enough, Dabi felt he was entitled to your room and personal artifacts. Often you’d come back from campus or church to find the contents of your underwear drawer spilled on the floor. You would notice a pair or two missing when you packed them back.

One time he vandalised your bible with drawings of penises on every single page.

“D’ya like my artwork princess?” he said when you confronted him. In a fit of rage, threw the book at his head. You missed (unfortunately) making him like laugh. “Surely there’s something condemning violence in that book of yours.”

You tried locking him out of your room but all that did was make him angrier. He threated to break your door clean off its hinges if you did it again.

Which brings you to your current predicament.

It had been a long day. You woke up late landing you in trouble with your manager. Your coworker fell ill and you had to cover a double shift, with no shortage of asshole customers on this particular day it seems. On top of all that, you just got stood up for date. You come home to a quiet house and you’re so grateful for this small blessing on a day like this. After a long, scalding hot shower, you lie on your bed wrapped in a fluffy, white towel, contemplating your next move.

You were home alone and with a family this big that hardly ever happens. You do what any person would do after having the day you had.

You smile to yourself, undoing the knot on your towel and falling back onto your pillows, hands already caressing your breasts.

You’re a Christian not a robot. Of course you masturbate. Sure you feel ashamed. You can hear your mother’s voice chide about how sinful it is but that all melts away when your little fingers slide between your wet folds. Shame can wait.

Being the menace in your life that he is, the eldest Todoroki chose that exact moment to barge into your room unannounced.

You scramble for your covers trying your best to preserve some modesty but it’s too late, you’ve been caught. You shriek in terror.

“Oh my god!” Dabi practically cackles.

“Dabi! It’s not what it looks like I swear.”

“Oh really?” He stalks over to your bed with the predatory grin on his face. “Because to me it looks like my innocent, holier than though baby sister is a nasty, little, closet pervert.” He’s now straddling you over your covers, you want to fight him off but that would mean letting go over your duvet and you know once you do that, it’s over. Dabi has the upper hand though. Soon he’s got both of your wrists in one of his hands, pinned above your head. His other hand, almost immediately, is pulling the down the covers, revealing your naked torso to him. “Huh.’ He muses as he palms one of your breasts. “Seems like it’s exactly what it looks like.”

“Dabi! Get off me!” You squirm under him but he’s too heavy so it’s no use.

“Nice tits Sis.” Dabi ignores your protests. “I don’t get why you keep them hidden.”

“I’m not your sister you creep!” you say with as much venom as you can muster.

“Aw princess,” he pouts and moves his hand up to cup your jaw, squeezing your cheeks harshly “it hurts your Nii-san’s feelings when you talk to him like that. I wonder what our parents would think. Should I tell them how filthy their sweet, little daughter really is?”

He revels in the fear in your eyes. You shake your head frantically. “No Dabi please! Please don’t tell them.” You whimper, words garbled.

“Don’t tell them what little sister? What were you doing?” He smirks. His hand goes back to your breast, this time to tweak your nipple.

The sadistic freak. Was he really going to make you say it? He answers your silent question with a sharp smack to your breast.

“I-I was masturbating.” You mumble, squeezing your eyes shut, cheeks burning from embarrassment.

“No, you weren’t” he says as a matter of fact before pinching your already stiff nipple making your eyes shoot open and you yelp in pain. “You were playing with your little virgin cunt. Now say it.”

There is no way you could say those words. Has he not humiliated you enough? You try once again to break free but he’s got an iron grip on your wrists and he’s sitting on top of your thighs. There’s no way you’re getting out of this.

He pinches you again but harder this time, twisting your nipple and keeping it there.

“I was ah I was playing with my v-v-irgin c- Dabi! Cunt! There I said it! Let go!”

He snickers at your pain but let’s go of you entirely, shifting his weight off of you. You’re grateful for the reprieve, immediately pulling up the covers to cover up your body again. You will yourself not to cry until Dabi has left the room or else you’ll never hear the end of it. But he’s not finished with you yet.

“Show me.” He sits down on your desk chair facing you, his legs spread wide.

“What?” Surely you misheard him.

“Show your Nii-san how you play with that ‘little virgin cunt’” He smiles using air quotations.

“Dabi, this is wrong-“ you whimper

“Touya-nii.” You furrow your brows in confusion and he says again. “Call me Touya-nii. I’m not leaving this room until I see what I want.”

Say what you want about Dabi but he’s a man of his word. You know he means what he says. The last thing you want is for anyone in your family to come home and find you naked in your room with your step-brother. It’s just better to do what he asks demands.

You slowly peel the covers off you, exposing your naked body to your step brother. He’s eyeing you intently, palming the growing bulge under his jeans. His sister was hiding such a hot little body, right under his roof and he had no idea. You can’t bear to look at him. You clamp your thighs shut to hide your pussy from him, a weak attempt to save what’s left of your dignity. You wriggle your hand in between your legs and you try to move it as best you can without showing him more of you.

Wait.

You’re wet?

You’re wet.

Well screw dignity I guess.

“Oh none of that.” Touya scoffs. “Spread your legs.”

You obey him and he rewards you with a low whistle. “What a cute little pussy.” He murmurs so low you’re not even sure he’s talking to you. You flinch, wanting to close your legs on instinct but a firm “Don’t” from Dabi stops you in your tracks. “Show me how my little sister likes to play.”

His words make your pussy throb but you’re still reeling, both physically and mentally at, the shock from your current position so when your fingers try to rub circles on your clit, they’re shaky and sloppy.

“That’s pathetic. Is this how you do it? No wonder you’re so uptight, you probably never cum huh? Put your fingers inside, I wanna see you stretch your little hole.”

“Dabi I-“

“I won’t ask you to address me properly again. Next time, you’re getting your ass beat.”

“T-Touya-nii. I’ve never… put them inside.” You mumble.

“Never?” He can’t hide the amusement in his voice.

You simply shake your head, unable to meet his gaze.

Fucking jackpot. He thinks. This is why he loves virgins.

“Oh no. Does the poor baby want her Nii-san to show her how it’s done?” voice dripping with condescension.

You’re horribly ashamed. Disgusted by the whole situation. And yet you find yourself nodding.

Dabi crawls on to your bed, discarding his shirt in the process. Next thing he has you flipped over, ass in the air, lying across his lap.

He spanks you, hard. Like he always does, loud smack echoing through the room. You cry out like you always do but it’s different this time. It’s different because this time you’re naked, on top of him. It’s different because you can feel his hard-on poking into your stomach. It’s different because everything about the situation is making you clench.

He grips the sore, reddened flesh and pulls apart your cheeks to look right at your fluttering hole. His thumb finds your clit and he starts to rub slow circles into it. “I meant what said you know. This is the prettiest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen.” You let out a whine as you feel his warm, wet spit land right on your opening, before Touya slides a long, slender middle finger into your tight pussy. He uses his other hand to hit you again. “You’re a good girl right? What do good girl’s say when they get compliments?”

Your head is spinning from his ministrations, so much so that a verbal response escapes you. You’re too busy bucking your hips against his hand. Dabi snaps you out of your trance with another spank, even harder, so your feel the sting spread across your glute. “Hnnghh… thank you Touya-nii.” He rewards you with his ring finger finding its way inside you as well. “Shit.” You say through gritted teeth. You clench around him trying to adjust to the foreign sensation.

Whack. This time on the other cheek, both burning red by now, you’re sure. “Where’d you learn to talk like that, naughty girl?” The way he’s moving his fingers inside you feels like he’s looking for something, you have no idea what. It’s not unpleasant but uncomfortable. You turn your head back to look at his face. It’s the same face he makes when he’s rolling a joint or playing video games with his friends. He’s concentrating. “Fuck, relax for me princess.” You’re trying. You’re really trying. You take a deep breath, trying to think about anything other than the way you’re being stretched.

Then it hits you. An overwhelming ecstasy, spreading from your groin, all the way down to your toes. You figure out that’s what he’s been looking for.

You find yourself grinding down onto his bulge in an attempt to escape the onslaught of his fingers, but it’s no use, not with the way his thumb is circling your throbbing clit.

“Can’t even take two fingers in this tiny pussy huh? How are you gonna take my cock?” Dabi gives you a third finger and the stretch is officially unbearable.

You can’t do anything but pant in his lap while he holds you down, making sure that you keep still. Suddenly, you realise the gravity of the circumstances you find yourself in. Your step brother is going to fuck you and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“God, please slow down!” You cry out. He keeps hitting that spot over and over. It’s too much. You look back at him with tears in your eyes, pleading for reprieve. The satisfied smile on his face lets you know that he couldn’t care less. You feel an orgasm building, stronger than any that you’ve given yourself.

“No God here, doll. Just the Almighty Dabi. And guess what? He wants you to come for him.”

Even before he finishes his sentence, you’re already convulsing on top of him. For a moment you forget how debauched the situation is. Being debased by a man who you not only despise but are related to. All feelings of shame are replaced by pure, hot bliss that sets your nerves on fire. Dabi does not relent. Not until the please you feel is eclipsed by the pain of oversensitivity and you’re writhing in futile attempt to escape.

Dabi pulls his fingers out of you and wraps his other hand around your neck, dragging you up to face him. He holds his fingers, covered in your cream, right in front of your face. “Messy slut. Clean them.”

Before you can respond the fingers press against your lips. You have no choice but to take them inside your mouth. He grips the back of your head while you lave your tongue over his fingers, sucking off your release. He’s keeps a tension on your strands that makes your scalp sting. It’s a silent warning to keep your eyes on him. You’ve caught on by now that he wants this to be as humiliating as possible for you. As if coming on your step-brother’s fingers weren’t humiliating enough. He shoves his fingers deeper, making you gag around them drool seeping from the corner of your mouth.

“Good girl.” He growls as he wipes his saliva covered fingers dry on your face. Again, you fight back the tears of embarrassment. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Dabi prompts you with cruel tug on your hair. “Gah! Th-thank you Touya-nii.” You whimper.

“Hmm.” His hands move to your hips and he rolls his hips to grind his hard cock into your core. “You want Nii-san to fuck you now?”

Your bottom lip quivers. Is he giving you an out? You pray to God that Dabi is giving you a way out of this. You doubt God cares about what you want right now but still, you hope he can grant you this one mercy, you’ll make it up to him somehow. You shake your head no. You probably look so pitiful right now, naked on top of Touya while he bucks up against you, your own spit streaked across your face, barely stopping the tears in your eyes from spilling.

“Liar.” He sneers. “You want your big brother to split that virgin hole right open.”

You’re stupid for thinking he would give you a way out. You realise that now. No point in trying not to cry. Nothing is gonna stop him from getting what he wants anyway. You can’t hold back the choked sobs anymore

“Such pretty tears, baby.” Dabi coos at you. “Don’t worry. Nii-san is gonna give you exactly what you want.”

He picks you up off of him and positions you exactly how he wants, on all fours, swollen cunt exposed for him. He kneels behind you and you hear the sounds of him undoing his jeans. You turn your head back, curiosity getting the better of you. Your eyes find Dabi just in time to see him free himself from his boxers, which join his jeans bunched at is knees. The sight makes your eyes go wide. It’s your first time seeing one in real life. Were they supposed to be that big? And… pierced?

He quirks a brow at you, smug look plastered on his face. He strokes himself in front of you, spreading his pre-cum along his shaft. He’s tilts it upwards to make sure you get a good look at the vertical barbell that goes through his tip and three horizontal, parallel bars along the underside. “You look scared. Don’t worry princess, Big brother Dabi’s gonna make it fit.” You feel his tip press against your opening and brace yourself.

You’ve heard stories from your friends. You know the first time hurts but God nothing could have prepared you for this .Touya makes good on his word, sliding his entirely until your pressed right against his pelvis. The scream you let out is ear shattering but you can’t help it, the stretch is excruciating. The way his piercings catch on your walls only, intensifies the burn. You crawl toward your headboard instinctively, it’s too much. Way too much.

He’s not having any of it. Dabi pulls you up to him with a hand wrapped around your throat until your back meets his front. “Shh shh shh. Don’t run baby. You’re gonna take all of it.” He groans right against your ear. Without giving you time to adjust, he begins to thrust into you at a relentless pace. You have no choice but to let him use you.

“Who’s fucking you huh? Who’s making you feel good?”

“My nii-san. Touya-nii is fucking me so good.”

“Yeah fuck. Love this holy pussy” He delivers a harsh smack directly on to your clit, making you quiver in his hold. He laughs at your reaction. “Gonna say a prayer for me babe? I wanna hear it.”

“Huh?” You’re barely lucid, there’s no way you heard him correctly.

“Well you’re a little sinner slut now. You should probably ask for forgiveness. Pray.”

You’re sure you’re beyond salvation now but you submit nonetheless. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to Your unfailing love; according to Your great compassion.” You gasp as he tightens his hand around your throat. “Against You, have I sinned and done what is evil in Your sight. Oh fuck Touya-nii!”

“Bad girl.” Dabi gives you another strike right on your aching clit. “Don’t think God is gonna be very happy with you.” Dabi is though. Dabi’s very happy with you. Your tight, gummy pussy sucks him back in every time he pulls back. It just makes him fuck you harder, he wants to make you scream louder for him.

“Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Ngggghh Shit. Do not cast me from Your presence or take Your Holy Spirit from me.” You’re sobbing outright, gasping to get air into your constricted throat.

“You gonna cum? My bad girl gonna come for her big brother?” Dabi grunts into your ear.

“Yeah close Touya-nii.”

“Hmm me too.”

“NOT INSIDE TOUYA-NII” You begin to thrash in his arms.

“S’matter princess? Don’t wanna have your big brother’s babies? That’s hurtful.” He snickers. He releases your throat in favour of pressing you into the mattress, large hand resting between your shoulder blades. “Better cum before I do then.”

The ridges of his piercings rub up against that same sweet spot, over and over again. You’re dizzy from the lack of air and absolutely drunk with pleasure on his cock. Pretty much the only thing tethering you to this existence is the unforgiving grip he has on your ass, digging his nails into your flesh. He reaches his hand around to rub your sore, puffy clit. It pushes you over the edge a second time. You feel every muscle contract and relax as the waves of your orgasm wash over you, making you cry out in bliss.

As soon as you come down from your high, Dabi has you flipped on to your back and is straddling your torso. “Keep praying.” He mutters. He furrows his brows, huffing as he jerks off on top of you, eyes focused intently on your gold necklace.

“Restore to me the joy of Your salvation and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me. Then will I teach transgressors Your ways, and sinners will turn back to You. Amen”

“Yeah, fuck that’s it take it baby.” Dabi sprays his come over your chest, aiming his load right on your cross, a symbol of your devotion to Christ, defiled. He looks absolutely euphoric watching the ropes of his hot cum slowly run down onto your nipples and down the valley of your breasts

“Don’t you fucking move.” He pants, catching his breath. He picks up his phone and you hear his camera click. He looks at the picture and smiles. You look absolutely fucked out. Hair disheveled, face red and bloated from crying and completely covered in his load. Yeah a real good, Christian girl. He thinks.

“Dabi! No!” You lunge forward, trying to grab his phone from his hand. Almost effortlessly, Touya shoves you back onto the bed.

“Relax. No one’s gonna see it. Not unless you snitch to mommy and daddy.”

“You promise?” You grab the tissues from your nightstand and wipe yourself clean. The smell lingers though, along with the grimy feeling, seemingly embedded in your skin. You look up at him, sniffling, tears still rolling down your cheeks. If he were better person, he’d take pity on you for being so fucking stupid.

“Promise, little sis.” He shoots you a wink as he tucks himself back into his jeans.

Before he’s left your room he’s already sent the picture to his friend, Shigaraki.

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abbynx · 3 years

Text

0 to 100 real quick

La Squadra reacting to a usually silent, patient teammate snapping and going off

Genre: Platonic, just the bois being bros, definitely a self-projection, comfort

Warning: Cursing, mentions of breakup and manipulation

Your phone rang for the umpteenth time, the stubborn caller failing to realise how many times you've wordlessly made it clear you want nothing to do with him. All you ask of him was to finally leave you alone and yet he continues to persistently pest you. Your will power proved itself mighty to be tolerating his nineteenth call in five minutes.

It was your ex being a stubborn son of a bitch who has a lot of time in his hands, constantly asking you to pick up the phone and let him 'smooth out and explain' his recent relationship with his 'friends' behind your back. You were nowhere near stupid, nor gullible after joining the mob. despite your outward appearance as an innocent, average civilian you've hardened over time with the help of your career and turning your feelings off was no longer a challenge. Over time it simply became a light switch.

After his recent actions came to light, you bear to hesitation to break it off. For a moment you felt guilty when he gave his explanation to why he started seeing other people without you knowing; of course you knew what you were getting into when you signed your soul away to the devil to work in this line of career, you were constantly faced with death and lacked the time to spend time with him. He had no knowledge about what you do for a living, but you knew how to make it clear you were never going to be a simple one-call-away. But over time you've finally gained some self-worth and self-preservation to see through his guilt tripping, before you dropped his ass.

Now you were here, rejecting his calls before pocketing it back in your pants before resuming the movie night. Even putting the phone on silent it continued to bother everyone around you as you continued to nonchalantly press the reject call button.

How can you be this patient, the rest of the team questions but the answer lay before them. Risotto hired the timid assassin with potential for their unwavering patience and swift wits to wiggle them selves out of severe situations, something the time could use to be honest especially when you have a ticking time bomb with no timer and goes off at random. Perhaps the question would be simply answered with a short and simple one: "It's just Y/N being Y/N."

With the pestering phone calls bothering you for the past few days, your team can't help to be annoyed on your behalf and would like to chuck your phone into the deepest trench of the ocean and buy you a new one.

Much to everyone's chagrin, they watch you pick your phone up, however, what you did next was new and unexpected. Instead of rejecting the call, you finally picked up. Most of the time you'd politely greet, but today was certainly different. As soon as you picked up the phone, you wasted no breathe to speak and cut to the chase. All eyes turned to you, some were concerned, curious, shocked, or proud.

"Can you quit blowing up my phone, dude? Twenty FUCKING calls every second is getting tiresome. If you're calling me to 'explain' to me how you're not meeting your hookups then fuck off and get lost! what? Do you miss your personal ego booster? Well then fuck you, go try and choke on your own dick! Do you fucking think I'll believe your half-assed bullshit lies and pathetic fucking cries and bitching will win me over? You must be so fucking DELUSIONAL to be thinking you're worth the effort! What? Are you sad that I’m not a passable doll you can manipulate and mold to your liking? Is that it, you crazy son of a bitch? Can't you fucking get a clue that I'm over it? Huh? I couldn't care less about the new lies you've come up with to try and win me over, I'm done! Finished! Tapos! Ho finito! He terminado! Я задолбался! WHAT OTHER LANGUAGES DO I NEED TO SPEAK TO GET IT THROUGH THAT THICK FUCKING NOGGIN OF YOUR’S? CALL ME AGAIN AND I SWEAR TO ALL THINGS CONSIDERED MIGHTY THAT YOU WON’T HAVE ANY TEETH LEFT, DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND YOU FUCKING CHEATER? DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND? Good."

As soon as you finished the call, you calmly set it down with a sigh of relief. Peace at last. You adjusted yourself comfortably on your seat, wanting to watch the movie on display, when you felt you've made yourself quite the spectacle.

“What?”

Formaggio

- “Woooh, they went off!” His initial response was to high-five you for some reason but you accepted, nevertheless.

- Very shocked and yet enthusiastic at how you handles yourself at the face of a situation like this. Not to mention, the build up! From you trying to tolerate the caller for the past few minutes, before picking up the call and gave them an ass whipping to remember for the rest of his life!

- He would feel sorry for the person of the other side of the line if it weren’t for the fact he cheated on you, so good for him to be told off.

Illuso

- “Heh, about time you told him off.”

- Silently supportive at how you handled yourself at the face of a situation like this and admires you for it. It was very entertaining while it lasted, now he just wants to go back to watching the movie.

- Along that, he was shock that this hidden side of yours came put of nowhere and came out strong, which he thinks is pretty fucking rad. He now thinks back at the times where he gave you backhanded comments and how you managed to keep yourself cool under it... He now reminds himself not to get on your bad side, ever.

Proscuitto

- “.... Thank fuck you’re done, I was starting to think about throwing your phone out.”

- Extremely flabbergasted, as he has never heard you speak fluent in profanities, nor raise your voice at the duration of your stay in La Squadra. and addition to that, the fact you leaned on your seat and calmed yourself immediately as if nothing happened.

- Nevertheless, he feels proud at you for standing up to yourself and standing your ground. You have always been the timid one entering the world of crime and he overlooked your development within this new and risky life style. Looks like his mentoring worked wonders on you and he feels proud of himself.

Pesci

- “......”

- He was too shaken up to speak, he has never heard you be this angry and frustrated before as you’ve always kept calm in every situation and he admires you for that.

- He is shaken up, sure but it doesn’t really change how he views you. You were still the patient person he has ever met-- he just happen to witness you lose your cool once but he’s sure that this won’t define you.

Melone

- “Good for you for getting rid of that guy.”

- He’s just relieved that you’re finally done with the guy who has been giving Melone weird vibes the moment you told him about your then boyfriend. A few alarm bells rang in his head as you detailed how he acts around you and despite being happy for you back then, Melone was extremely vocal about his concerns. Looking back at it, he feels that his ‘paranoia’ wasn’t far off.

- He isn’t really shock, he’s just happy that you’re standing your ground and establishing yourself as a person who don’t need no one to use as a co-dependent crutch. After being around Ghiaccio, he really isn’t that phased anymore.

Ghiaccio

- “Fucking finally!”

- Similar to Melone, he’s just relieved your done with the phone calls and clingy boyfriend who is a walking-talking red flag. He hated how you didn’t have time back then to hang out with your other teammates just to spend time with your boyfriend to make up lost times, that often lasts until midnight and Ghiaccio can still hear you talking to your phone.

- Ghiaccio cares about you despite his distant veneer, and wants the best for the people he cares about. So he was happy that you finally broke your relationship of with a guy who doesn’t deserve you. Also, he’s starting to think that your choice of vocabulary all came from him and is unsure whether he should feel proud or not.

Risotto

- “Oh... Okay, good for you.”

- He blurted the first thing in mind, because he was just so shock at how you responded. He hired you for being so patient and calm at all times and now looking back, he doesn’t really see himself thinking that one day you’ll be going off without stopping to breathe and stutter.

- Don’t get him wrong, he actually thinks it’s awesome that you stood up for yourself like that, but just give him time to reel back to reality. He just never thought you’d explode that hard.

Gelato and Sorbet

- “See Sorbet? I told you they’d snap eventually!”

- The couple was immensely entertained at your empowering speech being quite the ego breaker and worse-fate-than-death threat. They adore it whenever they see a usually timid newcomer becoming unafraid to stand their ground and tell their oppressors off, it honestly feels like a proud parent thing for them to see their baby kid all grown up and kicking people in the guts with their words.

- If you would want a rebound, they won’t hesitate to set someone up with you who is far better than your dog-faced ex because they know that people are barely worthy for you

#la squadra x reader #platonic #x reader #comfort #formaggio x reader #illuso x reader #prosciutto x reader #pesci x reader #melone x reader #ghiacchio x #risotto x reader #gelato and sorbet x reader #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jjba golden wind #jjba part 5 #la sqaudra #all the foreign language are basically just 'im done'

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archived-kin · 3 years

Text

three names

note from kin: apparently that domestic diluc piece really did wonders for my writers block because i managed to churn this entire thing out within one night

anyway i know little to nothing about childe’s backstory so do be warned that i am only very loosely following the information we get from his story quest/voice lines/etc!

(also as a heads up childe is referred to as ajax throughout this piece! for those who don't know, ajax is his birth name)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, childe, zhongli

pairing(s): childe/reader

warning(s): death (brief and not descriptive), mentions of blood

genre: angst i guess?? it isn’t SUPER heavy but this is very much Not A Happy Piece

You’ve known Ajax for what feels like forever.

The two of you grow up together on the streets of Morepesok, spending the short hours of daylight chasing each other down icy streets and pelting each other with snowballs until your fingers are frozen solid under their mittens and you’re both lying exhausted under the trees. He’s still a somewhat skittish and shy young boy, always hiding behind you while you ask the local farmers for permission to play in their fields and leaving all of the decisions to you when it comes to your childish games.

You know exactly how to get those blue eyes of his to light up like no other, though. Ever since the two of you were tiny tots, Ajax has always been enchanted by stories of adventures, of heroes who journey far from home to conquer evils beyond his childish comprehension, fighting with both sword and mind to quell any hardships or troubles that come their way. He listens to his father tell him these stories with a sparkle in his eye like no other, and begs for a new chapter as soon as one is finished.

You take advantage of this love of adventure to coax him into playing with you - him, the hero and you, his trusty sidekick, braving fight after fight together until the great sea monster is defeated, or until the brainwashed former friend was released - until the world bows down at your feet. You stand beside him and smile as he cackles, foot set atop a stone and brandishing a stick to the sky like a sword.

While Ajax longs for battle and glory, however, you secretly prefer the stories about the fisherman who wins the favour of the sea gods by saving a seal from a net, about the fae who collects the treasures of the land in an attempt to preserve the remains of a race she has loved and lost, about the dragon who follows the rainbow far into the east to find a companion who has fallen under the control of an evil sorcerer. Where he finds interest in tales of clashing blades and rumbling cannons, you find interest in the warmth of a campfire, surrounded by laughing companions that have shared a long journey together. You don’t love these games for the fights and the victories like he does - you love the games because it means you can be with him.

You suppose that this difference of interests is the reason you stay behind when he leaves on his own ‘heroic journey’.

The two of you are only fourteen - still children, for Archons’ sake - and Ajax has long since lost interest in the mundanity of his daily life.

“All we do is eat and play,” He mutters with a pout, poking at the snow with a stick. “It’s boring.”

You tilt your head in confusion and trot up to stand beside him, face half-hidden behind a scarf wrapped like a vice around your neck. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs a little then, and offers you a boyish grin. “Don’t worry, [Name]. You’re an exception.”

You still don’t understand what he means, not exactly, but it still sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The next day, he knocks on your door, dressed in an over-large coat and his favourite hat, a backpack strapped firmly to his back and a rusty shortsword in his hand. He beams at you as you open the door, and announces that he’s running away to find an adventure, and that he was wondering if you wanted to come with him.

You ask if this is another game he wants to play. He shakes his head and tells you that this is for real - that he’s going to explore far and wide, to seek out the quests that he’s heard so many stories about. He’s going to be a hero, and he wants you to be his sidekick, just like always.

But you have always been a little too timid, too afraid of going so far out into the snow, too aware of the dangers of a reckless jaunt like this. And so, bowing your head in shame, you answer that you can’t

He freezes for a moment then, disappointment clear on his face, but he replaces it with a a grin almost immediately. You don’t know it at the time, but this is the last time you’ll ever see him smile like this again.

“Don’t worry about it!” He reassures you. “I’ll bring back lots of souvenirs for you when I come back! Like a dragon head!”

“I don’t like heads.” You mumble. “Too much blood.”

He doesn’t falter. “A dragon claw, then!”

The two of you exchange brief goodbyes, neither of you aware of the magnitude of what Ajax is choosing to do, nor the consequences it will bring, and then he leaves. And you let him, watching his little figure disappear and melt into the blinding white of the snow.

It’s a mistake that continues to haunt you for the rest of your life.

He turns up again, two days later, lying unconscious on the outskirts of the forest by the village. A mere two days - but somehow, you’ve always felt as if he’d been away for much, much longer.

Ajax is never the same after that. He’s more distracted, more absent - he never wants to go out for walks in the fields with you anymore, nor does he have any interest in playing games or hearing stories. He still lets you follow him around and sit beside him, but he speaks less and less, and spends more and more time thinking.

You don’t give up on him, though. It doesn’t matter how much his blank gaze scares you sometimes, nor how unsettling the look on his face is after he shreds yet another hay training dummy to pieces. You hang around him anyway, talking about every little thing that comes to mind, and sometimes, he replies with the same silliness that he did when the two of you were younger.

It bothers you, the way that he swings so abruptly between the old him and the new him. Sometimes he’s just the boy you’d spent your childhood playing with, chasing you down the street only to stuff snow down the back of your jacket, then making you a hot drink afterwards as an apology when you declare that you hate him. But sometimes he isn’t.

His face stills, and his eyes go cold. He stares emptily at the snow beneath his feet, not responding when you call his name, and he returns to his garden sooner or later, to slaughter another line of training dummies. The way he gazes down at the wreckage, the way his hand clenches around the shaft of an arrow or the hilt of a blade, the way that he seems to hunger for more - it scares you.

Perhaps it is unsurprising that he joins the Fatui as soon as he turns seventeen.

He doesn’t tell you - he doesn’t tell anyone, not at first. He simply slips away and leaves, sometimes for days on end, and returns without a word as to his absence. You believe him when he tells you that it’s a series of job interviews in a different town, even congratulate him on the opportunity. You believe a lot of the lies he tells you.

It isn’t until you come upon him in the middle of one of his assignments that the wool is finally pulled away from your eyes.

You’re out in the city on a shopping trip by your mother’s request, carrying several baskets of fresh produce that just don’t grow quickly enough in your little seaside town, when you spot his auburn hair disappearing into a secluded alleyway. You follow quickly, opening your mouth to call out to him, only to snap it shut when you see what he’s doing.

A woman is lying beneath his foot, and he is crushing the breath out of her with the heel of his boot. There is a blade in his hand, glinting softly in the darkness of the alleyway.

The woman sobs breathlessly, begs for her life to be spared, her face contorted with fear and despair. But Ajax doesn’t flinch. In one, smooth movement, he points the blade to her neck and slashes.

You don’t know if the scream that echoes around the alleyway is yours or hers.

It’s only then that he finally turns around and sees you, and the mask covering the upper half of his face is all too familiar.

Your eyes fall upon the dead woman, her mouth still open in her final plea for mercy.

“Ajax,” You whisper, your voice trembling. “What have you done?”

The bloodstained blade in his hand clatters to the ground. “[Name]... what are you doing here?”

You don’t answer him. Your entire body feels numb. “You’re… you’re one of the Fatui.”

It isn’t a question.

He’s silent for a long time. Finally, he lets out a frustrated sigh, tearing the mask from his face and throwing it to the ground carelessly, and approaches you, hands held out as if comforting a frightened child.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” He says quietly.

“Were you ever going to let me find out?” You ask. Your eyes move back to the woman’s corpse despite everything in your brain screaming at you to look away, and your hands start shaking.

Ajax notices. He steps in front of the body, as if trying to shield it from your view. “Of course. I was just waiting for the right time to tell you, that’s all.”

“Why… why would you…?”

He meets your gaze. He shrugs. “I wanted to fight.”

There is blood staining the left side of his face. Your eyes are drawn to it in the same way they were to the corpse, and you feel a sudden burst of anger on her behalf. “How was this a fight? You trapped her in an alleyway - you didn’t even give her a chance to struggle!”

“This is different.” He states, as if it’s obvious, and his eyes go cold. “The woman was defying the will of the Tsaritsa. She needed to be disposed of.”

“Is that all you are now? A puppet of the Tsaritsa?!” You’re practically shouting now, tears threatening to start streaming down your face. You want to punch him, slap him, anything to make him realise what path he’s rapidly beginning to go down, but there isn’t any strength left in you. Not after what you just saw. “What happened to you?!”

“I changed,” He says simply, and his sea-blue eyes are frozen over completely. This isn’t the boy that you grew up and loved - and it occurs to you that he might not have been for a long, long time. “I grew up and I changed.”

“Ajax—” You begin, but he places a finger to your lips.

“It’s Tartaglia now.”

Perhaps if you look close enough, hope hard enough, you’ll be able to fool yourself into thinking there was some kind of emotion on his face - something, anything that proves that he still cares - but there is nothing but emptiness in his gaze.

You don’t sleep that night. You don’t sleep for a long, long time, unable to put a stop to the unrelenting march of thoughts streaming through your head like a gushing river, like the endless depths of the ocean, like the deep blue of his eyes...

You distract yourself as best you can. You move out of town while he’s out on another mission and take your parents with you, settling down in a small village at the base of a mountain. There, you busy yourself every hour of the day, taking solace in the ache of your muscles and the fatigue that weighs heavily on your limbs. The people of the village come to know you as the helping hand, the eager assistant, always raring to go when asked for a favour.

And yet, even as you sit around a table in the local bar, surrounded by warmth and chatter and familiar faces, you can’t help but feel an emptiness opening in your chest. Old Dmitri, manning the bar as usual, slides a tankard over to you with a sympathetic smile, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

You ask yourself that question more times than you can count, digging it deep into your skin, carving it into your mind, unable to help wondering, and yet... you never find an answer. What is wrong with you? Why does Ajax’s absence cut into you like a knife, keeping you awake deep into the night, plagued by dreams of cold, dead eyes and red blood pooling in the white snow? Why is it that, no matter how many times you remind yourself of the man in that alleyway and the body of the woman he’d just slaughtered, of the man that was not Ajax, of Tartaglia - you can only remember the grinning boy of your childhood?

Your parents don’t know why your eyes are always red-rimmed when you come down for breakfast in the morning, nor why you refuse to look at your surroundings when you go out into town, keeping your eyes focused determinedly on your dragging feet. They don’t know how many hours you spend staring out into the deep sky, wondering if Ajax is watching the same stars as you are, whether he even thinks of you at all.

Everything around you seems to taunt you, and you realise something.

You have to leave. You have to run away, to find a home in a place where the streets don’t stir up memories of days long gone, where the crunch of the snow beneath your feet doesn’t remind you of the sound of tearing flesh, where you can just be without Ajax haunting you around every corner you turn.

And so you set off for Liyue. You journey to the land amidst monoliths, seeking golden soil warmed by the sun to escape the cold snow and icy rain. You do not stop moving until you reach the land where the mountains stretch high and the streets of the harbour are painted with red and yellow, where the people are unfamiliar, the buildings are unfamiliar - where everything is unfamiliar. You’re tired of dwelling on past memories, tired of putting yourself through the same pain.

You settle in quickly, taking up a job at Wanmin Restaurant and eventually saving up enough to afford more than the little hotel box room you first are resigned to stay in. You move in with a new friend of yours, an apparently refined gentleman who seems to have no shortage of money but still always forgets to bring it when he needs it, and you start to remember what living in peace feels like again.

You take a deep breath as you watch the bustle of the city from the open window of your bedroom. The cool evening breeze in Liyue Harbour is soothing, unlike the biting nightly winds of Snezhnaya. Perhaps you can finally let go of Ajax now, you think.

Somewhere in the heavens, Fate mocks your hopefulness.

Two years later, your friend, who has only become even worse at managing his money despite your constant nagging, invites you to a dinner with him and a new acquaintance he’d like to introduce you to. You agree, unsuspecting of the true identity of his so-called ‘friend’.

You take one step into the private room that Zhongli had booked and realise what a terrible mistake you’ve made when you see a familiar figure sitting at the table.

He doesn’t turn around at first, too occupied with trying to take a sip of his tea without burning his mouth. Zhongli smiles at you, painfully unaware of the amount of old trauma he’s inadvertently stirred up.

“I’m glad that you made it,” He says pleasantly, and gestures to the man sitting across from him. “This is the acquaintance I was telling you about. His name is Childe.”

There is a long silence. The initial shock of the moment wears off, only to be replaced by something resembling anger.

“So it’s Childe now, is it?” Ajax stiffens as he hears your voice come from behind him. “How many names does one man need?”

He turns around agonisingly slowly, failing to register the dangerous tilt of the teacup in his hands as it comes close to tipping its contents all over the table. You stare blankly back at him from the doorway.

How long has it been since he last saw you? He doesn’t know. Ever since the two of you had parted ways in that alleyway, you’d all but disappeared. The window to your bedroom had always been dark and empty when he stopped by your home, and neither you nor your parents were anywhere to be seen, no matter how thoroughly he’d searched the town. It had only been when Tonia had mentioned your absence in one of his letters that he’d realised that you weren’t just avoiding him. You’d left. Left the town where the two of you had grown up, left the home you’d lived in for so long, left behind all the friends you’d made over the years - just to run away from him.

There are new scars on your face, a new poise in the way you hold yourself. A sheathed dagger glitters at your belt, and even now you toy with its hilt in a way that tells him that you are familiar with it. You’ve changed so much, and he aches to think that he had been unable to see any of it.

He hadn’t wanted you to go, he never had. You’d always been his best friend, someone he looked up to, someone he enjoyed the company of, someone he cherished - someone he loved. But he’d had a duty to attend to, a new mistress to serve, a new title, a new responsibility. He couldn’t keep fooling himself into thinking he could keep the relationship he had with you forever.

That day in the alleyway - he’s never been able to forget the look on your face when you realised who he had become. It’s been burnt into his memory ever since then, flashing before his eyes just before he strikes, and even now, five years later, he still gets reprimanded by his fellow Harbingers for faltering just before he makes the kill. They always ask - how can Tartaglia, who takes pleasure in watching the life drain out of his opponent’s eyes after a battle well fought, hesitate like that?

He never has an answer for them.

Zhongli looks back and forth between the two of you, his brows knitting together slightly. “Do the two of you know each other already?”

“You could say that,” You reply, though your eyes don’t move even an inch from your old friend’s face. His expression is crumpled, almost vulnerable, a far cry from the stone-cold indifference he wore the last time you saw him.

“[Name],” He says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “What… what are you doing here?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “I’ve lived in Liyue Harbour for two years. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Several seconds pass by with no response.

“It seems the two of you have much to talk about,” Zhongli observes, and gets to his feet. “I’ll leave you for now.”

He’s out of the room before either of you can object. Damn him and his perception.

You don’t sit down at the table. Instead, you move to the window, looking out over the city that you have come to love.

Ajax joins you. He hesitates as he approaches, as if debating whether or not to settle right beside you as he would have in the past. Eventually, though, he decides to keep his distance.

“Liyue is beautiful at night.” He says quietly. “Language is a nightmare to learn, though.”

That earns him a short laugh from you, and he can’t help the way his heart skips a beat as he hears it. “You can say that again. I don’t think I even have a proper grasp of it now.”

“You’re speaking pretty fluently,” He replies. “I’d say that’s a proper enough grasp.”

“It’s all just conversational, really.” You don’t look at him, instead choosing to look down at Xiangling, Xingqiu and Chongyun as they walk through the street below you together, exchanging jokes and nudges. “What about you?”

“I’d like to think I know it pretty well. I had to learn for—”

He cuts himself off, but you already know what he’d been about to say.

“For your Fatui duties here,” You finish for him, and though you don’t move, somehow he feels as if the gap between you has widened. “There’s no need for pretences, Childe.”

He freezes at the way you address him. It’s become familiar to him after using it as an alias for so long, but it sounds so wrong coming from you. It feels as if you’re distancing yourself from him, from the childhood you shared together. As if Ajax, your childhood friend, never existed - only Childe, the Fatui Harbinger.

“Don’t…” His voice breaks, and he forces himself to take a deep breath before continuing. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” You sound so detached, so distant - and he hates it. “Would you prefer Tartaglia? That’s what you told me to call you last time we met.”

He feels as if you’ve stabbed him in the chest. It probably would’ve hurt less if you did, actually, but he knows he deserves it. “...no. I don’t want you to call me Tartaglia, either.”

You don’t respond, but he continues anyway. “I want… I want you to call me Ajax.”

Silence.

You finally turn to look at him, surprise painted on your features. “...what?”

Your eyes are just as he remembers them. He never wants to see them as they were on that day five years ago, filled with despair and tears that threatened to brim over.

He takes a deep breath and repeats, “I want you to call me Ajax.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Your face shifts, as if you can’t decide whether you want to be angry or sad or something else entirely. You open your mouth to say something, but at that moment the door opens again, and Zhongli pokes his head in.

“My apologies,” He says a little sheepishly, “But the attendant informed me that we should start ordering our dishes now if we don’t want to accidentally go over our time slot. That is - if you two are alright with having dinner with each other?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your eyes stay on the man gazing almost wistfully at you, your expression becoming thoughtful.

It’s been five years since you’ve last seen him. Five years of sleepless, tormented nights spent tossing and turning, of days spend exhausting yourself just so that you don’t think of him, of a journey filled with obstacles and monsters just to find a place to be at peace in, and just as you finally think you might be moving on, he shows up again.

Maybe you should be angry. Maybe you should be drawing your dagger and threatening him to stay the fuck away from your city and to take his Fatui agents with him. Maybe you should punch him right where it hurts most for all the pain he’s caused you.

But… you’re tired. You’re tired of hurting, tired of remembering. And maybe there’s a little part of you that hopes - a little part of you that still clings to the boy you played with on the streets of Morepesok, the boy that you lost the moment you let him leave on that journey.

And so you come to a conclusion.

“I’ll stay for dinner. What about you, Ajax?”

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin childe #genshin zhongli #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #angst #first angst piece of the blog baby!#i hope it wasn't terrible :'))#yuta this is for you i know you like a bit of the tartaglia on a rainy day #it isn't raining but you can have this anyway #you still need to do the dishes by the way i'm tired of looking at your dirty-ass plates #enjpy darlings!#unedited

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captainrexforever · 3 years

Text

Solace

Rating: T

Word count: ~4.5k

Summary: After a nightmare, the reader and Din have a heart-to-heart, and realize they are not as different as they might think.

Warnings: angst, fluff, Din w/o beskar, intense fear?? (basically reader has a nightmare) makeout at the end

Note: Fair warning, this is the first fic I have ever written. I was having some pretty intense inspiration, and once I began typing, the words just began to flow out. With that said, I welcome any constructive criticism; any hate received will be reported and blocked.

It's not late when you slip beneath the blanket that decorates your humble cot. In fact, you're not sure what time it is. Days spent in hyperspace have left you without the ability to recall which hours differentiate day and night. At this point, you sleep once you're exhausted, and wake up once you hear the kid begin to squeal for your company.

Mando doesn't seem to sleep at all. You often wonder if he is even human beneath the beskar. Perhaps, he is some humanoid species that doesn't require sleep.

That's silly, your mind whispers.

Oh, that's right.

Once Mando had returned with a bounty, blood dripping onto the durasteel panels of the hull, and a jagged tear in the visible duraweave below his left pauldron. Red blood and tanned fleshed were exposed to your eyes for the space of a minute. He had steered the oblivious bounty towards the carbonite freezing unit, and with a shove and a hiss of the machinery, the zabrak had been encased in a carbonite slab.

You hadn't moved, rooted to the spot, until Mando brushed past you, a jerk of his helmet the only recognition you received. He headed straight towards the ladder to the cockpit, his hand already moving to the cauterizer on his belt. It wasn't your job to distract him with unnecessary questions, so you had rolled your shoulders, cracked your neck, and then walked towards the kid who bobbed silently in his cradle.

It's been months since that particular incident. Months since you were tortured with the sight of his skin. It was only a sliver of his bare skin, but it had set your heart racing. These days, you two spoke more often, usually about the kid. Well to clarify, 'more often' meant a few sentences a day. The Mandalorian was still so quiet. It was strange to you. As a child, your household was always bustling with life, loud and busy. To be honest, you were the most introverted member of your family, and found yourself seeking out peace and quiet more often than not. Now though, it was too quiet, days on end spent spiraling through space. Mando never told you your destination, not that it would have mattered anyways. You weren't very knowledgeable about the geography of the outer rim.

As you lie on your cot, you wonder if you will ever earn the chance to know who he really is. You know that he hides his emotions beneath a stoic personality almost as impenetrable as the beskar he wears. There’s a thought that festers in your heart every night as you lay in bed. Does the Mandalorian have any feelings for you beyond that of an employer and their employee?

You sigh.

You are being foolish and immature.

The Mandalorian is a good man, and he owes you nothing. He pays you fairly and treats you as an equal. Your mind is satisfied with that answer, but your heart protests the idea, holding out hope that he might think of you in the same way that you think of him. That is, with a fondness that you shouldn't be allowed to feel. Sometimes, you sit in the cockpit just to watch him fly. He seems more at ease there, as if he too belongs among the stars. It's a breathtaking view, watching streaks of light blur past the viewport, but somehow your gaze always falls upon him instead.

Sleep now, think later, you tell yourself.

And you do, sleep finally consuming you.

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

There is a flash of light, a blinding presence beside you. It's a struggle to grasp a sense of your surroundings, your mind struggling to stay aware. Something is not right. You move to sit up, panic overtaking you when your limbs fail to comply, as if they are weighed down with lead.

Then you hear it.

The clink of beskar on beskar.

It's alright, he's here, he is going to protect you. But you couldn't be more wrong. The being that steps out of the blinding light and into the dimly lit area surrounding your cot is terrifying. It certainly looks like Mando, the armor is the same, but his helmet is wrong. It's all wrong! Two eyes of pure crimson shine through the visor of the helmet, a sickening laugh escaping the figure, and then it's advancing on your prone form. You realize with a start how exposed you are, only a long tunic covers your form, and your blaster is hanging on the wall behind the figure. It reaches out, it's touch burning your skin, first your cheek then down your neck. It speaks suddenly, the voice twisted and warped.

"What a pretty prize. All mine, and so submissive, not that you could run from me anyways." Then there is a blaster pressed underneath your chin.

"No, stop! Leave me alone!"

It only chuckles darkly.

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

The Mandalorian sighs deeply in the cockpit. You had disappeared behind the curtain that separated your cot from the main hold some time ago, the child already asleep. How you are able to coax him into slumber so easily Din will never comprehend. At least the quiet allows him some private time to clear his troubled mind. There was too much on his mind as of late. No, that was a lie. There was just one thing on his mind.

You.

You are a mystery, so caring and understanding. Too caring, he muses quietly. You are smart too, incredibly so, he was lucky to be able to recruit you into his service. But that's not what bothers him right now.

No…

Something else is troubling him. He is sure you possess some sort of magic, like the kid. It’s the only explanation. Why else does his heartbeat thud loudly in his chest at the sight of you? His skin feels as if it’s on fire, his mouth suddenly dry whenever your gaze lingers on him for a moment too long. Sorcery, as the armorer had said. But, he doesn't know how to confront you about the topic. He doesn't want to frighten you away.

He will approach you in the morning, he tells himself. Din chuckles for a moment, he doesn't really know when morning will come, with the length of time you three have spent in hyperspace. He just bases his schedule off of the inclinations of his female companion. When you sleep, so does he, when you are awake, so is he. Din always ensures he is awake before you. The child is fussy in the mornings, demanding attention as soon as he is awake, so he tries to keep the kid entertained as long as possible to you allow you a few extra scraps of sleep.

The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stands on end, a sense of unease consuming his thoughts. He taps his helmet, the infrared vision within his helmet prompting the grey ship to burst into color. Nothing seems out of place in the cockpit, but he can't ignore his instincts, so after rising from his chair Din moves towards the ladder, intending to check the rest of the ship from possible threats. He pauses at the top of the ladder, his whole body shocked into a rigid cast.

Your cries reach his ears, desperate and pleading, and every instinct screams at him to protect you. In retrospect, he’s not sure how he clears the ladder so quickly, because one second he’s standing in the cockpit, and in the next he’s at your side, hands hovering over you as uncertainty soars to the top of his mind. You are obviously in the throws of a nightmare, your body curling in on itself, sweat beading on your forehead, and your limbs thrashing about in an attempt at self-preservation. Din reaches out to grasp your wrist, but you tear it out of his hand, your cries becoming louder. He curses, both hands reaching out to pin yours to the cot, then he is settling his body over yours, using his weight to still your frantic movements.

"No, stop! Leave me alone! Stop! Please!" It's the first coherent thing you have said, and it squeezes at his heart. It feels like it is being crushed by the vice that he often saw the armorer use at the forge.

"Y/N!"

"No, please!"

"Y/N! Listen to me, you need to wake up."

"Stop, Stop!"

"Y/N!"

Your eyes finally snap open, and it's as if all the air has been pumped back into his lungs. You're alright, you're safe.

Oh, how wrong he was.

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

You gasp for air, feeling as though you're drowning.

It was just a dream.

But then your eyes open, only to come face-to-face with a beskar helmet. A startled cry escapes you and you're squeezing your eyes shut, turning your face into the pillow behind you to block your line of sight. The air is tense and strained and you feel suffocated by the weight resting on the lower half of your body. As your panic rises you attempt to wriggle free, another rush of fear flooding your body when you realize you're pinned down. Your movements become frantic, a sense of desperation overtaking you as your hands fight against the hold on your wrists. You're practically sobbing as you fight him, your body recoiling in fear just from the sight of his armor. Through the haze of panic, you think he's saying something but you can’t bring yourself to care. Every molecule in your body is screaming to be free.

With a burst of strength you rip your arms from his grip and frantically shove at his chest plate. Sithspit, you can’t even bear to look at him. The shoving becomes more frantic and finally you're free. Your body curls in on itself, finding solace in the tattered blanket and pillow that furnish your cot. You don't realize your crying until your sobs register in your ears. You are thoroughly humiliated, wishing that the floor would swallow you whole so that you never have to face the consequences of this situation.

You take a few heaving breaths, trying to gain your bearings, and when you hear a modulated voice you recoil further into your cot.

"Y/N, talk to me, are you alright?" You think he sounds concerned, but you can’t bring yourself to concentrate clearly enough to discern what emotions are placed on those words.

"Please, leave me alone." You manage, trying to gather your frazzled emotions.

"What happened?" You're cringing all over again at the sound of his voice, flashbacks from the nightmare plaguing your mind.

There's a hiss, then "I'm turning the lights off". Your head whips around. That wasn't Mando's voice. The hull is plunged into darkness before you even turn halfway, and you swallow nervously.

"It's ok, I'm right here."

"Mando?"

"Yes."

"You sound…different."

"I know, I'm not wearing my helmet." That knocks the breath right out of your lungs.

"Are you ok?" There is real concern there and it calms your erratic heartbeat.

"I…I think so."

"Nightmare?"

"….yes."

His footsteps echo in the durasteel hull as he moves towards you. You're sitting up now, and a hand reaches out to touch your arm. It startles you, your body recoiling on instinct. You can hear him sigh heavily.

"It was about me, wasn't it?" He sounds tired, weary, so unlike the Mandalorian you have come to know over the past several months. You can't lie to him. You have never been able to lie to him.

"Yes."

"Is there anything I can do?..."

You pause before you speak. A thought comes to mind immediately. It's too forward. You shouldn't ask, you can't.

"Will you stay with me?"

There is a sharp intake of breath, and you curse yourself. This is the longest conversation you have ever been able to hold with Mando, and now you've just embarrassed yourself with your lack of a brain-to-mouth filter.

"Ok."

That made sense, you dumb imbecile…Wait…What?!

You must have heard wrong, that was the only explanation.

"Just a moment."

Was there a problem with how fast your heart-rate just spiked? You must be having physical complications from the nightmare, or maybe you hit your head while you were struggling. A clang echoes through the hull, then another. You hold your breath for a second, then realize that he is probably removing his boots. Your cot is by no means spotless, but you appreciate the sentiment. He moves towards the cot again, and you slide over to make room for him. Unfortunately, you severely overestimate the amount of space on your cot, and approximately one millisecond later you are experiencing the weightless feeling of doom that always precedes an inevitable fall.

An arm curls around your waist at the last second, and you can't hold back your gasp of surprise. Mando hauls you back up onto the cot, and it's not until the entirety of your back comes into contact with the duraweave covering his warm chest that you realize he is not wearing a single scrap of beskar. Your breath exits your body in a shudder as you bask in the comforting warmth of his body.

It’s several minutes later when Mando finally breaks the silence. "Do you feel any better?"

There is no way he is being serious. If he was blind and deaf, he still wouldn't be able to miss how you practically melted into his touch. Why, that little...The light chuckle against your ear confirms your suspicions, and if this was any other situation you would be fuming at the insinuation. But this is Mando, your Mando, some traitorous part of your mind whispers. Despite your les than pleasant mood, you find yourself enjoying this tiny glimpse into the playful side of his personality.

"Much better, thank you Mando. You really don't have to stay if you don't want to." Why in farrik did you say that?!

"It's alright, I don't mind." Even if he is still teasing you, you don't care. You wouldn't give this up for all the credits on Coruscant.

"Y/n?"

"Yes, Mando."

He lets out a troubled sigh at your response, and you want to take back whatever you did, if only to hear him tease you one more time before he reverts back to his reserved, silent persona.

“I hope you feel...safe when you travel with me.”

“Of course I do.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I am telling the truth, really I am. I feel safer on this ship, with you, than I do anywhere else.”

"I…there is something I want to tell you."

"Alright."

"My name, my name isn't Mando." He chuckles a little, as if enjoying a private joke. "If it was, it would get a little bit confusing back at the covert." Then he takes a deep breath, as if to gather himself. You move your hand to rest over his arm, which is still draped across your waist, offering what little comfort you can. "My birth name is Din Djarin."

"Din." You test the word on your tongue, and you decide that it suits him well. Simple and straightforward, just like him. "I like it." He releases a hum in response and the way it rumbles through your back, tingles spreading to the top of your head and into your fingertips, has you feeling a pleasant buzz.

You dare to roll over in his arms, nuzzling further into his chest, and your heart swells when he accommodates your change in position by moving one hand to the small of your back, the other cradling your head gently. This moment is so precious, so delicate, and you refrain from speaking or moving, in the hopes of prolonging it for as long as possible.

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

You must have fallen asleep, because when you wake up there is a shrill beeping coming from the cockpit. With a groan you nuzzle further into your pillow, the arm that’s slung over the pillow flexes to draw it closer to your body. You idly wonder if Mando finally decided to activate the heating system since there is a pleasant warmth engulfing your body.

What's taking him so long? Normally, he spends most of his time in the cockpit, so it seems odd that he hasn't yet attended to the issue.

"Are you gonna get that or am I?" The question is spoken by your ear.

You swear you have never been more awake in your entire life. You shoot straight up but you don’t get very far, a warm hand on your back coaxing you back down against an equally warm body.

"Did you sleep well?"

Osik. Now you remember. The nightmare, Mando holding you gently while you lay on your cot in shock. Oh, wait. You mean Din.

Your eyes finally open and you realize that the artificial lighting is still shut off. That's right, Din isn't wearing his helmet either. As you catalog your surroundings, a blush rises to your cheeks. During the night, you seem to have become very…cuddly. Your head is resting on his very firm chest, an arm slung across his upper body with your hand on his shoulder. One of your legs is thrown over his waist, and your face burns when you register his hand resting innocently on your thigh. It wouldn't be so bad if you were actually wearing pants, but your lazy ass had crawled into bed last night with only a threadbare tunic to cover your form. Suddenly you are even more thankful for the darkness shrouding your figures, all too aware that the tunic had ridden up over your ass during the night. Din's other hand is still nestled around the back of your head, his fingers occasionally massaging at the base of your scalp since your hair is tied up into a haphazard bun.

You have yet to answer him, and your brain sputters as it attempts to think up a witty response.

"Yes, still a little tired though." What kind of answer was that, Y/N? Wow, such a charmer. What you really wanted to say was better than ever.

"That’s to be expected." Kriff, you are hearing his morning voice. You think you might just die on the spot. Hey, at least you'll be ending on a high note.

The beeping still echoes loudly through the hull. "You should get that before the kid wakes up." You nudge softly. He just grunts.

"You can get it, I'm sure it's nothing pressing." He finally responds.

"Hey, this is your ship, you get it." You've always been grumpy in the morning, never an early riser. You shove at him gently to enforce your request but it doesn't even phase him. "Din, come on." Then you're shoving a little harder, feeling victorious when you feel his body move across the cot slightly. You remove the leg from across his waist, using both your feet to assist in shoving him off of the cot. He just chuckles at your efforts, seemingly amused with your irritation. All of a sudden, there is a loud thud and a groan followed by utter silence. Your heart jumps into your throat, you didn't mean to hurt him! You shimmy to the edge of the cot, looking over even though you can't see a thing, hoping that he's not injured from the fall. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you chastise yourself. And then your worry turns to anger when you hear a hearty laugh bubbling up from the floor. How dare he laugh at you.

In any other situation you would be overjoyed at the sound of his laughter, but for some reason you feel incredibly cross this morning. You huff at his mirth, swing your legs over the edge of the cot and stand, intending to investigate the problem in the cockpit yourself. However, the moment you are on your feet you are suddenly plowed into by a warm, firm chest. Din muffles a curse as he catches you, tugging you upright before you slam into the unforgiving durasteel floor.

"What are you doing?" You demand, feeling like a fool. Your emotions are still frazzled after the restless night, and you know you're being unreasonably cross but you can't help yourself.

"Just checking on the cockpit, verd'ika."

The word is unfamiliar, but before you can question the meaning he's moving past you towards the ladder. Now that he's gone, you hang your head, ashamed of your behavior. He was being far too kind to receive such harsh treatment from you. He did laugh at me though. Without his presence, you feel a little silly standing in the hull by yourself, so you decide to crawl back into your cot. You turn, fumbling a little in the dark, and hold a hand out to feel your way around. The tip of your fingertips finally brush the cot, and you surge forward, eager to slide underneath your blanket.

Your foot ricochets off something round and extremely solid, and in the next second you’re hopping around on one foot as curses spill from your lips. Stupid helmet, damned Mandalorian, kriffing alarm, frikking nightmares. If this isn't a cursed day you didn't know what to say. You finally set your foot back down and feel around for the position of the helmet as cautiously as you can with your injured foot. Then you give it a solid kick with your, as of yet, uninjured foot. The clang that echoes through the hull is extremely satisfying, and there's a smug smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Are you done abusing my helmet?"

You let out a surprised yelp when he catches you by surprise, but you can't even bring yourself to feel ashamed.

"Just checking to make sure it was still up to snuff. I don't want you to sustain an injury to your head while collecting a bounty."

"Somehow I find that hard to believe."

"Well, I can’t imagine why."

There is a long pause, and you are worried you’ve made him uncomfortable with your banter.

"Do you want to talk about last night?"

As a matter of fact, you do not want to talk about last night. You never want to talk about last night. You just hope that the memory of the nightmare will fade away as soon as you throw yourself into your work.

"I know it can be difficult to share a painful experience. If you ever need to talk about it, I'm here."

"Maybe later?"

"Of course. Now if you don't mind, I am going to need my helmet back."

"Oh, right." You blush as you bend down to retrieve it from the durasteel floor. "Here you go." You try not to hyper-fixate on the brush of skin against skin that accompanies the action of handing over his helmet.

"I am going to turn the lights on now if that's ok."

"That's fine."

You blink your eyes a little when he activates the lights. The first thing you realize is that you are much closer than you expected. In fact you have to crane your neck to meet the visor of his helmet. All of a sudden your throat is dry and you are all too aware of your state of undress. Then you notice that his duraweave suit is extremely form-fitting. Now, when you say form-fitting, you mean he is probably wearing the same suit he wore as a teenager. Every curve of his body, every muscle, is visible to your eyes. You suck in a breath. If you let your gaze wander down just a little. Kriffing hell, you need to get your heart rate checked. Does he know that you are looking at him? He must. Wait...does he like it? You sidle a little closer, and your ego soars when you hear his breath hitch through the modulator. Another step and you're separated by a millimeter of air. You crane your neck back further, gazing into the visor.

"You think you could turn the lights off again, just for a second?"

He doesn't respond verbally, but his hand moves to the side of his helmet and you're surrounded by darkness once again.

You stretch out a hand, breath catching when your fingertips graze the duraweave over his chest. Not wanting to alarm him, you press down gently at first, then his hand is settling over yours, urging you to open your palm and splay your fingers across his chest. You dare to repeat the action with your other hand, basking in the feel of his warmth beneath your palms. Then you’re sliding them up, higher, higher, until they curve around the slopes of his shoulders. You breathe once, twice. You swear you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingers.

"Din." His name escapes your lips like a sigh.

Both his hands move to cover yours, guiding them the rest of the way up, until they settle on the sides of his helmet. He's shaking, you note. His hands are trembling as they cover yours. Then you realize that you are shaking too.

"Is it ok if I….Can I….I don't want to…" You exhale shakily. "Can I lift it just a little?" Your heartbeat is roaring loudly in your ears, you're not sure you'll be able to hear him, even if he does respond.

"Please." He whispers.

You are not sure who moves first, but you will never forget how gentle he is in the moment. His thumbs caress the back of your knuckles, the action so tender, so unlike the hunter he claims to be. There is a pause as he bends down to accommodate your shorter height, his hands guiding yours as he tilts the helmet upwards until his breath is fanning across your lips. It’s absolutely sinful how soft his lips are, how gently he kisses you. The kiss itself is a little clumsy, the lack of experience apparent in both of your actions. But after a few seconds you develop a rhythm.

His hands abandon yours to curl around your waist and neck, and you learn that if you tilt your head just a little, your lips will slot into place like two pieces of a puzzle. You only pull away once your legs begin burning, taxed from standing on your toes the whole time. But Din is having none of that, he bends down further, your back bowing slightly at the change of position, and then he’s kissing you so thoroughly that you’re certain you might pass out.

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

Eventually, you two separate, the cries of the child finally demanding your attention. Din pulls away first, planting a kiss on your forehead before he lets the helmet fall back into place over his lips. The lights are switched back on, and after a longing glance you both move to resume your duties as usual.

When Din turns to collect his armor from the floor, you stand next to your cot with the ploy of folding the blanket and retrieving your day clothes. You feel a little bit ashamed of your devious thought process until he bends over. His firm backside is completely exposed to your eyes, and you can't help but admire the curve of his-

"So am I allowed to stare at your ass too?"

"Din!"

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

Verd’ika: little warrior

#the mandalorian x reader #mando reader fluff #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian x you #reader insert #din dijarin x reader #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fluff #star wars imagine #i'm actually really proud of this #first fic

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

who's the boss | jhs

pairing: jung hoseok x oc

genre: fluff, slight enemies to lovers, boss!hobi, pa!oc

warnings: like one moment of suggestive content, confessing but no real confessions, jimin is your annoying best friend

words: 4, 663

summary: valentine's day with your stupid (hot) boss

“You look miserable.”

Jimin snickers when he walks past your slouched body across your desk, ensuring that you saw the mocking look he gives you when you glare at him.

“Please tell our boss that.” You mutter under your breath, attempting to avoid the mountains of work that sat in front of you.

“You’re his assistant—you out of all people should know that he’s a force to be reckoned with.” Jimin points out, slamming a new pile of folders on your desk.

You gape at him, observing the unforgiving amount of work that now occupies both your desk and time; and Jimin only offers you a half-hearted shrug before patting you on the shoulder.

“Mr Jung wants it by tonight,” Jimin lets you know as he begins to walk off.

The deadline has you snapping your head rapidly to his retreating figure as you quickly stand up to call for him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” You exasperate, “Jimin—there’s no way I can get this done by tonight let alone this week!”

Jimin doesn’t even turn around when he shrugs, as if to tell you that it was your problem to deal with.

You growl, helplessly staring at the work that scatters your desk before your eyes narrow to the office next to yours, doors shut tight.

Before you can think twice, blinded by pure anger, you storm towards the secluded room; ignoring the stares from your co-workers, and a few sighs that you can tell is coming from Jungkook knowing that you were going to piss your boss off yet again.

You don’t knock, long past that level of formality with your boss as you slam the door open, eyes narrowed intimidatingly at the unsuspecting victim of your rage, who just looks up from his laptop with a raised brow.

“____, are you already done with—”

“Jung Hoseok.” You hiss, interrupting him as you shut the door behind you, rolling up your sleeves as if that would intimidate the man; fully aware that he towered over you, even in heels.

He slowly brings his laptop to a semi-closed position and leans back into his seat, arms carefully folded across his chest in a way that makes him look intimidating yet commanding.

It was a pity that your boss was such a douche because he was truly one of the most beautiful men that you’ve had the pleasure (or displeasure) of meeting in your entire life. Hoseok had the charm of a man that held himself with confidence and assurance, knowing that he was likely the hotshot of every room he walked into.

However, that also meant that he had a justifiable inflated ego that you were on the receiving end off, purely because you were hired as his personal assistant and not some other poor soul.

“That is my name, yes.”

You stomp towards his desk and slam your hands down onto the expensive wood, making sure your eyes are locked onto his stoic expression.

Momentarily, you see his eyes glance down to your chest where a decent amount of cleavage is likely being displayed to your boss, but it goes as quickly as it comes when he returns his gaze onto your blazing one.

“Are you fucking crazy?” You snap.

He blinks at you, hands clutched together as he leans forward on his elbows, face getting impossibly closer to your own that you have half the mind to put some distance between the two of you to preserve the beating of your heart.

“Is that any way to speak to your boss?” He cocks his head to a side, a teasing smirk dawning on his face.

“Cut the shit,” You hiss, “In what goddamn universe did you think it was justifiable for you to give me a month’s worth of work and expect it to be done by tonight?!”

He sighs, leaning back into his chair and man spreads in a way that you usually would hate, but of course, Hoseok made it look undeniably hot, and inviting.

“Didn’t I hire you because of your work ethic?”

You scoff in disbelief, arms folding across your chest.

“This is not about work ethic, and you know it. You have some secret vendetta against me and I see through your shit.” You accuse.

“Do I, Ms ____?” He says in a voice so low that it makes you stutter in your response.

“You tell me, Mr Jung.” You retort.

He observes your expression for a moment, taking in the way that you were breathing heavily and how your cheeks were a little flushed from your rant. Hoseok smirks at you because even though you were a lot to deal with, and had a tongue sharper than anyone he’s known, you were adorable.

Just like a kitten that was waiting to be tamed.

“Very well then,” He claps his hands together and opens his laptop again.

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for his next set of words. You recognise the slight gleam in your eyes and that causes an unsettling feeling to develop in your stomach.

“Work overtime.” He says simply as if it was the most obvious solution.

You gape at him, baffled at his blunt suggestion.

“What? That’s your solution? To work overtime?” You snap.

“I don’t see a better option knocking at our door’s here.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

You grit your jaw and feel your eye twitch at his indifference, and you think about risking getting reported to HR, or even getting fired just so you could reach over and strangle the hell out of your insufferable boss.

“Give me an extension.” You all but demand.

“No.”

You’re about to leave with your dues until he answers you, and you snap your head to look at him incredulously.

“What do you mean no?” You hiss.

“It’s exactly what it means, Ms ____. I want the documents sorted through and filed by tonight. Even I’m working overtime and I’m the boss.” He smirks, eyes still not straying away from his laptop.

“Hoseok you don’t understand. I can’t.” His name slips out involuntarily, and you almost miss the way a smile teases his lips when you opt for his actual name than the nicknames you’ve resorted to.

“Oh? Did you have plans tonight?” He pries, eyes twinkling with mischief.

He knew. He knew what today was and gave you a shit ton of work.

You clench your jaw and give him a curt nod.

“Yes. I do.”

He hums under his breath, glancing down to type something onto his laptop before shutting it completely.

“Well—cancel them. You have plans with me now.” He says.

You choke on your spit at his calm declaration as you splutter to find a response.

“I can’t just cancel a date—!”

You snap your mouth shut when his eyebrows shoot to his hairline in a mischievous manner as if seeing you flustered was his favourite sight to behold.

“As your boss, I think I call the shots here, don’t I?” He pushes himself off his chair to walk towards you, height and presence imposing on your retreating figure.

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” You spit when he engulfs your space with his presence.

The navy grey suit he chose to wear today flattered his physique wonderfully, showcasing his lean and long limbs as well as his built. It didn’t help that he styled his hair with it parted by the side, his forehead on full display—as if to mark his territory as the most intimidating (and handsome) person at the office.

“Call me what you wish,” He shrugs, a smirk on his face, “We’ll have a lot of fun tonight, won’t we?”

You’d be lying if you didn’t have butterflies in your stomach.

“Mina—tell the blind date you set me up on that I can’t make it tonight,” You sigh, phone between your shoulder and your ear as you type away at your computer.

You hear Mina whine on the other end about how she thought the guy she set you up with was a perfect match for you. Truthfully, you didn’t even want to go on the date in the first place; but Mina said that you needed to get over the hots you felt for your boss even if he was the most infuriating person in every room he’s in.

“You’re not lying to get out of this, right? Do you really need to work overtime?” She whines.

You sigh.

“Do you remember who I work for? Of course I need to work overtime.” You mutter.

“How am I going to tell Jae?” She complains, and you briefly hear a thud on her end; probably signalling the fact that she flopped onto a surface in despair.

You snort and narrow your eyes to get a better view of the details on your spreadsheet, ensuring all facts and figures were aligned before saving it and proceeding to the next set of work you needed to finish.

“You’ll find a way,” You tell her, “I need to go. I have ten more documents to sort through and they’re all due tonight.”

Mina blows a virtual kiss for you and bids you goodbye, saying to kick your boss in the ass for her.

The moment you hang up, you see Jimin and Jungkook walk pass your desk with their bags over their shoulders, stopping by you to offer a sympathetic smile.

“Have fun working overtime ____,” Jungkook says, and it’s sincere enough to make you give him a half-hearted smile.

“Work on sucking your boss’ dick too.” Jimin snickers, mimicking the action inside of his cheek as you glare at him, chuckling a piece of crumpled paper in his direction.

“Jungkook—tell Taehyung I said hi,” You smile sweetly at him, then narrowing your eyes into slits at Jimin, “Jimin, I hope you puke out all the chocolates you’re going to binge on tonight.”

He gasps, hands resting on his chest in mock offence as he waves you goodbye, heading out as you return the gesture with your longest finger.

There the last bit of your co-workers that left the office, and now it was just you—and Hoseok—but he was cooped up in his office, for whatever reason it may be.

You sigh, cracking your knuckles forward as you attempt to race through all the documents that needed to be sorted through as fast as you can so you could go home and binge-watch all the romantic comedies in your watchlist.

The quote time flies sits prettily on the tip of your tongue when you glance at the clock on your table to tell you that it was half an hour till midnight, meaning that you slaved away to work for an additional 6 hours.

You huff, at least thankful that you were finally done.

Even with Hoseok’s words saying that he’d work overtime as well, you were sure he was just in his office relaxing while you did his hefty work. The thought makes you frown as you clean up your workspace, ensuring that it’s in a pristine condition before you head back.

“_____?”

Hoseok’s voice peeks out from his office and you stop your ministrations to turn your head to look at him, a few stray strands of hair falling by the side of your face as you do so.

Hoseok can’t help but appreciate how relaxed you look, a juxtaposition from the usual prim and proper persona you took on during work. Your hair was tied in a messy bun, and a few buttons of your blouse were undone to give yourself some room to breathe.

“Yes?” You raise an eyebrow, beginning to get irritated with the way his eyes unabashedly observe you.

You have the words on your tongue already, preparing to cuss him out with your mouth and your fist if he gave you any more work to do.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asks.

You raise an eyebrow, watching his figure lean against the frame of the door.

“No, I haven’t. I was too busy finishing up the documents for you, remember?” You bite, can’t be helping the snark that your tongue releases.

A small twinge of a grin appears on his face as he cocks his head to his office, gesturing you to enter.

“I have some food. Do, join me.” He asks.

You blink at him, hands still clutching the last bit of your belongings as you mull over his proposition. While you and Hoseok worked close and hand in hand in business operations, you managed to have professional boundaries with him (which didn’t include the fact you cussed him out every five minutes). So, for him, the poster image of uptight and professionalism; with the occasional blunder, to invite you for a small meal outside of business?

You try to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster.

“Ah … it’s fine—I’ll probably heat some leftovers up—” You shake your head to deny.

But as you were caught up in a daze, Hoseok had seemed to have made his way to your desk, body positioned in a way that locks you in so that you had no other way to escape.

“Nonsense.” He tuts, grinning at you with his award-winning smile and you find it very hard to find him distasteful when he has the ability to reduce you to mush.

You notice that he mirrors your appearance in the sense that he looks far more casual than he usually does during work hours. He’s abandoned his blazer, and all he’s left in is his dress-shirt that does absolutely nothing in hiding his figure and slacks that just accentuates his waist even more. The fact that he also has his sleeves rolled up makes you more flustered than you’d like.

“It’s late—” You try to make an excuse, but he’s tugging you by your wrist to follow him and you have no objection on your tongue when you’re in his office.

Somehow, you've been in the room a million times, the second person that spends the most time in here besides Hoseok himself, yet tonight feels different.

The context of sharing a small meal with him seems almost illegal as if you were committing a crime.

“When did you even order this?” You mutter, when you realise his desk was already cleaned of all work-related stuff and only left with the brown packaged bags of food.

“Of course you didn’t notice,” He teases, gesturing for you to take a seat on the chair next to him.

You roll your eyes, bowing your head slightly to thank him when he passes you a sandwich, and you’re pleasantly surprised to know that it was your favourite order from a place you frequented during your lunch breaks.

“How did you—?”

“I’m not that much of an asshole to not know your likes and dislikes ____.” He jokes.

You purse your lips, flustered because while you and Hoseok bantered back and forth, and you were definitely tougher on your own boss than you were to your colleagues, you knew deep down it was an act of self-preservation to convince your own heart that keeping him away was safer for you.

“I didn't mean it like that …” You mumble, munching on your food.

Your eyes are too focused on the sandwich that you miss the fond expression Hoseok gives you, opting to just observe small bites that you were taking.

Eventually, you do notice that Hoseok isn’t eating but paying full attention to you, chin resting on his palm as he blatantly stares at you. When your eyes look up to meet his own, you flush and look away immediately, ears burning red under the dim light as you attempt to cover it up with a cough.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

He shrugs.

“I had my dinner hours ago. This is for you.” He gestures to the food, “You know I despise these things. They’re so pretentious.”

You gape at him with an open mouth.

“Then why are you still—” It seems like Hoseok is dead-set on not allowing you to finish most of your sentences tonight when he responds before you can finish.

“I was waiting for you.” The confession knocks the wind out of your chest as you look at him with wide eyes, heart beating faster when he nonchalantly admits that he was cooped up in his office—waiting for you?

“You didn’t have to do that Hoseok …” You mumble, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear bashfully—a habit you only do when you’re embarrassed.

He snorts.

“A thank you would be nice, sweets.” He leans forward, face inches closer to yours as you yelp and leans back into your chair.

The term of endearment doesn’t fall deaf on your ears as you blush even harder. You want to curse at yourself because you’re much stronger than this, you’ve trained for years to not let your feelings show in front of Hoseok because well … he was the CEO and you were his personal assistant.

While there was no strict ban on dating your boss, you had ethics and principles of your own that somehow convinced you that it would’ve been messy. And messy it would be because you worked with him on every single project, communicated information to him and basically was his confidant—purely transactional—so you wouldn’t risk your career just to be with him.

Especially when you didn’t know if he felt the same way.

Even when he looks at you like that.

“I’m waiting …” He sing-songs, grinning at you.

You roll your eyes, looking away when you mumble:

“Thank you.”

He seems satisfied as he leans back into his chair, gesturing you to finish your meal.

The sandwich was delicious, as always, but once you took the last bite you were starting to wonder if Hoseok had really just waited hours, and now to just have you eat in front of him.

“Thank you for the meal, Hoseok.” You say politely.

He eyes you for a second, until his eyes glance to the side of your head—then back at you.

“It’s five minutes before midnight.” He points out.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“… okay?”

“So … aren’t you going to wish me?” He pries.

The cue falls over your head, until you see and feel Hoseok, cage you in your chair.

You let out an eep at the sudden proximity, flushed at the way Hoseok grins at you all suave-like.

“Wish you?” You squeak, “W-What do you mean?”

He sighs, resting his palms on the side of your chair, looking at you with a fond expression that you were sure your eyes were deceiving you with.

“I dunno. Isn’t today a special day?” He teases, and he revels in the fact that you’re turning into a tomato under his scrutiny.

“I-Is it? I didn’t—I didn’t know that …” You gulp.

Hoseok takes the leap of faith and reaches out to pat your head, as you freeze under the touch.

“There were flyaways.” He smirks.

You feel like dying because of how close he is to you, and you know that he won’t let you go unless you say the words he’s tried to pull out from you. So, you swallow your pride, and honestly, gather all the courage you have in you to wish him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Hoseok.” You mumble, eyes avoiding his.

He doesn’t do anything for a split second, and you feel like a fool. You’re about to push him away until he moves—shuffling between his drawers to pull out—

“Flowers?” You cock your head to the side when he hands them over to you.

They were a beautiful arrangement, meticulously curated with the hands of someone that wanted perfection. It was very like Hoseok, but also included all of your favourite flowers and colours that you can’t help but imagine how cohesive the two of you would be.

You try to shake out of your delusions because you’re still processing the fact that Hoseok had handed you a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers you’ve ever seen and received.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, _____.” He smiles, and it lacks the usual mirth that he carries when he’s out to poke at you. This time, his smile is kind, warm—and longing.

“W-What is this for …?” You admire the arrangement, and it feels heavy in your palms. A testament to the effort put in, as well as how expensive it must’ve been.

“For being a great personal assistant,” He says.

It’s like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on you when he says those words. You blink up at him, then you scowl—shoving him away from you as you abandon the flowers on the table. Your heart was so hopeful as if you had managed to understand what was going on in Hoseok’s heart—but he reminded you of who you were and the world between the two of you shattered.

“Hey—hey. Where are you going?” Hoseok seems panicked but you don’t pick up on much as you hastily try to leave.

“Home, Hoseok.” You say curtly.

He’s faster than you when he grabs your elbow to spin you around to face him.

“Do you not like it?” He furrows his eyebrows.

You glare at him, and all the irritation in you returns when he genuinely looks clueless.

“No, Hoseok. I fucking love it.” You try to pull away, but he’s stronger than you.

“Then what’s the problem?” He huffs.

You narrow your eyes at him and even though he both makes you want to rip your hair out and makes your heart feel funny—he genuinely looks confused.

“You!” You yell, shoving at his chest as he just looks at you quizzically.

“You’re my problem Jung Hoseok,” You point a firm finger into his chest, “You’re always making me do your work for you and teasing me until I want to rip your hair out—then you do this … whatever this is, with the flowers and the stares you’re giving me and you—and you expect me to be okay?”

He blinks at you.

“You’re so confusing Hoseok! Like God—first, you look at me with those eyes of yours and expect my heart not to flutter? Is that it? Do you just like embarrassing me like this? You stupid son of a motherfucking bitch—!”

He really needed to shut you up, and granted, it wasn’t the best way to do it. But there was something oddly endearing about the way you were yelling his ear off that he needed to just close the distance.

Hoseok grabs you by the waist with a firm hand on your cheek when he leans down to kiss you.

The kiss is explosive, both in pent up frustrations and longing all at once and you’re both confused and relieved when you feel the plush of his lips against your own. You forget what you were saying when he holds you like this—close.

Hoseok looked like a magnificent kisser—you theorised—and your hypothesis was proven with the way he’s gentle yet assertive with the way his body moulds against your own.

You whine when he pulls away, your hands clutching at the front of his dress shirt. Only when you see his flushed cheeks, and swollen lips do you remember what was happening.

“_____—”

You punch him in the stomach.

Hard.

He grunts, doubling over as you glare at him.

“Are you insane?” You shriek.

He wheezes, clutching at his abdomen.

“You could’ve just told me you didn’t like me!” He snaps, shooting you a venomous glare.

Your mouth falls open as you give him one of your own venomous stares.

“Are you stupid?” You throw your hands into the air, “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“I was trying to be romantic!” He grits out.

You huff, and you soften for a moment to see him still holding onto his stomach.

You quietly reach out to him, holding him by the elbow like you did something wrong (punching him in the stomach) and look up at him with apologetic eyes.

“Does it really hurt?” You meekly ask.

"No. I'm on the floor because it's comfortable," He deadpans.

You pout as you flush a pretty shade of red.

He’s about to retort when he sees how guilty you look, then he sighs; reaching an arm around your shoulder to bring you into an embrace against his chest.

“It’d hurt a lot more if you were rejecting me.”

You scoff, leaning your cheek against his chest when you feel the movement of his chest with his deep breaths.

“Why couldn’t you ask me out like a normal person?” You complain.

He rolls his eyes.

“You’re not a conventional person to ask out.”

You narrow your eyes at him, and he wants to kiss you again because you’re the cutest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.

So he does.

This time, you’re not as shocked, but it’s still as pleasant as when he first kissed you. You lean into his embrace, taking the initiative to run your hands across his shoulders and into his hair.

“We could’ve been doing this way longer if you weren’t such an annoying brat.” He mumbles against your lips.

The moment is broken when he returns to his normal self, but your heart still remains.

“Me? Annoying? You know what’s annoying—the fact that I spent six hours on Valentine’s Day sorting through your stupid documents because you wanted to hold me, hostage, here—”

Hoseok purses his lips as you progress through your rant, but in all honesty, you looked like a little rabbit that was frustrated than anything else, and all he feels in endearment.

He lets you have your moment, though—because he likes you like this—honest, unforgiving and so irrevocably yourself.

“—like, romantic? Please, Hoseok—you have zero romantic bones in your body and I’m pretty sure you’re 100% annoying than human—”

He pouts when you resort to insulting him, and he reaches for your cheeks to squeeze them in his palms so you’d stop.

“Okay enough of that, my feelings are hurt.” He pouts, “But … I’ll let you off the hook cause you’re so cute.”

You glare at him, cheeks still squished together like a chipmunk.

“I hathe eberything avout you.” You say through a muffled breath.

He sighs.

He releases your cheeks and begins packing up the trash, and you’re confused at the way his touch suddenly disappears and disappointed because you weren’t close to him anymore.

“Hobi?” You meekly call out, and he swears his heart stutters at the nickname.

“Can you stop being cute for one second and let me clean up?” He groans, shoving the stray paper bags away into the dustbin below his desk.

You blush even harder, keening under the praise.

You twiddle with your thumbs, awkwardly hovering by his desk as you watch him. You’d try to help, but there was something so utterly domestic and … homey about the way that Hoseok tuts you off when you reach out to pick something up.

Once he’s satisfied (because as annoying as he was, you applauded him for his neatness), he throws his blazer over his shoulder effortlessly, and shuts all the lights off, saying nothing more besides walking to the door.

You eye him curiously, wondering why he hasn’t uttered a single word yet, but as you’re about to open your mouth, he turns around to look at you over his shoulder with a raised brow.

“Are you coming?”

You tilt your head to the side.

“W-Where?”

“With me,” He shrugs his shoulders, leaning against the wooden frame of his door as you feel your heartbeat grow faster at how effortlessly good he looks under the dim light.

“I think I owe you a belated Valentine’s Day celebration, no?”

Oh.

#bts fic #bts fics #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts jhope #bts hobi #bts hoseok #hoseok x reader #JHOPE x reader #hobi x reader #jung hoseok x reader #hoseok fluff #hoseok imagine #hoseok fic #hobi fluff #hobi imagine #jhope fluff #jhope imagine

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cerastes · 3 years

Note

May I request a review of general coolness and awesome of the horses we saw during the event?

Right, Maria Nearl event!

I liked the event quite a lot, though I do feel like it dropped the ball at the end. That aside, I had a lot of fun the entire time!

First of all, the cast was wonderful. Maria is explicitly not a powerful or skilled fighter to any degree that matters in the frame of strength the story takes place in, being definitely more skilled than the average person and even the average nameless knight, but being woefully outclassed by practically anyone that has a name in the Major. A humble mechanic with a heart drenched in justice, Maria doesn’t even like to fight, and adheres to a knightly ideal and a duty she must fulfill instead to justify her participation in these commercialized bloodsports, which carries the narrative. She is joined by a lovable cast of rambunctious family and family friends, who serve as her mentors and support: Her aunt, who is more akin to an older sister-slash-maternal figure, Zofia, who we are immediately shown is so close to Maria that the moment Maria made a big decision (the participation in the Major) without confirming with Zofia first, she immediately chastised her, wondering why she did not consult with her beforehand. Aunt Zofia is her aunt only due to technicality, as she’s a lady-in-waiting (or, in other words, belongs to a branch family of the Nearl clan, and is actually only 5 years older than Maria) and, more importantly, a decorated, retired competition knight who earned enough in her career that she can live comfortably for the rest of her life, ironically far outstripping the main Nearl house in terms of wealth. There’s also Kowal, an old Ursus mechanic, engineer and smith who mentors Maria in the ways of the wrench, willing to pass his workshop to Maria with her as his successor any day of the week, who himself also used to be a squire to V, an old, retired knight of old who served as Grandpa Nearl’s peerless sharpshooter and who trained Zofia back in the day. Finally, we have Old Marcin, owner of the cast’s favorite hangout, a little bar where he and Maria mediate the infinite squabbles, fights, and arguments that Kowal, V, and occasionally Zofia spark between one another. The event does a great work of introducing the dynamic between these five characters as something extremely domestic and comfortable: You can tell these five are tight and that they have spent a long time together. It’s just another day in their low profile lives when, suddenly, Maria dons Margaret’s old armor and decides to take arms for the main Nearl house, which is currently on the brink of ruin and about to lose its knighthood and nobility titles.

And this decision, and everything this decision means, informs everything that happens afterwards: Zofia tells Maria that if she’s worried about being left homeless, then that’s just foolishness, since Zofia is absolutely 100% ok with Maria moving in with her. She’s loaded. They can live comfortably for the rest of their lives without a concern. Kowal, likewise, insists that Maria is a good enough mechanic that she can earn a living by doing that. But, see, it’s not about a livelihood for Maria, it’s about preserving that for which Margaret and Grandpa Nearl fought and stood for, it’s never about the wealth, it’s about the name, the principle, not the glory, the weight of ideals that blood was shed to nourish and maintain. Maria is not even sure if she’s doing the right thing, but she’s got to do something. Why? Look no further than Uncle Mlynar. A bitter man, a corporate slave, spitting bile at her niece and apologies at his bosses. And the fact that it is very clear that this guy can kick some serious ass -- we never see him without his trusty blade hanging on his hip and, at the end, tells Margaret to square the hell up -- makes it all the sadder: In any other context, Mlynar might be a knight’s knight, hell, Margaret herself says she respects him still, but the Mlynar we see now is an unimportant cog in the capitalist system, just another grunt apologizing to his phone every time his lips part, who gets in hot water just by making small talk because, whoops, your workload accumulated again, better get chop chopping. Mlynar is a very telling character, because he represents everything Maria resents about the current state of the Nearl family: Disgraced, meaningless, existing as an extension of other bigger conglomerates. He is what she wishes to never become, and what the Nearl house cannot be any longer, if she has any saying on the matter.

Maria is not a good fighter. This is important and delightful, because she wins not due to aptitude, strength, or experience, she instead uses her knowledge as a mechanic, her “pegasian sight” (what Grandpa uses to refer to Maria’s incredibly powerful investigative faculties, being able to analyze situations and catch even the smallest details quickly) and the sheer heft of her brass pair of metaphorical horse balls to pull through with clutch victory after clutch victory. Zofia trying to cram as much fundamentals as she can on Maria in as little time as possible so she can survive also helps a lot.

Maria’s victories earn her the possibility of sponsorships, which would, superficially, fix her problems: The main Nearl house would retain status, she’d get a Title, and she would not have to fight anymore. But, see, this is not the point of Maria’s fight. One might say “Maria should’ve just taken the sponsorships”, but that’s not the point of Maria’s fight. She is pushing back against this highly commercialized view on “knighthood”, just like Margaret before her did. Margaret had a clear intent and her passions made her act mostly in anger, as she makes no secret: She hates Kazimierz for what it has become. Maria’s intent is less clear, even to herself, but she’s very much aiming for the same thing, but instead of Margaret’s anger, Maria has her determination. To have taken any sponsorship would have superficially kept the Nearl house afloat, but Maria is not looking to keep the house alone afloat, she’s looking to keep the house and the ideals in which it was built afloat. It goes beyond mere status.

In a world as bleak as Arknights’ and specially Kazimierz, Maria is no doubt naive to the point of frustration... But it is that which we call naive that makes a knight’s knight: Chivalry forged from ideals, sacrifice’s blunt borne from beliefs. The easy way out would’ve ultimately doomed her story, hence why she did not just move in with Zofia, hence why she did not just succeed Kowal and accept his workshop, hence why did not accept a sponsorship: It never was about that.

The very first event of the game, Grani’s Treasure, takes place in Kazimierz as well, but in the isolated outskirts, and we see hard-working, honest people, inhabitants of a nice little scenic hamlet. Now, we see what Kazimierz really looks like: A sprawling megalopolis of neon and concrete where the system shamelessly feeds on whoever sticks out their neck. The contrast couldn’t be harsher, and any hell is upheld by its demons: Czarny was a fascinating character, in that he very clearly held a lot of influence and power... And was extremely replaceable. The moment he messed up badly enough, he was instantly replaced by just whoever the hell picked up the phone next. It’s chilling. One puppet performed poorly? Irrelevant, there’s an endless supply who’ll take his place, provided enough fear and funds. Fear and money. The two currencies of Kazimierz. When a shadow council can just appoint you as the next Spokesman just on basis of you having picked up a phone without any real background check beyond “the previous Spokesman likely intended for this next sack of meat to pick up his phone in case he messed up”, well, congratulations, you’ve crafted a terrifying capitalist hellscape. No wonder Margaret hates Kazimierz so much, given the rot brewing in its underbelly and upper echelons.

And to all this, I have to say: It’s lovely. I loved the world building, implicit and explicit, I loved the cast, I love the themes explored and how characters were used to juxtapose these.

I feel it kinda drops the ball at the end by just... Not having a conclusion? It just sort of ends, which is very weird because events tend to be good at concluding themselves. I assumed we’d get some post-Challenge stages cutscenes to tie everything up like in the past but... No, not really, it didn’t happen. Margaret swoops in, the sisters perform the Ultimate Kamehameha on the Sarkazian Knights, and then it sort of ends one brief talk later. It needed a bigger epilogue, for sure. But this doesn’t ruin the event or anything, just a bit of a weak ending, everything else is still delightful and I loved it very much.

So yeah! The horses sure were wonderful!

#whiskas does stuff #arknights #maria nearl #arknights lore post

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

constant craving | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: drabble series, angst, unrequited love, idiot!jungkook, idiot!oc, basically everyone's an idiot

⇢ word count: 1.7k

⇢ warnings: unreciprocated pining, explicit language, themes of hopeless romanticism (!!), (slightly) unedited

⇢ summary: your best friend decided to confide in his best friend on how to win his girlfriend back after a fight. you tell him exactly what to say to her, however he is unaware that what you were saying was a sincere delivery of your once undeclared love.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: hello my little loves!! this was definitely ;) not ;) an impulse write and release ;) ;) sorry for being so inactive lately. i've been focusing on myself (i know how cliche that sounds but it's true). anyway, enjoy this incredibly angsts fic i wrote at 2 am for absolutely no reason at all other than i'm an emotional sadist and a masochist. love u!!!! <3

part one: control

He was coming over for the third time this week. Third time. Three times is two more times than he'd gone over his girlfriend's house, but you did everything in your power to convince your inconvincible heart that it meant nothing. Friends see each other more than their girlfriends, right?

It was making a racket in your chest, that muscle that strained much harder for a man who had his pumping for the girl of his dreams.

But, he was coming over for the third time this week.

The first time he said this visit ranked, in his words, 'out of the question' on the degree of necessary that he come over and show you Star Wars. You played a good game of reluctance when asking if it was the entire series or just one movie, and in your head, you hoped to God it was the entire series. For him, you'd watch the series four times over if it meant you sat through this outrageously nerdy movie next to the even more outrageously nerdy love of your life.

The second time was particularly funny to you. He called while you were cooking dinner, almost as if he was in stride with you in a way that was an ounce too synchronized to be platonic, and asked if you were whipping up a delicious meal that he could mooch off of. Knowing he was a terrible cook, plus the fact that when he begged so politely you felt your posture unbind into to a puddle, you more than happily obliged.

This time, the circumstances made it harder to say yes, but not yet impossible. And it was a second or two before you heard that knock on the front door that had your once pounding heart come to a complete halt. It was still, waiting for you to make a decision.

Since it was Jungkook, of course, you'd say yes. And your heart would continue beating. Beating, as in sending sharp jabs that stained the inside of your chest with bruises. Beating, as in when the time came, the final blow of your constantly craving heart would devastate your entire being.

"Thank you so much, ___. God, I'm such an idiot." He walked in with all the confidence of someone who was a bit too familiar with your company. Jungkook's feet reintroducing themselves to your floors in the same manner as he would the night before, and the night before that, and the countless nights you kept secured in your collection of memories. As if he belonged there; as if he was coming home.

"An idiot with a great friend." That last word nearly withdrew the bile you had been ever so gracefully holding in.

"Yeah yeah." And he was comfortable with that same word, 'friend', that deepened your bruises into scars. He had absolutely no clue. Idiot. "I can't believe I broke up with her. I was so angry and acted on that instead of logic. Fuck, why would I do that to myself? I love her."

"Well, you never know. Maybe..." You hated yourself for not resisting the selfish temptation that was about to fall from your lips. The words you've been internally screaming to him to leave her and fall in love with you instead were diluted to something much more tame when your tongue formed them into sound.

"Maybe it was for the best. Maybe you guys are better off apart? To, um, grow or whatever."

"No." He said that with too much certainty and too little hesitance and just enough conviction to sink another wound in the organ exhausting itself in your chest. "She's the one. I know it"

"Jungkook."

He looked at you with all the earnestness of a man who carved his utmost and unchanging dedication to her. A look that any love-induced sap would kill for. A look he would never direct towards you.

Your eyes weren't under your control as of now. The glue that held them to his eyes, his lips, his hair, and every other part of him you dreamed of was more than a marathoned yearning. It was an adhesive twelve years in the making, not showing the slightest sign of wearing away.

"The way you love is something to die for..." And then he smiled at you, but still not for you.

You were utterly crushed.

"She'll take you back in a heartbeat. I mean, she has a brain, so of course, she will. Anyone would."

I would.

"I hope you're right." The couch was four feet wide at most, but there was an impressively vast space between you and the man who was sitting next to you. "Can you tell me what to say? You know I suck with words."

"Uh... Yeah. Of course. Anything."

If breaking hearts were a crime, then Jungkook would have much to atone for. You'd be convicted as a willing accomplice for holding on this long. Up until this point, you've let every small glance, every shy smile he sent your way, every eyebrow twitch conveying a meaning only you knew well enough to retrieve him from whatever awkward situation he needed rescuing from, every accidentally brush of his hand against yours, every purposeful embrace that lasted so long your tears stained his right shoulder string you into a knot of miserable, unrequited love.

And up until this point, you had hope he would choose you.

Each ring of his phone worked in tandem to reduce your undying devotion to Jungkook into a compressed seed of denial.

I don't love him. He's just my best friend.

Your pulse pronounced itself loudly in your ears, as a not-so-gentle reminder of how much you hated him for loving him. Somehow, your heart beat faster. Then again, anything was possible when it came to him. Anything except the miraculous event of him hanging up, declaring his love for you, and living in the land of happily ever after that only existed in your deluded imagination.

"Hey Irene! I'm so fucking glad you picked up."

He gave you that look. With the arched eyebrow, his widened doe eyes, and the slightly hung jaw, you read each feature better than words and nodded to signal you knew exactly what he needed.

"I'm sorry about what happened." You said, in a whisper, though the deflated volume of your words carried no implication of the unbridled sincerity sealed in them.

"I'm sorry about what happened." He repeated, laying down that same Irene-contrived smile on you that fostered a smile of your own, knowing fully it surfaced as a reflex from hearing her voice.

"It might be crazy to try this, because I don't know how you feel."

If the thing people say about your life flashing before your eyes during encounters with death, then you were sure your heart was about to consume its last pulse of blood. The scenes of you and Jungkook spending your Friday nights when you were a ripe city dweller in your shoebox apartment doing everything and nothing at all had convinced you that you were certainly about to go into cardiac arrest.

"It might be crazy to say this, because I don't know how you feel." Jungkook was so many things, however emotionally perceptive was not one of them.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you." Those words tasted sweet despite fermenting in a chamber of your heart you kept preserved since, as you said, the very moment you met him.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you."

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

He repeated your words, but dehydrated all of your sentiment from them. You were left with the remnants of the feelings, and none of the words from him you were so desperately starved of. He took them right from your throat, along with the very breath that seemed to keep returning because of Jungkook, molded them into his own, into a sequence of sounds that were meant for Irene. You were left hungry, breathless, and forever wanting.

Irene must have been smiling right about now. Who wouldn't smile hearing those things from someone like Jungkook?

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Then, you began to ask yourself another question.

If you make me complete, Jungkook, will my story ever end?

You knew the answer to that. You swore your heart beat in a morse code that told you everything you needed to know.

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Jungkook looked to you, before Irene could form the proper response, and smiled. It was the third time he smiled at you today because of course, you were keeping track. You knew it was his own physically linguistic version of a 'thank you' or a 'you're a life saver' but somehow, to you, it translated to something similar to a 'goodbye'.

Your legs miraculously rose and carried you to the back porch. The sun was just beginning to dip in the horizon, proliferating a warm orange that was about to subside to an indistinguishable and unpredictable dusk. Whatever color came after the sunset, you were ready to accept it, to memorize how it reflected against a world without the possibility of him. And even though the night will always embody undertones of orange, it was time to focus on the colors around it.

It was time to let go.

a/n: i might make this into a drabble series!!! if anyone would be interested in that please let me know :)) thank you for readinggggg <3

#bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts writing #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #bts drabble #jungkook drabble #jungkook #constant craving #rubycoast

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trixicbean · 3 years

Note

Ok, hear me out... supercorp, no. 6, really angsty and somehow resolve the angst with no. 1

“It’s always been you” + “I’m going to marry that girl” + supercorp [read on ao3]

Kara chased Lena out of the apartment and down the stairs, Lena had taken the lift. Why did she say that? What on Earth was she thinking? She needed to pray to Rao and all the Gods anyone had ever believed in that Lena would forgive her. She made it down the stairs as Lena ran out of the lift.

“Leave me alone, Kara!” she shouted as she went to run out of the apartment building. It was raining.

“You’re going to catch hypothermia!” something overcame Kara and she suddenly didn’t care who saw her use her powers. She sped ahead and got to the door before Lena did. “Please just listen to me,” Kara begged.

“I filled your office with flowers,” Lena yelled exasperated, “I bought you a company. I cleared my schedule any time you wanted to hang out. I broke every single rule, and I told you time and time and again how different you were, and you didn’t get the hint and now,” Lena took a deep breath, “Now, you tell me,”.

“Lena,” Kara begged, stopping her from stepping around Kara, “Please,”.

“I need some time,” Lena tried to step around her again, “It’s four years of flirting and I need some time so either you leave or I will keep storming out of my own apartment,”.

Kara took a deep breath considering her options, she looked out into the rain. She opened the door and stepped into the open space so Lena wouldn’t leave, “I’ll go,” she smiled, “You were never meant to see that text,”.

“Because that makes it so much better,” Lena deadpanned, going to turn away and go back up the stairs.

Kara caught her hand to stop her from leaving and Lena turned to face her with a glare. “Let go,” she told her and Kara did immediately but Lena made no move to leave.

“It’s always been you,” Kara told her before she turned around and walked off into the rain. She rushed into the nearest alleyway and changed into her super suit, flying above the city and calling Alex from the air.

She thought back to that moment. How could she be so stupid? She’d gone to grab some more popcorn from the kitchen and Nia had texted her. Lena had picked it up. Her thumbprint was on Kara’s phone, it wasn’t unusual. If it were around Lena’s birthday or Christmas Kara would keep her phone hidden so she could keep secrets, but it was a boring day in January, so it was just laying on the couch.

“Who is it?” Kara had called over to Lena as she poured the popcorn from the bag into the bowl. Lena hadn’t responded. “Lee?” she called out again.

“I need some air,” Lena had choked out before running out of the apartment. Kara had dropped the popcorn on the counter, spilling half of it everywhere and running over to her phone.

Nia: try not to look at Lena like you are completely and totally in love with her all night

Kara cursed herself. Lena was going to have to clean up all her mess. She should’ve cleaned up before going down the stairs. Alex picked up the phone and she just let the tears fall down her face as her sister asked what was going on.

“So Lena is in love with you,” Alex spoke slowly as they sat opposite each other on the couch.

“That’s what she suggested,” Kara interrupted her sister, caution running through her. Lena was still pretty mad at her. She had ignored all of Kara’s apology texts that she had sent in the two hours since she last saw her. She didn’t want to assume anything.

“So Lena is in love with you,” Alex repeated, a glare thrown her sister’s way.

“There’s no evidence for it,” Kara sighed, interrupting Alex again.

“Lena is in love with you,” Alex repeated again, her voice raising a little, glaring at Kara and almost daring her to speak, “And you’re in love with her,” she finished, giving Kara an expectant look. Kara nodded monotonously.

“Where’s the issue?” Alex went on.

“She’s mad at me,” Kara pouted.

“So make her not mad at you,” Alex shrugged, “It’s Lena, all you need to do is pull out that pout,” Alex pointed at Kara’s lips, “Then you will be fine,”.

“She said she wanted space,” Kara mumbled.

“Ignore her,” Alex shrugged. Kara thought for a second. She had violated Lena’s trust and not listened to her again and again, she needed to listen to her now. She at least owed Lena that.

“I don’t want to do that,” she shrugged.

Kara avoided Lena for a while. Well, not exactly avoided her, just didn’t contact her apart from a one-line text.

I’m here when you want to talk.

Lena didn’t show up at CatCo for two weeks and soon the pain of missing her best friend started to hit Kara and everyone was noticing. Snapper was yelling at her for moping multiple times a day for the first week yet halfway through the second he switched to actually being nice to her.

Alex started dropping off various editions of Kara’s comfort foods after day three when she found Kara staring out of the window wearing Lena’s sweater and eating ice cream while crying. In Kara’s defence, it was triggered by an extremely depressing event involving a perfect puppy video that she couldn’t send to Lena because she was giving her space. After that, Alex was showing up most mornings with doughnuts and when she couldn’t make it Nia would show up with a box when Kara got to CatCo. Then there were the lunch deliveries of potstickers and dinner deliveries of various foods.

By day eleven, Alex had hosted an intervention, claiming her wallet couldn’t handle it anymore. The intervention essentially involved dragging Kara out of her apartment for the next three days and keeping her so busy she was either always working, on Supergirl duty, training at the DEO or being dragged out to either the dive bar or a karaoke bar.

Lena showed up at CatCo on day fourteen late at night. Almost everyone had left the offices. It was only Kara, Nia and an intern with one of the photographers in an office off the bullpen. Kara could hear Lena enter the building. Her heartbeat drew closer. Kara didn’t know whether to panic or dance around in excitement, the last thing she could do was work though. The words spun on the page as she heard Lena get on the elevator.

She picked up her pen and started playing with it just to give her something to do. It snapped in half after she’d clicked the top twice. Nia looked over at her in confusion and at the same moment, the doors pinged before they slid open to reveal Lena standing there looking down at her phone.

Kara’s heart stopped. She looked the same yet somewhat different. Kara couldn’t tell if it was tiredness or something else but her features had fallen a little and she looked like she hadn’t smiled in weeks. Kara cursed herself. She shouldn’t have given her space. She should have fought for Lena. She shouldn’t have assumed Lena would run and leave first like everyone else. She should have given Lena a chance.

Then Lena looked up and for just a second her eyes lit up and her features lifted a little, her bag going a little straighter but it was just a second. Then her face fell again. She doesn’t want to talk. Kara’s heart sunk yet she still stood up out of her chair as Lean left the elevator and turned away from Kara.

“Lee,” she called after her.

“I need more time,” Lena replied as she walked into her office, “I just need to sign some papers,”. Kara sighed and leaned against the nearest wall. The last two weeks had been hell. She couldn’t care less if Lena loved her back, she just wanted her best friend again. She missed Lena more than she could bear. Her life without Lena was unbearable. She’d take her back in any capacity. She needed her.

Kara tried to hold back the tears as she sank to the floor against the wall. Her head falling against her knees as she hugged her knees to her chest. Kara hated this. She didn’t know how long she stayed there but then someone was standing over her. It might have been a second after or an hour but someone was standing over her.

“Stand up,” Lena’s exasperated demand broke through Kara’s thoughts. Kara lifted her head and looked at her. “Just stand up,” Lena smiled. She smiled. Kara couldn’t help but smile. Lena stepped forward into Kara’s space and lifted a hand to her cheek, wiping a tear away gently.

“I want the record to note that I am still mad at you,” Lena smiled before she leaned forward and captured Kara’s lips in a gentle, cautious kiss. It took a second for Kara to register what was actually happening but then she reacted and the kiss quickly became so much less cautious and so much more perfect. If that was even possible.

Lena pulled away gently and Kara’s eyes opened slowly to look into Lena’s. “You realise if you had told me sooner we could have done that so many more times,” Lena smirked in a whisper against Kara’s lips.

“You didn’t tell me either,” Kara smiled.

“I’m still mad at you,” Lena warned her sternly, a smile tugging at her lips. Kara just hummed non-commitantly and leaned forward, capturing Lena’s lips in another kiss. Lena smiled into the kiss and Kara couldn’t help but do the same as her hand gingerly found their way to Lena’s waist and pulled her close as Lena’s hands stayed on Kara’s cheeks, holding Kara close to her.

Kara went to deepen the kiss but Lena pulled away, “This is a workplace,” she whispered against Kara’s lips before she pressed another light kiss there. Her hands withdrew from Kara’s as she pulled away from her touch. “Call me,” Lena winked before she picked up her bag and got on the open elevator.

Kara sucked in a breath as her heart skipped a beat and she leaned back against the wall, her hand hovering over the lips trying to desperately preserve Lena’s touch. Someone cleared their throat in front of her and Kara opened her eyes to see Lena standing there, desperately trying to hold back a laugh as she raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“You have a little,” Nia indicated her own lips and Kara brought up her hand to cover her lips this time, turning to look into the reflection of the wall behind them. There was definitely Lena’s lipstick there. Kara wiped it away reluctantly and turned back to face Nia who was smiling widely.

“What did she say?” Nia asked.

“She’s still mad at me and that I should’ve told her earlier. I'm pretty sure the kiss was just to show me what I had been missing,” Kara sighed happily, leaning against the wall as Lena let out a laugh.

“Should’ve told her sooner,” Nia smiled.

“I know,” Kara turned to look to the place Lena had disappeared before she turned back to Nia, “I’m going to marry that girl,” she smiled.

Nia shook her head with a smile and a sigh, “I’m surprised it took you this long to figure that out,”.

#kara danvers #lena luthor #kara x lena #lena x kara #supercorp #supergirl #supergirl cw #sgcw #katie mcgrath #melissa benoist #kashy mcgra #avery writes

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