#Litterally EVERYONE seeing a visible change in him and ignoring it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maddiwrites · 3 years

Text

Beauty is Pain

Pairing: Mostly Platonic!Pogues, mentions of JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: You and Kie try to wax your legs yourselves for the first time and accidentally get yourselves trapped in a sticky situation that gets you locked in your room with JJ and Pope while you listen to Sarah and John B fight outside your door. Routledge!Reader.

Note: I got this idea from a Friends episode. If you watched the show, you’ll know exactly which one I’m talking about. Mostly wrote this without the intention of doing a JJ x reader pairing but then I got an idea(: Hope y'all like it!

Word Count: 3.5k

Warning: Language, maybe angst??

For her birthday, Kie was gifted a hard waxing kit. At first you thought it was odd, a Kook like her was better off going to a professional to get evenly waxed brows or a perfectly clear bikini line. But when she asked you to try it out with her, you were intrigued.

You invited her over to your messy home everyone calls the Chateau. Your brother had a date with his Kook girlfriend, Sarah Cameron, which meant you had the house all to yourself. Even though it was just Kie, your best friend of four years, you decided to clean up the place before she got there. Your house was littered in empty beer cans and ends of JJ’s rolled blunts. You noticed John B was drinking more, smoking JJ’s weed, and even sleeping in later than usual. He’s called out of work two times in the past two weeks, and if he does manage to a say hello to you, it’s a grumbled mumble of words you can barely understand. You chopped it up to him just being moody, but there was also a small part of you that wondered if something serious was going on you didn’t know about.

You tried questioning your friends about it. Kie said she had no clue but noticed his change of attitude too. Pope would get nervous when you brought up John B’s name and claimed he didn’t know what you were talking about. Before you could question him further, his dad whisked him away to clean up the store and run a couple of last minute groceries. JJ, your boyfriend, tried to tell you it was probably nothing, but he wouldn’t make eye contact with you when he talked. He busied himself with rolling another blunt or folding the tossed laundry on your bedroom floor. When you called him out on it, he got snippy and frustrated, which just led you to drop the topic because you didn’t feel like dealing with a second moody teenager.

Kie showed up right when she said she would with the boxed waxing kit in her hand. You raised one brow up at it as you tossed the filled trash bag out the door.

“This it?” You said.

“Yes. You haven’t shaved your legs in a while, right?”

“Yeah. It’s been two weeks like you said. JJ says my legs are looking hairier than his. He’ll barely even touch them. One time he called them monkey legs.”

Kie rolled her eyes. “Boys are such hypocrites. If they had to do half the stuff we did, they wouldn’t be complaining at all. They shouldn’t even get to complain about what women decide to do with their bodies.”

Kie continued ranting about how pain is beauty and men will never understand it unless they lived in a woman’s body for a whole month, including the week a woman’s period started, as she set up the kit.

You worked in your room because there was more space for both of you to try your best to be comfortable. Kie plugged in the warmer on your nightstand and mixed the pink wax pellets with a flat wooden stick until it turned to a warm goo.

“Okay,” Kie sat up against your bed’s headboard and patted her thigh to motion for you to give her your leg. “You’re up.”

“Why do I have to be first?” You asked.

You’ve never waxed your legs before. Only your brows and sometimes bikini line and even then, you usually just pluck and shave. Getting your hair professionally waxed was expensive and you tried to prioritize your purchases as much as possible to stabilize the life you and John B still had.

Kie sighed. “Fine, we’ll do it together. Let me just put the wax on you.”

You gave Kie your left leg and she slathered the warm wax up the left side of your shin. You watched as she did the same to her own leg and grimaced nervously when you felt the wax hardening against your skin.

“Ready?” She asked with a teasing smirk.

“On the count of three?”

Kie nodded. “One.”

“Two.” “Three.”

At exactly three, Kie pulled the long waxing strip from your leg and you did the same with hers. A searing hot pain ran up you leg as Kie ripped the wax off, making you bite down a scream.

“Fuck!” Kie screamed up into the ceiling. You looked down at both your legs. There was a thick line of red from where the wax was. “That shit hurts.”

“Let’s try it again,” You suggested. “Maybe we’ll get use to it if we keep doing it.”

Kie nodded. “Okay. Yeah, let’s try again.”

This time, Kie slid two long strips on both your left and right leg. The warm wax felt soothing. You almost wished you didn’t have to rip it off in the first place.

“On three?” You said.

Kie nodded.

On three, you each ripped one strip off your own legs. You cursed against gritted teeth from the pain. You were wrong about getting used to it. You didn’t think you would ever be able to tolerate this pain.

“What the hell? This has never hurt this bad.” Kie said.

“I think whoever gave this to you secretly hates you,” You said to her.

Kie sighed and looked down at the hardening wax still left on your legs. “Well, we have to finish. We’ll just rip them all off really fast.”

“Okay.”

You ripped three out of the four strips that were left at rocket speed, but they all hurt exactly the same. It felt like you were ripping more than just the hair off your leg. You wouldn’t be surprised if you looked down and saw half the layers of your skin ripped off.

You blinked back the tears at the exact same time Pope and JJ busted into your room looking around frantically. JJ was holding a baseball bat and Pope a pan you just washed and placed on the drying wrack an hour ago.

“What’s wrong?” Pope yelled.

“What the hell is going on?” JJ narrowed his eyes at you, surprised he wasn’t looking at you being attacked by an intruder or covered in cuts and bruises. When he first heard you screaming when he and Pope walked into your house, his heart raced a million beats per minutes. His mind wandered to all the different things that could have happened to you. He swore he was going to make you lock your door every day and night now.

But here you were, safe and sound and laying in bed with Kie. Although he could see your labored breathing and clouded eyes, he knew you weren’t in any imminent trouble. His eyes traced from your face down to your legs where a pink strip of wax was still waiting to be pulled off.

“We’re fine. We’re just waxing our legs.” Kie said.

“What are you doing here?” You asked your boyfriend.

“Pope said Kie was here so we came to hang with you,” JJ said absentmindedly. “I thought you were being murdered.”

“It sure felt like it,” You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered from JJ’s protective side.

JJ scoffed. “It can’t hurt that bad.”

Kie tutted her head forward. “Oh yeah? Come here.”

“What? No.”

Kie ignored him and grabbed his arm from across your body and slapped on another slab of wax. JJ hissed from the heat then visibly relaxed.

“Y/N, wanna do the honors?” Kie smirked at you.

You glared at her. “I’m not volunteering to hurt my boyfriend.”

Kie scoffed at you. “What did he call your legs again?”

You clenched your teeth together and nodded once. Kie made her point, and you remembered everything she said about how men will never understand the pain women go through to please not only themselves, but their lovers too.

“Oh, yeah,” You said within a split second and ripped the wax off JJ’s arms. He flinched away from you, rearing his arm back far away from your reach. His mouth was opened in an ‘O’ shape and his brows pinched together. “Monkey legs.” You smirked at him.

“Fuck,” JJ shook out his arm as if you physically lit it on fire.

“It can’t hurt that bad, right, JJ?” Kie mocked him.

Pope laughed at his blonde friend and shook his head. “Stupid.”

“Y/N, you have one left.”

“Shut up, I know,” You rolled your shoulders back like you were getting ready to run a marathon.

“Want me to do it for you?” You nodded. JJ came up next to you and offered his hand for you to squeeze. “Okay. On three. One, two -” Before Kie even said the word three, she ripped the wax off. You closed your eyes and squeezed JJ’s hand hard, until his knuckles rolled in your closed fingers.

“Shit, baby,” JJ crouched next to you awkwardly, trying to mend his fingers back together.

“Sorry,” You huffed. You weren’t that sorry. He called you monkey legs.

You heard the screen door open and close. Figuring it was just John B back from his date, you relaxed against your headboard again and made a promise to yourself to never wax your legs again. Beauty wasn’t worth this pain. You’d rather be monkey legs than go through that again.

Or just simply shave.

“ - And that’s supposed to make this all okay?” Your eyes opened when you heard, not JB, but Sarah Cameron screaming right outside your room. Pope quickly closed your bedroom door as quietly as possible and held up his finger to you and Kie to be quiet. “That’s your excuse?”

Your brows pinched together in confusion and you looked at your boyfriend for some kind of answer. This was the first time you ever heard Sarah raise her voice at your brother. As far as you knew, the couple never fought.

JJ was looking down at the ground and avoiding your stare. His hands were wracked through his blonde strands and resting on the top of his head. He and Pope didn’t look as surprised as you and Kie.

“What the hell is going on?” Kie asked in a hushed whisper.

“I - I was scared. I’ve never done this before -” John B stuttered.

“Here’s some advice. Rule number one. Don’t cheat!” Sarah yelled. You swore you could hear the pain behind her voice.

You gasped in surprise and snapped your head in JJ’s direction. He wouldn’t look at you, which mean he knew about this long before you did. You put the pieces together. No wonder John B has been acting miserable. Who knows how long he’s been holding onto this.

Well...apparently JJ and Pope know.

“What the hell...” Kie sits up straighter. “Is she serious?”

“Did you know?” You asked your boyfriend. This time he did look at you. And he looked guilty as hell.

Your eyes snapped back to the door when John B yelled back at her. “That’s gold coming from you. Did Topper use that same line when you got together with me?”

You physically cringed at the mention of Topper’s name. It may have been a low blow, but John B had a point.

“Shit,” Kie cursed and sped walked towards the door.

You followed in her footsteps and pressed your ear against the door. One thing was for sure, you couldn’t leave your room now. You couldn’t walk in on that. But at least you could be nosy and eavesdrop.

“That’s not fair. I didn’t love him. I loved you. I left Topper for you!”

“You cheated on him.”

“Because I loved you, John B! You cheated on me because you were scared because...why? Because I’m a Kook? I’ve always been a Kook and you’ve never had a problem with that! Not until now!”

You and Kie crouched on the floor so JJ and Pope could hover over you and listen. It sounded like John B cheated on Sarah a couple weeks ago with a Pogue from your school because he got scared of his feelings for Sarah. Rafe got in your brother’s head, telling him how he will never be enough to care for Sarah when she’s no longer reliant on her father’s money. He became insecure and looked to someone who wouldn’t ever think of him like that - someone who would understand him.

John B was in the wrong and your heart cracked for the couple you once swore was going to be the first to get married out of your group of friends. Although you and Sarah had a rocky start, she quickly became the sister you never had. You got along just as much as you and Kie did. Sometimes John B would find it annoying when Sarah would come over to hang out with you instead of him, but the other part of him loved that the two most important people in his life were as close as he was with JJ. You couldn’t imagine him with anyone else. Not even another Pogue.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Sarah asked. She sounded broken and her voice cracked with exhaustion. You wanted to walk out of the room and hug her tightly while yelling at John B for being an absolute idiot.

You heard John B sigh. “I was going to. I regretted it the second it was over and I was afraid to tell you because I didn’t want you to leave me over some stupid mistake. JJ and Pope said -”

“JJ and Pope knew about this?”

You and Kie looked up at your boyfriends with the deadliest glare either of them have seen out of both you. JJ took a step back and held his hands up in surrender as if you were holding a loaded gun to his head.

“I can explain -” JJ said quickly as Pope’s mouth moved silently to come up with an excuse.

“I didn’t know what to do! They said telling you would only hurt you -” John B weakly tried to explain.

“Of course it would fucking hurt me! You’ve been lying to me for weeks. You had sex with another girl!”

You heard something shatter before a deafening silence. You waited for John B to say something, praying he was smart enough to say anything that could salvage what little of a relationship he had left.

You didn’t want to make this about you, but you wondered how many times JJ didn’t tell you something because it would hurt you. You wondered if he did anything just as detrimental to your relationship and didn’t tell you because he was afraid you would break up with him.

John B and Sarah continued to fight for another hour. You wondered if John B was worried about where you might be. If you go somewhere without telling John B, you usually text him later in the day to tell him where you are. It’s something both of you started doing ever since your father disappeared. So that if something were to happen, you would know where to look first.

You thought about jumping out your window, but your window frame was rusty. Even if you moved the window up a little bit, the wood would grind against each other, and your cover would be blown. You were getting hungry and JJ was getting antsy, probably afraid that John B would say something more to push him in the dog house. You’ve barely looked at him since John B threw him under the bus.

“Baby...” JJ said quietly to try to get your attention. “Come on, baby, let me explain.”

You glared at him and continued braiding Kie’s hair with your back to the door.

“We had good intentions,” Pope tried to save his own ass but Kie’s look mirrored yours. “We just didn’t want them to break up.”

“Shut up, Pope,” You said for Kie.

“We were wrong,” JJ said, making you advert your attention from Pope to your boyfriend. “I was wrong. It was my idea for John B not to tell Sarah. But the more time I spent with you, I knew I’d never be able to do that to you. It would eat at me inside, and that’s exactly what it was doing to JB. So yesterday I told him he had to tell her. Or else he would hate himself for the rest of his life if he didn’t.” Your eyes soften under his ocean blue ones and your hands fell from Kie’s hair. “I know I would.”

The corner of your lip twitched up into a lopsided grin, and just like that, you were entranced by the blonde Pogue all over again. JJ had his way with words. It’s gotten him both into certain situations and out of other bad ones. But you knew JJ like the back of your hand. You knew when he was lying. He wouldn’t look at you and if you questioned him on it he would get angry. Looking at JJ, you knew he was telling the truth.

“Yeah, what he said.” Pope said, pointing at your boyfriend.

You and Kie rolled your eyes playfully. Pope, on the other hand, wasn’t so great with his words. That’s why it took so long for him to score Kie as his girlfriend.

“Where are you going?” You heard John B yell. He sounded defeated.

“I can’t be here. I need...I need space.”

“Sarah...”

“Please. I just need time to think. Okay?”

Your front door slammed shut and you held your breath, waiting for John B to run after her or break more shit in your living room. But nothing like that ever came. Instead, you listened to John B cry to himself probably somewhere on the couch.

And just like that, you didn’t care about being caught. You didn’t care if he screamed in your face for eavesdropping or calling you nosy and inconsiderate. Your brother needed you, and in that moment, it didn’t matter to you that he was the one in the wrong. At the end of the day, he was your brother. Your blood. Your family. And you’re the one who will always be his rock.

Kie stood up with you and watched wearily as you showed yourself to your brother. John B looked up with wide eyes, surprised to see not only you but the rest of the Pogues hidden away in your room.

He wanted to be mad, but he didn’t have the energy to be. Instead, he cried harder because he hated that you of all people knew what he did and that he was now being weak by crying about it in your living room. He wanted to be the role model you could always look up to, especially now that your dad was gone. And he thought he failed at it.

John B was pleasantly surprised when he felt a pair of gentle arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him into a side hug as you sat on the couch next to him. Kie sat on the coffee table in front of you and rubbed John B’s knee comfortingly. Pope and JJ knew the girls were better equipped to handle John B’s emotions, so they busied themselves in the kitchen, grabbing a couple beers and pretzels and setting them down on the table next to Kie.

Even though John B cheated and created a big mess in not only his life, but the rest of yours too, you were family. You would never leave him on his darkest day and play the blame game. You’ll help him get control. You’ll help him fix it. You’ll help him live his life to the fullest. And that’s what John B loved about you. You never turned your back on him, even when he deserved it.

The five of you spent the rest of the night drinking beer, ordering pizza, and watching comedy movies to get him to forget. Later in the night, you and Kie left to comfort Sarah. You admitted that you two heard the whole thing and would support her with whatever she chose to do about her relationship. You and Kie slept over her house and discussed the pros and cons of her staying with John B. You ate popcorn and applied face masks while Keeping Up With The Kardashians played in the background.

“You know, Kie’s waxing kit is still at my house,” A mischievous smirk pulled at your lips. “We could cause a lot of damage while he sleeps.”

Kie encouraged the idea and Sarah laughed, feeling grateful that the two of you would even come to see her when you both had loyalties to John B. She really did love you guys and would be devastated if her relationship with John B drove you guys apart.

In the end, Sarah ended up taking John B back. It took a while for them to get their relationship back to the way it was, but they loved each other enough to salvage it. John B worked his ass off to prove how much he loved her and Sarah appreciated every second of it.

And as for you and JJ...well you made sure to give him one really good reason as to why he should never cheat on you (;

#jj maybank fic #jj fic #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #john b routledge #john b #kie carrera #pope heyward #pogues x reader #pogues #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank one shot

612 notes · View notes

phantomphangphucker · 3 years

Text

Phic Phight: [REDACTED] “Oh Goddamnit. DANNY!”

Prompt Creator: @mr-lancers-english-class

Even Danny’s school projects cause ghostly issues and Lancer really should have seen this coming.

Alright fine, Lancer knew this was a bad idea. He knew it. And yet... here they all are, with each of his students doing their self-chosen presentations. And as he should have expected, Every. Single. One. has been on Phantom. Sure at least there’s been some variety. Star’s piece on his fashion and how that reflects on his personality and the era he died was actually fairly interesting (if it wasn’t for the fact that Phantom spiced up his jumpsuit with t-shirts and whatnot sometimes then this would have been a very boring one). Kwan also surprised him some, apparently he’s spent the past year or so sneaking photos of Phantom eating and did a piece on Phantom’s rather peculiar food tastes (who dips their pickles in milkshakes???) as well as effectively providing proof for the existence of ectoplasmic food (there’s no way any earth apples are neon green on the inside). Dash’s wasn’t even correctly calculated, trying to figure out how far Phantom could throw footballs based on his known strength and if he could kill someone by tackling them (disturbingly the answer -regardless of Dash’s bad math- was decidedly yes. Daniel seemed particularly disturbed). And Paulina’s was quite literally a badly written self-insert ship fan fic; the added drawings of what their child would look like only made it worse (Daniel left, not that Lancer could blame him. Lancer’s also glad for the ghost fight interrupting the presentation). Emilie’s was... disturbingly about ghost hunger and purposed the thesis that Phantom, for the good of the town, should eat the aggressor ghosts (he actually had to cut her off for getting too graphic).

But the single most interesting thing was that a ghost apparently caught wind of this and literally Every. Single. Presentation so far had words that were permanently replaced with [REDACTED], which, needless to say, caused some chaos when Samantha gave the very first presentation.

Lancer clicked his pen, crossing his legs and resting the evaluation sheet on his thigh, “alright, Samantha. Feel free to start whenever you please, though soon would be preferred”, by ‘preferred’ he had meant required, but no need to be mean. He chooses to ignore the goth teen's eyeroll.

Predictably the projected screen doesn’t work when she opens her file so Lancer has to spend ten minutes fiddling with the outdated tech that they wouldn’t give the school funding to replace. Eventually, he does get it up and running showing Ms. Manson’s title screen reading ‘Phantom And Hate Crimes Against Blood Blossoms’. Lancer’s positive ‘blood blossoms’ are a type of flower, figures she would do something nature-focused. She’d make for a great herbalist or botanist someday. He does catch Daniel and Tucker giving her ‘death glares’, as the kids call it, though; Samatha doesn’t look any less smug. The second page has what he thinks was supposed to be a detailed drawing of a flower but it’s severely pixilated, almost as if it been blurred; Samantha looks visibly upset so he’s going to assume something when wrong with the file or pasting format. He’s not marking on artistic capabilities though, so effort is effort there.

She quickly clicks to the next page, where the actual writing of the assignment is and looks decidedly pissed; Lancer even quirks an eyebrow since at least two-thirds of the words are a very bold noticeable [REDACTED]. Lancer watches her yank out her physical copy while glaring with murderous intent at Daniel -Lancer will have to dock him marks if he messed with another student's project- before looking at the physical copy in bafflement for a few seconds. Half the class shrieking when she drops the papers and basically launches herself over the desks at Daniel, “OH YOU LITTLE FUCKER!!!! HOW THE FUCK!”.

Lancer’s sighs and stands, “language, Ms. Manson”, moving to pick up the papers and quirking an eyebrow over them looking the same. Sighing again and eyeing Daniel, who’s being choked -or throttled perhaps?- by Samantha yet is grinning innocently. “Daniel, messing with other students' work is against student policy”, sighing yet again, “and I’ll let Star go while Samantha fixes her document”, summoning up the blonde while glaring at Daniel. Some days that boy was more trouble than he was worth but he was also insanely bright and had a heart of gold. Lancer knows he’ll do good things someday, and that’s why he still tries with him.

Half the class is snickering or laughing now and Star is very clearly trying not to laugh as she sets up.

However, as soon as it opens up the class is met with a very familiar sight. [REDACTED] litters every single page; he checked. And Star’s physical copy was in the same state.

Kwan blinks, “okay seriously, what is going on”, before scrambling to grab out his own physical copy; the rest of the class going wide-eyed and following suit. Lancer just puts his head in his hands and sighs very audibly while shaking his head. Why could nothing go right? Sighing again as the class erupts into noise.

“Mines all weird too!”.

“Same here!”.

“Okay there is no way Fenturd messed up everyone’s work”.

“And I actually tried on mine! It was about the merits of Phantom getting armour!”.

“Oh damn do we just get auto hundreds now? Please please please say yes”.

“Oh damn, Phantom would actually look awesome in armour”.

“I know right”.

“Can we just skip class entirely now?”.

“Oh my Zone a ghost messed with or work”.

“Holy Shit”.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! You don’t think Phantom did do you?”.

“Why the heck would he do that? How would he even know??????”.

“Oh I hope Phantom was inside my computer. That would be so hot”.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe someone told him or he overheard shit. He’s a ghost, he can be invisible. Heck, he could be here, right now, invisible”.

“Invisible and laughing at us”.

“No! No! Hold up! What if he doesn’t want us writing about him or maybe someone wrote some sus shit and he just nerfed us all for good measure”.

“That would mean Phantom totally read my stuff, aw Hell yeah man. That was some boss shit”,

Lancer sighs and stands up, “alright that’s enough”, sighing again because why did this have to happen to him, “and I apologies for blaming you earlier, Daniel”.

Samantha snaps, “oh no, I still blame him”, and continues glaring at the teen. Lancer suspects Samantha would continue blaming the boy even if it was firmly proven he wasn’t at fault.

Addressing the class again, “here’s what we’re going to do, you’re going to read off what of your projects you actually can and allude to the rest. Please reframe from repeating what you know was there beforehand as I’d rather not have whatever ghost responsible -Phantom or otherwise- come here pissed off”, glaring at few students who look slightly encouraged rather than discouraged by that prospect, “anyone who does will receive automatic zeroes”, ah and the encouraged looks have deflated. Good. Gesturing at Star, “you’re already up here, so do continue”. Better to not bring the clearly infuriated Samantha back to the front until she’s had some time to calm down.

Star nods and clears her throat, thankfully everyone quiets down. “O-okay, well, um”, gesturing at the screen, “I did my piece on Phantom’s sense of fashion and the cover image was one with him dressed in one of the Spook Sense stores meme shirts....”.

Lancer shakes away the memory, he honestly slightly regrets giving this project. But regardless right now is Daniel’s turn and Lancer is honestly slightly fearful of what his file is going to look like. Thankfully all their files were saved to his computer before the [REDACTED] debacle, so no one could go back in and edit theirs to add [REDACTED]’s for an easy grade. Lancer’s still not exactly sure how he’s supposed to mark assignments that were anywhere from one-fifth to one-third [REDACTED]. That word will be burned into his head after this grading period.

Lancer moves to find the boys file, but stares when clicking it crashes the computer. Not once. Not twice. But thrice. The fourth time rebooting the computer he inspects the file and is a bit dumbfounded, “Daniel, your entire file’s corrupted. The file type has even been changed to redacted, which I’m fairly sure, isn’t actually any possible file designation”. Everyone’s silent for a bit before bursting out into laughter.

“Just what the Zone did you write, Danny!”.

“Oh we so have to know what this is now”.

“Danny has the forbidden knowledge! We haft found him! The keeper of things forbidden and Ghostly! Haza!”.

“Ha! It was probably so lame that Phantom wanted to save him the embarrassment”.

Lancer sighs, but Daniel gestures Tucker up, “hey Tuck, feel like trying to fix the file”. Tucker chuckles and walks up, though apparently glaring at the boy. Based on Daniel’s smirk he finds this quite amusing.

Tucker does manage to make the file viewable at least. Lancer nods and leans back in his seat, “thank you, Mr. Foley”, while the file loads on screen.

Tucker sits back down with a head shake while Daniel stands at the front and gestures to the screen, “aight, as you can see from my not redacted title-”, that earns a couple laughs, “I did mine on Phantom’s portfolio of crime. Every single time our dear Phantom broke ghost law. Including such wonderful things as, that time he caused not one, not two, not even three, but five, prison breaks in one day. Or that time he invalidated a Observant spectator duel by bringing an inflatable sword”. Samantha slams a hand on her desk, “IT IS YOUR FAULT YOU DICK!”.

Lancer has some serious questions as Daniel clicks for the next page, the entire class going dead silent as a screen comprising of almost nothing but the word [REDACTED] shows. Lancer sighs very audibly. Eventually the class starts up again.

“Fenton... actually has forbidden knowledge”.

“If it wasn’t for the teacher computer saved thing I’d think he was fucking with us”.

“I mean... he is a Fenton, right?”.

“Okay the fact that this entire presentation is on ghost crimes is concerning alone. But they’re forbidden ghost crimes at that”.

“Shit I wanted the tea. Damnit”.

“Better question, how does Danny know?”.

Daniel clicking the button to go forward is very audible. And, Chicken Soup For The Soul, every single page is [REDACTED] to the point of being completely and utterly unintelligible. There are occasional lines pointing out how Phantom apparently ate confetti at a ghosts third wedding (which is apparently illegal for some reason) or that time he beat someone up with a violin that had a pie inside it (Lancer can see this one, Lancer himself has smacked a ghost with stranger). Literally the only photo that isn’t blurred beyond recognition is one of Phantom in a prison uniform (Paulina was very vocal about liking men in uniform here). Lancer is absolutely positive the end of his conclusion ‘[REDACTED] are a bunch of [REDACTED]’ is an insult.

Samantha chucks a boot at his smirking face, “YOU IDIOT. Of course they were going to block you from talking about them. Ancients, I can’t believe you”. Tucker’s busy laughing into his hand.

“Oh my Zone, they know too”.

“They’re really earning that weirdo trio title, huh”.

Daniel snickers as he sits back down, “they broke into my room and wrecked that epic puzzle I was working on. They shoulda seen this shit coming. Literally”. Tucker snorts, “they probably did but couldn’t do anything else about it. They can’t stop you and your endless bullshit”.

“Damn fucking straight”.

Lancer isn’t going to claim to know what exactly they’re talking about but apparently Daniel effectively orchestrated this entire fiasco just to annoy some ghost. Lancer is honestly more impressed than disturbed. A for effort but an A- for making everyone's work nigh unusable.

End.

Prompt: For the last project of their senior year in high school, Mr. Lancer is letting his class do presentations on literally whatever topic they want. He is very, /very/ sure that this is going to go poorly, but that's a problem for later...

239 notes · View notes

aomineavenue · 4 years

Text

betrayal

Pairings: Oikawa Tooru x Reader

Genre: angst (like honestly, tell me what else do I know to write for?)

Summary: finding the other cheated.

Word Count: 1k+

Mia’s General Taglist:

@luvelyxp @paripedia @bokukiyoom @sunnyatsumu @centuress @doggonudez @newfriendjen @kodzukrn @anjvxmmv @keijikunn @maramalademadara @chaelysian

mia speaks:

annnd, i’m back from my little break? I’m feeling a little better. I’m writing on my own pace though, I’m avoiding using my gadgets as much. But anywayyy, thank you so much for everyone’s love and patience.

If it’s not too much, please leave a little COMMENT on this piece or at least REBLOG if you like it. Thank you so much!

"Oh! I'm sorry!" You cry out, throwing your hands up in the air and letting out a dry laugh, "I didn't mean to throw that vase at you, it was an accident!" Your rampage began, anything you can get your hands on, a book, the tv remote, a magazine, a pillow, just anything, was thrown around the room and he dodged it the best that he could.

Betrayal.

It's a violation of a presumptive contract, trust, or confidence that produces moral and psychological conflict amongst individuals. It's considered one of the most painful, traumatising experiences any human may stumble upon throughout their existence. Discovering such an act from someone we trust, may often lead to various emotions that pull the reality rug from under us.

It comes in many forms. Such as abandonment, breaking promises and even the spread of vicious lies behind someone's back.

In your case, however, it's when you come to face reality that the man you agreed to marry just a few months prior, was nowhere near faithful as he claimed to be. Or to put it simply, the bastard was having an affair.

You had been too preoccupied with wedding plans, that you grew ignorant of the blunt signs visible to the naked eye. You were foolish. The two of you haven't even tied the knot yet and there he was, already breaking the sacred promise of a marriage.

For a brief second, you had foolishly wanted nothing more than to look the other way. When he had stumbled home in such an ungodly hour, drunk off his ass, you had wanted nothing more than to reprimand his behaviour as he woke you up from your slumber. As you were about to, however, the whiff of an unfamiliar fruity aroma had attacked your senses the second you had stepped into his proximity.

Of course, you weren't the type of woman to berate their significant other over such a trifling concept without hearing his side of the story, you knew such behaviour will be a downfall for any relationship.

You brushed such an idea off, as much as the scent was bothering you, there was no use in questioning him in his intoxicated state. Well, that is, until you had stepped closer and that's when you saw it.

Bruises, no doubt growing darker as seconds passed by, littered decoratively on his skin, as if left intentionally on his neck for the world to see. For you to see.

That's when your own world falls apart. The walls that the both of you had built together to strengthen your relationship, crumbling apart, taking what you had presumed were strong foundations along with it.

You actually find it hilarious how, just moments ago, he had been stumbling into the shared apartment the two of you had worked so hard for, drunk off his ass, a giggling mess, not being able to comprehend the words that left his mouth. Then all of that changed the moment your lips moved to spew accusations towards his direction, it was as if the alcohol had escaped out of his system almost immediately through the sweat he had produced, obviously from the fear of the consequences of his actions.

He calls out your name desperately to capture your attention, you wanted to leave the apartment you called home right this second, the atmosphere suffocating you further. You try your best to blink away the tears, but you know it's impossible as your vision grows glossy.

"Please," he cries out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull you back, "Please just wait, let's—"

"Oikawa," you croak, he flinches from your tone and how you addressed him by his last name. He begs, he cries, telling you to call him Tooru, pleading with you with his desperate eyes. "Oikawa," you repeat, wincing from his tight grip as you turn to face him, his heart clenches to see your eyes filled with nothing but hate and tears, the love he had grown accustomed to seeing, nowhere to be found. "Oikawa, let go!" You shake your wrist out of his hold, refusing to give him the satisfaction of you staying, whatever for anyway? The idea of listening to his excuses only breaks your heart further, you didn't want to see him, not right now, maybe not ever. You certainly didn't want to hear how such bruises even came about to taint his skin. You didn't even want to look at them anymore, you didn't want to look at him. The sight of his disheveled state, the bruises on his neck taunting you, squeezing your heart and you're finding it even harder to breathe.

His desperation shows as he follows you, or rather blocks you from your very evident goal, reaching the front door to escape this sham of a relationship. "Please, let me explain. It was an accident—"

The sight of the tears forming in his own eyes makes you laugh, despite your heart hurting, that it was being pulled apart and all you wanted to do was dissolve into tears, anger began taking over your emotions and to Oikawa, it was clear as the night sky despite the alcohol still swimming in his system, that his begging was futile.

"An accident?" You bark, features contorting into anger as your fingernails bury into your palms, "Do you take me for someone who lacks brain cells? Letting a woman kiss you? That's an accident?"

He winces from the harshness of your tone as he watches you move in the small living room that once radiated so much love and warmth. He knows he fucked up, he knows his answers were no use. The very idea of cheating was taboo for you and what did he do? He fucked up. He knows whatever form of reasoning will never be enough, but he knows he wants to fix the damage he had done. "Please, just listen. It really was just an accident. Baby, you have to—"

"Don't call me that!" You snap at him, using what little energy you have left to push him away from you, his scent mixed with the aroma of alcohol and the fruity perfume were enough to suffocate you. "You don't get to call me that anymore."

His heart hurts upon hearing those words but he continues begging, dropping down to his knees in front of you but you couldn't even bring yourself to care. The mere sound of his voice reaching your ears were enough to fuel the enraged flames surrounding your heart. He tries to approach you, as cautiously as he could but you respond quickly to his actions, taking a step back.

Silence.

The cold air blows through the opened windows and enters the tiny room but despite its cool temperature, it wasn't enough to overpower the heat from the anger and tension radiating off from you. You avoided his pleading gaze, staring straight at the wall behind him as you seethe in anger. You feel your exhaustion dragging you down, your muscles hesitating on letting your guard down. The final straw was when he repeated his sorry excuse. It was an accident.

Your fingers wrapped hastily around the nearest vase and threw it towards his direction. He was quick on his feet despite being tipsy, dodging to the side. The vase hits the wall behind him, smashing into smaller pieces and sliding down to the carpeted floor, the fresh flowers that he had given you a few days prior that occupied the vase, scattered along with the broken fragments. He turned to look at the broken vase and then back at you, despite the fear in his eyes, he was still begging.

He cries out your name, begging you to stop. "Please, I'm sorry. Please, just listen to me."

Your eyes caught the picture frame that rested on one of the shelves and a lump forms in the back of your throat. The picture was the very first picture of the both of you. The day that the two of you met. Without wasting another second, you grabbed it from its location and hurled it towards his direction. The frame misses him by an inch, smashing against the wall with a crack and his heart sinks further, he knows how much you loved that photo. He would often catch you in the early mornings with a cup of your favourite tea, staring at the photo with a smile on your face.

He ruined that.

"I'm sorry, Oikawa." You drawl sarcastically, letting out another laugh, "I didn't mean to throw those things, especially our picture but hey! It was an accident, right?"

"I'm sorry," he murmurs softly in defeat, shifting his gaze down to his hands.

You shake your head at him, “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

And before he could comprehend what was happening, you had already fled the apartment with your car keys.

#oikawa x reader #oikawa angst #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuufic #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu angst

1K notes · View notes

amysteriousmessenger · 3 years

Text

‘Crucified’ - Savior Saeran x Reader NSFW 18+ Reader Insert

Title: Crucified

Paring: Savior Saeran Choi x Implied Female Reader

Wordcount: 8K

Rating: 18+

Tags: church sex, altar sex, oral sex, wax play, just a whole lot of blasphemy

Based on: ‘Crucified’ by Army of Lovers - Youtube Link

A sharp knock came at your door. It was almost midnight, and you’d already showered and gotten into bed for the evening, so you didn’t understand who would be needing your attention so late. Part of you wanted to ignore the knocking and pretend you couldn’t hear it through your sleep, but you knew that there was a good chance that whoever was knocking wouldn’t leave until they had gotten your attention. So, you sighed and pulled your long dressing gown on and wrapped it tightly around your body since you didn’t know who might be at the door at such a hour. You opened it to find two Believers who introduced themselves by Believer number and greeted you with ‘For Paradise.’

‘The Savior wants you in the Chapel. We have been sent to escort you there.’ They shifted uncomfortably.

You squinted, scrutinising them slightly, ‘At this time?’

While it wasn’t uncommon to be summoned or woken up at any hour of the night, you were always tentative to leave your room after dark since Magenta was so large and was, strategically, built like a maze. You were always too worried about getting lost on your way around. The only place you could feasibly find your way to and from after dark was the gardens since you no longer had Ray as an escort around the rest of the building. A small, sad voice echoed in your head, correcting yourself that you no longer had Ray at all.

‘We are not ones to question orders from The Savior. We were told to deliver this to you.’ The hooded Believer handed the wrapped item to you.

The Believers knocked once again on your door, telling you that The Savior had told them to bring you promptly, so you hurried yourself out of the room and into the corridor. Somehow, you hadn’t noticed the heavy rain from inside your room but it seemed to be thrashing violently against the windows along the winding corridors towards the chapel, and was amplified by the silence of the Believers that escorted you. Briefly, you considered asking whether they knew why The Savior had wanted to see you at such a time but figured that they wouldn’t tell you the truth even if they did know so it would be pointless to try. After all, who would willingly walk to their own Cleansing? They wouldn’t have wanted to have made their own jobs more difficult by having you put up a fight.

You were slightly confused and held the item out of view behind the door as you opened it, ‘Right. Allow me a moment to change into this.’ They nodded and you closed the door. Turning on the light, you quickly unwrapped the item in its entirety; It was a short, black chemise. For a moment, you looked at it in surprise. This was… unusual. You ran your fingers over the fabric, until your heart raced at the realisation that perhaps you were being taken for a Cleansing. You wracked your brain for any instance where you might have upset The Savior without realising, but none immediately came to mind. You knew the Savior had the tendency to never talk about the forwarding intentions of Mint Eye, so everyone was almost perpetually on edge. You changed quickly and placed your dressing down back over your shoulders, wrapping it tightly once again. You didn’t know how long you were going to be out, and the Chapel was always cold, especially after the sun had gone down. You knew you needed to look presentable, as it was customary for Believers to either never show their face in front of The Savior, or if they were permitted to be seen; made sure they looked their absolute best as to not displease the higher ups.

With that in mind, you raced into your bathroom to spray yourself with some perfume that Ray had once given you, gargle some mouthwash and roughly drag a brush through your hair. As you put on a pair of slip-on shoes, you couldn’t fight the anxiety that had started to bubble in your chest, even though you knew that there was no use in dwelling on it before knowing either way. And yet, you had seen how The Savior had treated other Believers for their wrongdoings, and while you wanted to believe that you were different, believe in the history that the two of you shared, you were still scared. Perhaps it was because of that history, that bond, that was the cause of your summons.

The Chapel had been built slightly to the side of the main Magenta building, so you had to go outside to get to it. Luckily, there was a shelter that ran all the way along towards the Chapel entrance, so you didn’t get wet, but the wind was enough to rob you of the remaining heat that the anxiety had been merciful enough to leave you with. By the time you stood at the Chapel door, you had been chilled to the bones. The Believers bowed slightly towards you, bidding you farewell with a ‘For Paradise’ before leaving you alone to face your apparent penance.

You knocked meekly.

‘Enter.’ The deep voice commanded from within, making your heart skip a beat. Your hands were pressed against the wooden door, but you struggled to find the strength to open them. You hadn’t seen him in so long, the man you saw walking around Mint Eye, who looked through people as though he didn’t see them, was barely a remnant of the man you loved. You knew better than to keep him waiting and pressed yourself into the door and let it close behind you.

The heavy scent of incense and candles were the first thing to hit you when you closed the door, it was almost intoxicating by nature. Despite the Chapel being a newer addition to the grounds, it was somewhat remarkable that it already smelled like an aged church, you felt like you could smell the history that had never been occurred there. During the day, it was usually only illuminated by natural lighting and after the sun went down, they relied on candlelight and the moon for visibility. You heard him move, but dare not lift your gaze.

‘F-For Paradise.’ You stuttered, bowing your head slightly to look at the ground. Had you always been so nervous to see him? Everything was so different now, but it could not be denied that he was the one who personally summoned you to the Chapel at this time of night.

‘For Paradise.’ Saeran replied, ‘Do you know why I’ve summoned you?’ His voice echoed in the dark, small Chapel. Your heart stopped at hearing him speak, you couldn’t even remember the last time that he had directly addressed you. You looked up towards the other end of the small hall to where he was standing, in all of his Savior attire. He stood at the base of the steps before an altar, surrounded by dozens of lit candelabras, the small orange flames were almost enough to cast come colour into his cheeks. Almost. Suddenly, your heart was in your throat and it took you a few seconds to find your words. You couldn’t even process how much you had missed him, how much you had craved for the future that you had hoped to have together in another life.

‘Am I here to be cleansed?’ The words came out as barely a whisper, but he heard nonetheless. You had barely spoken to Saeran since he had become Mint Eye’s Savior, you hadn’t been permitted to request an audience and he had never made a personal visit. He was distant from everyone, cold and composed. It was as though he was imitating Rika, imitating what he thought he should be doing in this new role. He walked throughout Mint Eye as though he didn’t see anyone, even if you passed him, he’d never looked at you. He usually carried himself with an elevated, yet undeniably melancholic presence that was not easy for people to approach. They feared in him the same way that they had once feared Rika, with the added knowledge that Saeran was more experienced with Cleansing rituals. Whereas Rika would only witness and conduct them, Saeran was the one to carry them out.

‘Of sorts. You’ve been brought here to make a confession first. Kneel.’ He turned to you, slowly raising one arm to his side to gesture where he wanted you to place yourself. It was difficult to convince your legs to move, they were leaden with fear. A confession? What had you done that you needed to confess for? And… ‘first’? What did that mean would be coming afterwards and-

‘Come.’ The voice commanded, slightly sterner this time, reflecting a certain degree of the coldness he exhibited walking around Magenta. You gasped, looking up into his face. He, however, was looking away.

You pulled your nightdress around you as you walked between the Chapel pews towards the altar where Saeran was standing. The floor was marble with a singular, dark red carpet running along the centre with the moonlight shining small reflections of colour through the stained-glass window. You glanced up at Saeran as you walked, trying to read his reaction, but he gave nothing away to you. He was a ghost, the ghost of the man you loved.

‘Kneel.’ He said as you dropped to your knees before him. You knew that the Mint Eye beliefs had been steeped in Catholicism, since the previous Savior was a devout believer and there were rumours that the current one before you had been living in a Cathedral prior to coming to Magenta. The religious elements that became core beliefs in Mint Eye were evident throughout both Chapel and practices. It was set up with the same small layout of a church, and while there were no melodic hymns, there were prayers and chants to be memorised and recited, ‘For Paradise’. Saeran even wore a teal cross on his robes, there were other smaller mental crosses littered around the Chapel too. Believers were taught to worship the Savior as though they were a God themselves, as for all intents and purposes, they were akin to one. The dark oak altar was ornate and decorative, adorned with candles and goblets and a matching marble top.

You clasped your hands together in a prayer-like gesture as he told you to and stared down onto the floor with your hands stretched out in front of you. You watched as his robes shift as he turned to you, and a part of you was worried that he was going to hear the thud of your heart echoing throughout the dark building. Suddenly, his hand came into your view, and placed two fingers underneath your chin to tilt your head up to meet his icy gaze.

‘I want to see your eyes when you’re confessing yourself to me. I’ll know if you’re lying.’ He said, removing his fingers. You swallowed, desperate to shudder from the touch but finding yourself unable to move. That was the first time he’d touched you in so long, since long before he became this. You had forgotten how much you had missed his touch and found yourself almost wishing that you had leaned into his hand.

‘Wha- What should I be confessing?’

‘I think we both know.’ He replied from above, his eyes were cruel, never giving you a moment to even gather your thoughts. ‘Confess your feelings for me, for the man who you wanted me to be. Cry for your sweet Ray, mourn for your lost Saeran.’

‘I-I…’ You trailed off, before Saeran interjected with:

‘Would it help you if I acted like them?’ He asked, a slight sneer spreading over his features.

‘No, thank you.’ You muttered, trying to pull your eyes away. You looked down at your hands, knowing that you weren’t going to get out of this confession anytime soon if you didn’t cave in and admit it to him. Of course, Saeran already knew. He still had access to most of their memories, so he knew of the time you shared with each of them, but that was not the point of this confession. It was to taunt you.

‘From the moment this confession starts, every second will be one closer to being bound.’ Saeran turned, picking up one of the long, white pillar candles and titled it so that the wax started dripping onto your clasped hands. ‘Begin.’

One by one, the soft rolls of white wax splattered onto your skin. It felt like a timer of sorts, and in effect, you supposed it was. You weren’t even sure where you were supposed to start. In the months it had taken to adjust to the new Savior, you had already mourned for the boys that you had lost, and who they were about to become. You had spent many nights crying for what could have been and for what had gone wrong. You had suffered alone, and been forced to watch the man you love become someone he had struggled so hard to break free from. How were you supposed to say all of this in front of him? Of course, he already knew, but he clearly intended to hear it fall from your mouth like a litany of sins.

The wax began dripping freely over your fingers, seeping in between the lines of your hands and heating between your palms. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you could definitely feel the warmth of the wax melting into your bones. It seemed as though Saeran was about to provoke you to speak again, but you manage to find your voice on your own.

‘Ray-… he was precious. He was so scared.’ You continued to watch the candle drip onto your hands, ‘He was a sweet boy, who gave too much of himself to the wrong people. He was sensitive. Obsessive, even. He just wanted to feel loved in the same capacity that he was willing to love.’ You muttered, as the wax started to slip down your wrists. Saeran seemed to savour the last sentence you spoke, appearing to mull it over in his own mind before deciding the next course of action. It took him a few seconds but he finally asked;

‘And did you?’

‘Yes.’ But of course, he already knew that.

‘And? I’ve always thought him rather melancholic.’ Saeran replied from above, looking rather disinterested with what you had to say about Ray.

‘He just wanted to be happy.’ You replied, watching as Saeran reached for another candle. It hadn’t occurred to you that the wax was slowly sealing your hands together in a frozen prayer, until that moment. He lit the fresh candle off of the dying one and tilted it once more over your hands, cocking his head to one side.

‘So be it. Continue.’ He deadpanned.

You had to think again, Saeran had certainly been a lot. It had taken you even longer to process as, just when you thought there had been a solid hope for him to heal, his salvation had been snatched from his hands once more and poisoned. There had been a lot of times in Magenta that Saeran had scared you, or hurt you. His erratic nature would come at the expense of both of you, and it was only when he realised that he was damaging himself just as much as he was damaging you that the burning rage in his heart that begun to cool. He couldn’t swallow his anger, but he couldn’t stop it from dipping into Ray’s sadness, melding them together in a tragic oasis.

‘Saeran was… scared too, but he had to be scared for himself and for Ray…’ You took a deep breath, ‘He was violent and volatile. Saeran was unstable. Well, they both were, but in different ways. Saeran wanted to be happy too but he didn’t know how to be. Every time some form of happiness was hung in front of him, it was ripped away as soon as he tried to reach his hand out for it; so, after a while he just stopped trying.’

‘How very ‘Beauty and the Beast’ of you.’ He said, twirling the candle in an almost bored-like state.

‘You were the one who asked.’ You muttered, almost forgetting who you were speaking to before hurriedly adding a ‘Savior’ on the end. It was getting rather difficult to unclasp your hands under the thick layer of wax, it had started to cool and harden with the time it had taken to talk about the two lost boys. Saeran tutted, and even though the heavy sounds of the rain, it seemed to be an all-encompassing sound.

‘And Saeran? What about him?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did you love him too?’ His face was a little bit different this time, yet you couldn’t figure out quite how. Saeran seemed a little bit more interested, but his face never indicated that you had piqued his interest. This Saeran was so visually cold that you weren’t sure how you should place your emotions in front of him. You had seen how quickly Ray had become Saeran, and you didn’t know who that Saeran had become. And yet, you could not lie.

‘…Yes.’

‘I see.’ He replied but said nothing else as he reached for another candle and began melting it once again. Part of you wanted to ask if the confession was over, but the more reasonable part of your brain said it was better to wait to be dismissed, since it was a Saeran that you did not know. The Chapel was silent aside from the sound of the weather hitting the stained glass and the gentle erythematic breathing coming from the both of you.

‘Have you come to an epiphany of me yet? Preach your findings to me.’ He pulled your face up to meet him once again. No matter the Saeran, his eyes were always the same. Wherever he went, whoever he was; he was doomed to carry that dejected gaze.

‘No… I haven’t.’ You muttered under your breath.

‘Disappointing.’

‘I’m sorry, t-this is the first time we’re meeting.’

‘First impressions then. Don’t keep me waiting.’ His voice was chilly again, clearly dissatisfied that you had yet to draw any conclusions about the man in front of you. You were slightly panicked over the fact that you needed to come up with something on the spot, especially at the risk of offending him. You noticed, in a similar moment, that you were no longer able to part your hands. The wax had solidified to the point where you could just about tense and untense your fingers inside of the warm encasing, but not enough to free them, not unless you put a bit of effort into it. You didn’t have time to consider it much longer, as Saeran’s insistent staring made it overtly apparent that he was impatiently awaiting your response.

‘You’re not…as cold as Saeran. But, you’re also not as optimistic as Ray. Forgive me but-’

‘Go on.’ He said.

‘It’s like you’re the melancholic combination of the two… it’s as though you took on the sadness of both of them and made it your own-’

He almost sighed; ‘So that’s what you think.’

‘I’m afraid that I do not know you very well, Saer- Savior.’ Immediately correcting yourself, you sharply bit at the inside if your own cheek for your error. He was silent. You lowered your hands so that they were just resting on your lap as you kneeled

‘I suppose… I could let you know me better…’ His voice dropped as his hand moved from under your chin, to hold you by the jaw, and lift your face up towards him. With his other hand, he grabbed the ornate goblet from on top of the altar and brought it to his own lips, drinking from it slightly. He kept you on your knees, but his movements were slow and purposeful. Saeran never took his eyes from you up until the last moment, waiting to see if you told him to stop. You didn’t. As you felt him place his lips on yours, you let your eyes flutter shut and a tear roll down either cheek. You felt the rush of a liquid flood into your mouth, it was sweet. You knew that Elixir was usually kept in that goblet, as you had seen it forced into people’s mouths during atonements, but this only tasted weakly of that bright blue poison, if at all. Despite your better judgement, you swallowed. You weren’t sure what provoked him to do it, but you thought you’d never get to feel the touch of Saeran’s kiss again. Even if this was to be the last one, you’d have to cherish it.

If you would have asked him why he kissed you in that moment, Saeran probably wouldn’t have told you. He didn’t want to explain that both Ray and Saeran were crying for you. How Ray wanted to hold you in his arms just once more time, how Saeran wanted to try accepting the affection you were so willing to offer him. Neither could stand to see the distance between you and the Saeran in front of you and implored him to do something about it. No, he could never admit that.

He broke the kiss first, and for a moment, he looked as though he was in pain. His hand fell from your face, reaching up to his head for a second as he winced. You wondered, briefly, if Ray and Saeran were both yelling at him in the same way that Ray told you of Saeran’s constant stream of complaints. He wasn’t coughing in the same way that he did whenever he drank the Elixir himself, confirming that what he had given you was not harmful. Even now, in this warped manner, he was trying to protect you in the same way that the other two had done.

In a second of uncharacteristic confidence, you chased his lips, standing to try and kiss him again. You almost stumbled into him in your eagerness. You had been so desperate to repress the feelings of hurt and abandonment in the last few months in the loss of him that you were willing to throw away your sense of anxiety if it meant just getting to be close to him once more. He didn’t move away, letting you kiss at his lips.

It took a few seconds for him to move his lips against yours, since this Saeran still only had the same amount of experience as the others. He made no grand gestures but responded to your touch in the same way that you responded to his. His lips were warmer than you remembered Ray’s being, and you hoped that meant that Saeran was looking after himself better, eating and sleeping as his body needed. He lifted his hand to cup your neck before slowly tracing his fingers to settle on the space between your jaw and neck.

He pulled back, but held onto you, just so he could look at you. You watched as his icy eyes glanced between yours, trying to decipher why you were so willingly still kissing him. He furrowed his brows slightly, as though trying to have a silent conversation with himself, before he kissed you again. This kiss was slightly rougher than the previous times, there was more force behind his lips. It felt emotional. His frozen persona was not melted, but there was a gentle warmth to his touch that reminded you of Ray. You wanted to hold him, to run your hands over his shoulders again like you had dreamt of doing for so long, but your hands remained encase in wax between the two of you. You didn’t want to push your luck, so you gently parted your lips and waited to see if he wanted to deepen the kiss himself. When you felt his tongue slightly touch your lower lip, you all but melted against him. A breath audibly hitched in your throat and seemed to give him a bit more confidence in what he was doing.

Without having your hands free to hold it closed, your dressing gown came undone and Saeran’s hand found its way inside and around your waist, pulling you against him without breaking the contact of the kiss. Your own hands were pressed against your chest in betwixt both bodies, just lightly only your heart which was racing violently.

It was only when the backs of your thighs touched the cold edge of the altar that you registered that you had been guided upwards. Saeran didn’t take his mouth off of you and gently pushed you by the hips. You had to trust had he was moving you properly because, with your hands sealed together in front of you, there was no way to stop yourself if you fell.

You felt somewhat exposed as your dressing gown became completely undone by the time you were ever-so-slightly leaning onto the side of the altar, the temptation to sit on top of the surface was overwhelming, especially after you had been kneeling for so long. As Saeran’s lips descended from your mouth and down along your jaw and tentatively onto your neck, you seized the opportunity to seat yourself on top of the altar, just enough to grant your legs some sanctuary. He cocked an eyebrow at you briefly, before resuming the kisses on your throat.

Now that you were sitting, it seemed too distant, too far away, so you parted your legs to allow him to mover closer once again by standing in between them. He didn’t address it, but quickly understood that you wanted him to fill the space and moved close enough that he was almost looming over you. His presence reminded you of Saeran, in-control and commanding, and yet very attentive. You were somewhat embarrassed by this newfound intimacy, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying every single second of it. Part of you felt a sense of religious guilt for doing such things in a Chapel, supposedly under the eyes of God. And yet, it was with the very God of that Chapel that you were committing those sacrilegious acts with, so could it really be desecration of the Holy Ground if he permitted it?

He left small lovebites on your neck, moving down towards your collarbones and you tried to stifle a moan, fearing that it would echo through the building. You gasped at the sensation whenever his lips would attack a new part of your flesh, leaving you more and more sensitive with each passing moment.

‘They both wanted you like this.’ He whispered, almost huskily against your ear. You shuddered against him, immediately wanting more.

‘O-oh.’

‘They thought about it everyday.’ It felt so sinful to be doing something with a man dressed in religious garments, and yet you were entirely captivated by the sight of him.

‘You’re very honest.’ You mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks at his confession. Part of you couldn’t imagine sweet Ray, who stuttered over handing you a rose, would fantasise about something like this.

Saeran paused for a moment before adding: ‘I have no reason to lie about it.’

‘I see.’ You once told Saeran that he only wouldn’t look at you because Ray was in his eyes, but now you could see them both there, staring back at you at he spoke. The melancholy was undeniable, but so was the yearning.

As you moved your arms over Saeran’s shoulders, the motion caused the wax to break and fall off, allowing you to run your fingers through his hair. It was as soft as you remembered, and you could have cried at the feeling of it in your hands. While the Saeran was different, it was still him. There was something undeniably biblical about it, having broken that restraint.

‘Do you require a Cleansing?’ He asked, causing you to break off the kiss. Your heart was already racing from the heated atmosphere, but now it was thudding for a different reason. You looked at him tentatively, making sure you were on the same page.

‘C-cleansing?’

‘A different sort… than the ones conducted downstairs.’ He chose his words carefully, glancing down at the floor as though to emphasise his point, but without any indication as to what he actually meant.

‘What do you mean then?’

‘Intimately.’ Saeran replied.

‘Intimately?’

‘Together.’ He said. Oh. So, that’s how he’s phrasing it. It was only then that you realised how Saeran actually looked. He was panting ever so slightly, his hair dishevelled from there you had had your hands in it, even his long robes were slightly creased from where he had been leaning between your legs. It looked as though his body wanted this as badly as yours did.

You swallowed, ‘Together.’

He once again began kissing you, taking your lips with his as you started to become more and more turned on from his touch and the excitement of what was to come. It was evident that Saeran was also starting to feel the heat of the moment as he began pulling at your bottom lip slightly with his teeth, earning soft moans from you.

You felt him raise his hands to your shoulders and gently push you down so that your back was flat upon the marble altar top. Suddenly thankful for your black robe conserving the slightest bit of warmth as the coldness of the stone hit your back.

Saeran was leaning over you. He was still standing between your legs as they dangled off the side, but he was entirely over your torso and chest, causing his blue sash to dangle off of his shoulders on either side of your head. His mouth was on yours once again and his hands were on your side, your own arms were around his neck, pulling him closer. Not close enough. You had waited so long to touch him again, you thought you had lost him forever. You lifted your legs, wrapping them around the back of his thighs, almost making him fall on top of you. A small shiver of excitement shot down your spine as you heard his breath catch in his throat at your legs wrapping around him and it definitely spurred him on.

He took two fingers and put them under your chin and slowly, oh so slowly, traced them in a continuous line down your chest, in between your breasts and all the way down your abdomen, stopping just above where the line of your underwear was. Since you’d pulled him towards you with your legs, you could now feel the rise of his erection brushing against the side of your exposed inner thigh. You gasped.

‘Are you scared?’ He asked.

‘It’s… my first time.’

‘It’s my job to bring you to salvation.’ He told you, yet it seemed to be that he was saying that last sentence to himself more than he was to you. It was as though he had recited it a hundred times in a mirror and it just fell from his mouth without any real conviction to it.

‘I trust you.’ It was true. You did trust Saeran, against what would probably be your better judgement.

‘A poor decision.’ He replied, running his other hand up your thigh. You had never known Saeran to be so physically bold, so it somewhat took you by surprise that he was so readily touching you like this. It was truly the last thing you expected this evening. ‘You can tell me to stop if you don’t like it.’

‘I… I do.’ Again, it was true. He took it as a sign to continue, but as he looked into your eyes, you knew he was looking back on his time with you as Ray and Saeran, and how the two of you could never return to that time again. There was a hint of emotion that you could not even begin to unravel the meaning behind. This was the best that he could give you in his life of a melancholic penance. Perhaps this was the punishment for his crime of daring to hope: his act of contrition.

His kisses began following the same single line that his two fingers had followed, all the way down your chest. You held your breath as he passed in between your breasts, moving down towards the end of your abdomen. You sighed as you felt his hands grip themselves onto your thighs, tightly. Your sigh told him to continue and his cold hands found their way underneath the hem of your black nightdress, slowly removing your underwear and letting them fall off onto the floor beneath you. Part of you just couldn’t believe it was happening, but all of you did not want it to stop now. The lips that stuttered over your first meeting were now kissing their way up your inner thigh, occasionally biting at the soft, bare skin.

Saeran pushed his hands up onto your hips, to steady himself as he moved closer to you, his thumbs slightly digging into your flesh. You closed your eyes as you felt his tongue make contact with you, thankful that the angle of you flat on your back meant that he couldn’t see the hard blush smothering your cheeks. His tongue was soft and light; exploring each part of you to find which spots made you moan the most and then paying extra attention to it.

‘Sa-Savior…’ Your breath choked in your throat as his tongue brushed against every intimate part of you. He was tentative, but purposeful. All you could manage in response to his mouth was a moan and a few crying mewls, silently begging him.

He licked and sucked at your folds until you were all but whimpering atop the altar. You were so willingly coming undone under his hands, laid bare and exposed before the eyes of God despite not having taken off any of your clothing; it wasn’t necessary for this act of sin. You were embarrassed to look, but when you glanced your eyes down at him his powerful gaze was holding your own, deciphering every reaction you made. The intensity in his cool eyes caused the knot that had been slowly forming in your stomach to begin tightening more and more. You shuddered involuntarily at the sight as you felt the heat rush to your cheeks and hoped that you could just pass it off as the warmth spewing from so many candles. He must have seen how embarrassed you were at being watched, so after a few more seconds he closed his eyes. Once closed, Saeran changed the direction of his tongue and you threw your head back and choked out a cry from somewhere deep inside of your throat at the sensation.

You weren’t sure if time was passing slowly or if you were just that lost in the feeling of his mouth on you, but you were so numb to everything that wasn’t Saeran in that moment. You didn’t even realise that your hands had found their way into his pale hair until you were almost gripping him.

You’d had orgasms before, with a clumsy stumbling of your own fingers, but the intensity you felt in your abdomen was building and building with each passing second, with each passing graze of his tongue. You tried to warn him that you thought you were about to cum, but you guessed that he could probably tell from the performance you were giving. Your legs were twitching around him as soft cries fell free from your mouth, and you almost even thanked God for the experience. And part of you thought that, maybe, you should have.

You could feel that you were right on the edge, desperate to fall off. Your hands moved from Saeran’s head down to his shoulders, where you gripped his white and blue robes with fervour and tried to tell him that you were cumming, but it happened too quickly for you to gather your thoughts in any degree. The pressure in you suddenly snapped and you cried out for your Savior, for Saeran. He continued to fuck you with his mouth through your orgasm, as you moaned and sighed and gasped out for him. It was as close to a biblical enlightenment that you thought you were ever going to get. He touched you right up until the point of overstimulation with his hands on your hips stopped you from squirming away from him.

After a short while, he took his mouth off of you and you immediately mourned for the lost contact but was somewhat thankful for the chance to catch your breath. Or so you thought.

‘Are you ready for me to continue?’ He asked, wiping the spit from his chin with a single swipe of his thumb. His eyes were burning with more emotion than you had seen in him in a long, long time. You swallowed, nodding. Despite the fact Saeran hadn’t been touching himself, you could see the outline of his erection pushing through the fabric of his robes.

Lying there on the altar surrounded by candlelight, waiting to be taken, you felt somewhat sacrificial. What you were sacrificing, you weren’t sure, but you’d offer it up to him in a heartbeat if only he’d ask. You watched through half-lidded eyes as Saeran used one hand to unzip the bottom half of his robe and trousers, and the other slowly insert two fingers into you. You stifled a small moan at the pleasant intrusion and then failed to stifle further moans as he began moving his fingers inside of you, pressing up against your sweet spot. It continued like that for a minute for so while he began to lightly touch himself with his free hand.

‘I’ll… take you to salvation. I’ll save you.’ He said, almost sadly. You didn’t have time to question that slight melancholic tone in his voice before he pulled his fingers out of you, pulling you by the hips right to the edge of the altar. Saeran lined his cock up with your entrance and slowly pushed himself in, watching for any discomfort on your face. Since he had already taken the time to relax and prepare you, there wasn’t any pain except for a slight burn as you adjusted to the size of him filling you.

He waited for you to sigh in approval before he started moving, taking his time in thrusting in and out of you, and then again and again. You covered your face in embarrassment, knowing that he was watching your reactions from where he was standing. He took your wrists, pulling them off your face and brought them down to where he was holding your hips so that you couldn’t hide your face from him. He wanted to see, he wanted to see it all.

You closed your eyes, losing yourself to each thrust. You couldn’t believe that this was happening, and yet you had to. All of your senses were screaming that it was happening, and that it felt so good. Truly, you’d never be able to look at this Chapel the same way next time everyone was called to Sermon. You could hear Saeran’s sweet sighs filling the air. They were quiet and tentative, but most definitely present.

You arched your back as you dreamily opened your eyes, gazing up into the stained-glass window once again. The moonlight shone through the colourful glass, illuminating the rainbow of colours, and casting beautiful shades across Saeran’s face and robes. In a moment of lost bliss, your mind wandered to how beautiful Saeran looked painted in those colours, almost like he was a stained-glass portrait himself. Despite the myriad of shades tinting his skin, it never took away from the ice in his eyes. Saeran’s blue pierced through even a kaleidoscope of colour. You thought about uttering a prayer for him now, to thank someone, anyone, that he had returned to you: even in this manner. Before you managed to speak, Saeran’s words called your attention to him, the ghost of a sneer almost on his face. He could tell.

‘Were you about to pray for me? To pray for my damned soul?’ He asked while continuing to thrust into you at a godless speed. You struggled to speak for a few seconds, seeing as your body was so desperately calling all of your focus elsewhere. You didn’t even realise that you were staring into his face as he fucked you like this, waiting for your answer.

‘Do you wan-want me to?’ You tried to get the words out as he pounded into you again and again.

‘It’s too late… for that.’ He furrowed his brows, before picking up his speed once again, pulling you by the thighs to meet his thrusts. There was a slight amount of sweat beginning to glisten on his forehead and his panting was noticeably heavy as the tiredness was starting to creep up on him.

He shifted from his standing position to bending over you, so he could support himself on his forearms as he continued to bring you closer and closer to your apparent ‘Salvation’. You wrapped your legs around his waist, letting him know how much you needed him right then and there.

Saeran’s face was only a few inches from your own, his warm breath falling over you in waves as he moved. It was at this distance that he averted his eyes from you, clearly feeling some degree of embarrassment or shame. He leant down, as though to kiss you, but then buried his face into the crook of your neck instead. You cradled one arm around his head and the other sprawled across his back, just to make sure he knew you were there, for any of him, and all of him.

You bit your lip to quieten the moans falling from your mouth because you felt guilty about moaning right into his ear. As soon as he realised what you were doing, he left the crook of your neck and began hovering over you again, purposely thrusting harder than he was before:

‘I want to hear. Nothing can be hidden from me in this place.’ The voice that came from him was quiet, yet possessive. Of course, you would oblige. Not that you really had a choice seeing as his rhythm was almost merciless.

Another orgasm was coming at you hard and fast, the pressure in your abdomen building to the point of pain. You cried out his name in a string of prayers as you begged for him to keep going, you were so close and was desperate to finish. The sadistic streak in Saeran thoroughly relished in the sight of you coming utterly undone beneath him, but he knew that his own body could not savour the thrill for much longer as he was nearing his own climax too. He hadn’t previously commented on how tight you were, but you being so close had gotten to the point of nearly suffocating him.

He leant down and captured your lips in another kiss, a needy and desperate one. There were so many words he could have used to describe the way he felt when he kissed you, and yet there were none at all. It was intoxicating for him to be flooded with not only his emotions, but the rushed emotions of both Ray and Saeran too.

To his surprise, the kiss was what you needed to finish. You felt yourself finish so suddenly that all you could do was cry out, your voice echoing throughout the Chapel. Any Believers outside would have heard it, even through the sounds of the pouring rain. You were absolutely numb to everything except for the feeling of your high and the continuous thrusting that was almost torturing you into hypersensitivity. It felt so fucking good, and you could have joked about seeing the Gates of Heaven if not for the fact that you were still being fucked through the orgasm.

Feeling you cum so violently immediately sent Saeran over the edge. He couldn’t hold on any longer.

‘F-fuck, I’m gonna-’ He started, his arms visibly shaking. He waited to see if you were going to loosen your grip on his waist to let him pull out, but when you didn’t, he took it as a sign to keep going freely. He bucked his hips against you, shaking the surrounding candles slightly, cursing as he also finished. He froze for a few seconds of his orgasm before slowly continuing to move, just to prolong his own high for that little bit longer. He was full of sweet sighs as his own peak came in waves, filling you completely.

He collapsed onto your chest while still inside you, and you tiredly wrapped your arms around him, pressing kisses into his pale hair. In the quiet night air, the only sounds were the rain hitting against the window and the breath shared between the both of you. His face felt very warm on your skin and you supposed it was due to the thickness of his Savior garments and the sheer physical exercise he had been doing. Your breathing started to mellow out and shortly Saeran pulled out of you, choosing to lay down on the altar besides you.

You silently shuffled closer to him, not quite finding the words to express how you feel about what just happened. Saeran didn’t seem to have much to say either, but you were well aware that the Saeran in front of you was not one for many words. Maybe he didn’t need words. He spent a lot of time in his own head that he was probably trying to rationalise and process what happened in his own time. You were a little anxious in the silence.

‘Do… you regret it?’ You asked nervously.

‘Do you?’ He countered in a sigh, his eyes closed as he faced upwards. You glanced up to look at him, watching as the shadows from the raindrops on the window reflected onto his face. A single shadowed tear rolled down the window, and it looked like he was crying a black tear, but it was only an illusion.

‘No. I don’t regret you. Any of you.’ You whispered, kissing the part of his shoulder that you were next to. Saeran always looked as though he was in pain, but in that moment he looked so peaceful. There were no furrowed brows, no frown lines or melancholic eyes, he looked his age. Right then, he didn’t have to be The Savior, he didn’t even have to be Saeran. You wanted to ask what to do next, since you were exhausted and feeling the need for a shower, but before you did Saeran said:

‘I will summon some Believers to walk you back to your room. It’s late. I’m going to remain here for a while longer.’

‘Ah okay… Can I ask a question?’ You leant up onto your side.

‘Go on.’

‘Who… gave me this?’ You tugged at the black chemise you had been given beforehand. Saeran opened his eyes slightly just to look at what you were referencing before saying:

‘Ray wanted to give you a gift. I thought you’d look best in black.’ He closed his eyes once more. You slid yourself off the altar, moving to press a kiss to his forehead.

‘Thank you. Goodnight, Saeran.’

‘For Paradise.’

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger x reader #saeran choi x reader #saeran choi #mystic messenger reader insert #mystic messenger self insert #mystic messenger headcanons #mystic messenger hcs #mystic messenger hc #mystic messenger fanfiction #mystic messenger headcanon #saeran ae #saviour saeran #savior saeran

238 notes · View notes

wbearv · 3 years

Text

A different day off - b.c (f, sg)

Word count: 2.2K

Summary: Chan likes to spend his day off doing nothing at all, but when he receives a call that you’re sick? well, screw his day off.

a/n: something more fluffy coming to ya! I didn’t really proofread this at all so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes! I hope you like this <3.

masterlist

As the very busy person Chan is (really, he should just sleep a little bit more), he usually spends his days off laying in bed doing nothing. Those days when he can enjoy the peace and quiet of his room without having to worry about anything work related are rare, but he cherishes them to the max.

The sound of his phone ringing startled him since he made sure to tell everyone the day before not to call him unless someone was dying. Someone better be dying for him to have to move from his very much comfortable position.

The screen was lit and your picture came up next to your name.

“y/n,” he sighed. “It’s my day off.”

“Hey Chan, I’m Seungmin, I’m sorry to call you but,” your flatmate said, stopping while you half cried half sniffed in the back because you couldn’t reach the plushie that just fell to the floor. “y/n is pretty sick, and I’m supposed to leave to catch my flight in twenty minutes, could you tell Minho and ask him to take care of her while I’m gone? I tried to call him but he’s not picking up.”

“Minho is out practicing for next week-” the line went silent for a second just for Chan to speak again “you know what? Forget Minho, I’ll go myself. Be there in 10”

“Thank-” Chan hung up while the sound of keys resonated in the background. Seungmin left the phone on the table and turned to look at you, laying on the couch like a whining soul.

And that was how, after stopping by the pharmacy to pick up cold medicine Chan arrived at your apartment a few minutes later. When your flatmate opened the door, he quickly entered the room and went straight to the sofa where you were half lying half sitting. You looked really pale, there were dark rings underneath your eyes and your nose was really red and puffy from all that sniffing and paper tissues. When you turned to the door, expecting your brother, you were really taken aback by him.

“Chan?” The smile that grew on your face immediately once you saw him is interrupted by a nasty coughing fit, which you direct away from him and into the cushion underneath your head.

He rushed to sit next to you, rubbing your back while you let all that coughing out. “Easy”

“Well, I have to leave now or I’ll miss my flight. Keep me updated and take good care of her! see you in two days, don’t die on me” and with that, he closed the door and left, leaving the whole apartment silent.

While you closed your eyes and let your head fall back into the pillow, Chan explored the apartment with his eyes, taking note of the mess around you. Tissues are strewn about and there were empty cough drop wrappers littered across the coffee table. He noticed the cute pics from last summer’s camping trip where you drunkenly told him you liked him but completely forgot about it in the morning, so he never brought it up again. There were a few pics of you and Seungmin from where you first came to this apartment, another one with Minho and your parents… but one caught his eye. You both were smiling and had ice cream stains all over your face while Chan had his arm around your neck, and you were looking at each other with fondness.

He unwillingly smiled and let his head remember those moments you’re your coughing snaped his attention back to you. Chan frowned, and got up to pick up the medicine from the plastic bag he brought.

He grabbed a spoon from the drawer and sat back next to you “I brought medicine.”

You smiled grateful with your eyes still closed, feeling a shiver run through your body, feeling weaker as time progressed “You’re an angel, Channie.”

Chan tried to ignore the rush in his chest from hearing your voice say that nickname that you only use on very special occasions “Yeah, well, you owe me one, y/n.”

You’re still smiling, but your expression showed just how weak you were at the moment, making him more worried.

“Take this” he said taking a spoon full of medicine and approaching it to your face “open up.”

You obliged and swallowed the medicine, your throat hurting and not being able to swallow correctly. Suddenly, you shivered and frowned your brows.

“You have fever” Chan said picking up the thermometer from the cabinet next to you.

“No I don’t” you said sitting up a little bit to take a sip of the tea Seungmin made before leaving “I might be sick but I haven’t had a fever in ages, I doubt it. I just have to get up and freshen up a little bit and then I’ll be f-”

You were cut by Chan, who walked straight to you with a very serious expression on his face and a thermometer on his hand. He put his hand on your shoulder and pushed you down on the couch again, making you sigh in surprise.

“No, you’ll get your temperature checked and then you’ll lay down and sleep while I prepare you some soup so you can eat” he said with an authoritarian tone.

“But-” when you opened your mouth to complain, he took advantage of it and put the thermometer inside your mouth.

“But nothing. Close” Chan said looking straight into your eyes.

You closed your mouth and when he placed one of his hands in your neck to keep your head up, using the other one to check your forehead’s temperature, you felt how your cheeks got redder and redder by the second.

The thermometer’s sound was the only thing that could be heard in that moment, appear from your labored breathing. Chan took it out of your mouth with his hand, leaving one still around the nape of your neck.

“Jesus Christ y/n you’re burning” he said looking at the numbers in the screen “even your face is getting so red” you touched your cheeks and looked at him again. “come on, you have to rest.”

He grabbed your arm and helped you get up from the couch, placing his hand on your waist to help you balance and carrying you to your bed. Feeling the hot skin tightly against yours, you tried to convince yourself that the fever was the one to blame for your skin feeling like it was on fire.

When you were already lying down on your bed and covered with your blanket, you sighed in content.

“There.” Chan standed back. “Better?”

You looked at him with pure affection with your puffy eyes and smiled softly. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

Chan smiled nervously and hurried back to the kitchen “I’ll make you some soup now, rest while it cooks.”

When he made his way back into your room with a freshly cooked bowl of soup, he found you sound asleep and smiled fondly. Chan placed the bowl in the table next to your bed and bowed down to kiss your temple, then turned the lights off and made his way out of the room.

But then he heard your voice and froze.

“Chan?” she whispered with a soft cough “can you lay down with me?”

He straightened up in surprise, turning around to face you. Even though it was dark, your face was slightly visible thanks to the dim light coming from outside of the room. And when you smiled at him shyly, he swore his heart skipped a bit

“Um,” he murmured nervously.

“Just lay with me? Please?”

The way you looked at him with your eyes was enough to make him leave any intention of refusing “Okay.” He sighed.

He took off his sneakers and, when you opened the blanket for him to get inside, he gently laid down, careful not to crush you or make you uncomfortable in any way.

You didn’t fall asleep, but enjoyed the silence and how Chan’s body felt next to you. A little while later you spoke softly “Hey” you said, your hand brushing his under the blanket “Thanks for coming over. I really needed this.”

Before he could stop himself, he placed his hand on her cheek, letting his thumb gently caress her skin.

“Of course,” Chan says softly. “I’ll always be here when you need me.”

You didn’t know if the fever was the one talking or you just let your filter slip because of your vulnerable state, but when the words left your mouth, you didn’t stop them “I really really like you Chan, I wish you could see me as something else than your best friend’s younger sister.” And before he had the chance of replying, you were sound asleep.

You didn’t notice it though, but for a solid hour, Chan couldn’t sleep, not one bit. Not after what you just so wholesomely honest said.

Just a couple hours later, you opened your eyes, blinking a few times before finding Chan peacefully asleep next to you.

You’re so close to him, close enough to appreciate how his honey skin glows with the faint rays of sun that come through the door and how his chest rises and lowers slowly with every breath he takes. You can also see how tight his arms are now that you can take a closer look. You supress the urgent need to caress his arm while you sigh, your head pounding, less than what it did a few hours ago but still hurting pretty bad.

You looked at Chan again, feeling really grateful for him. He actually came here today, and on his day off of all days. He took care of her and made her soup – even though it was long forgotten next to them.

A stray lock of his hair fell into his eyes when he slightly moved his head. Gently, without thinking, you reached across and slowly moved it to the side while admiring his face in the process. Chan stirred slightly, and his eyes fluttered open. You opened your eyes as wide as you were able and felt a sudden urge to pull your hand away as fast as possible. But when he smiled at you, your hand didn’t move one bit.

“Hey,” He whispered. “How are you feeling?”

“I am really feeling better” you smiled and closed your eyes to slightly change your position, your hand landing next to his leg. Chan felt nervous all out of sudden and, when his phone alarm boozed off, he got up and grabbed it.

“Wow, it’s gotten late. I should probably head out.”

But before he is able to leave, you grab his arm.

“Wait, um.” You nervously sat up a little “Do you wanna— can you maybe—” You sighed slightly and looked at him straight into his eyes. “Do you wanna stay?”

“I-” Chan opened his mouth “I have practice tomorrow and-”

“I know, I just, I really don’t want to be alone right now.” You cut him off.

He looks at you with a conflicted expression.

You’re about to tell him never mind— that it’s okay, and he’s right, he should leave before it gets any later— but then a slow smile appears on his face.

“I guess Seungmin won’t mind that I grab one of his pyjamas”.

A few hours and two bowls of soup later, you’re both ready to go to bed. Your fever went up a bit and you were feeling kind of dizzy, so you were avoiding getting up from the sofa.

Chan got closer to you and grabbed your hand to help you get up, but you instead made him sit again, very close to you this time.

You looked at him, feeling dizzy at how awesome he was. You must have stared for quite a while, because Chan looked at you worried.

“What?” he said, slowly caressing the arm that was outside of the blanket.

You locked eyes with him and, without thinking, you moved your head forward and kissed him.

Chan was surprised at first, but after a few seconds he returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm. He intertwined his fingers with your hair and pulled you closer into the kiss – if that was humanly possible.

It ends too soon, though, when after just a few moments Chan pulls away.

“y/n” Chan sits straight and looks at you “You don’t mean this, you’re just sick.”

You look at him with your eyes filled with love and affection and place your hand on his cheek. “Chan, I absolutely mean this, believe me” and you got closer to him again, only a few centimetres between your mouth and his.

“Why do you only confess to me while you’re drunk or have a fever, y/n?” he said, looking at you with affection.

“Wait, what?” you said confused. You did not recall confessing to him apart from just a few seconds ago.

He smiled at your confused expression and lifter your chin, so you looked at him again “Nothing, doesn’t matter” and he closed the space separating you again.

And maybe the following morning Chan wakes up with a sore throat and a somewhat stuffy nose, but he doesn’t really care. What are days off for if it is not for enjoying them? You just have to learn how to accept the consequences.

#chan fluff #bang chan ff #bang chan #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids headcanons #stray kids ff #bangchan imagines #bang chan headcanon #skz imagines #szk fanfics #skz ff #bang chan scenarios #bang chan fluff #stray kids scenarios

210 notes · View notes

vanserraseris · 3 years

Note

END OF PART XV - Ok, so that is the final part (there will be an epilogue, but this is pretty much the end). Eris is not doing too well, just a warning that there is mentions of blood. Thank you to everyone who reads.

OH MY GOD IM SO SORRY I TOOK FOREVER TO GET THIS UP. and omgggg im so sad this is ending soon

Prince of Ashes. Part XV.

Eris jolted awake, lurching to a sitting position, nearly falling out of his bed as he tried to calm his breathing. It took him a moment to recognize that he was in his old rooms at The Forest House, not his cottage.

“Not real,” Eris spoke into his empty room, his eyes clenched shut, “Not real.” Eris hadn’t seen his brothers die, and it was on nights like these when he wished he had, if only to know that the dreams weren’t real.

In his dreams, his worst nightmares, Cato and Owain would beg Eris to save them and all he could do was watch as they met their end. The Mother must truly hate him, Eris thought, to torment him like that in his sleep.

Eris fisted his hands in the sheets, hating the quiet of the room and quickly lighting a fire only to fill the horrible silence. The flames danced, tiny embers popping off the logs and falling to the dark wood outside the fireplace. His room was still too quiet.

Eris took a deep breath as he tried to settle his nerves and almost tripped as he hurtled for the bathroom. Eris fell to his knees in front of the toilet, bracing himself over the porcelain bowl as he retched, glad that he’d once again forgotten to eat dinner as he coughed over and over again. Each time Eris took a breath, he could smell the blood on his hands. Owain had laughed at him once decades ago, claiming that Eris had a better nose than his hounds.

Eris curled his hands into fists at the memory, not wanting to think about his brother. Eris, upon his fathers orders, had spent the last two days torturing a rebel group that had formed a steady following in the past ten years. The smell of their blood, clinging to the pale skin of Eris’s knuckles and getting stuck under his nails, was making him dizzy.

He tried not to think about how much it bothered him to do those sorts of things, but at night, as soon as his head hit his pillows, his mind wouldn’t stop reeling. He could practically hear his father’s voice, knowing he’d call him weak, knowing his father would call him a horrible heir. His father’s voice often battled with that of his mother’s. Eris growled, pushing himself up off the floor, the iron scent of faerie blood lingering in his nostrils as he stumbled to the sink.

He reached for the bar of soap on the counter, trying again to wash the smell of blood from his hands. The honeysuckle scented soap did nothing but mask the smell of the blood, and he knew that he could wash them a hundred times that night and it still wouldn’t make anything better. Eris had washed his hands raw before he’d fallen onto his bed, completely exhausted. He hadn’t even bothered changing into sleeping clothes, had merely kicked off his boots and thrown his jacket onto a chair.

The smell of the blood was stronger as Eris splashed cool water onto his face and he fought his urge to gag once more.

Eris walked back into his bedroom, drying his hands with a small towel, but he paused when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Eris inched closer, dropping the towel onto the dresser, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he placed the palms of his hands on the smooth wooden surface. There were wild flames in his eyes, flaring uncontrollably in reds, oranges, and yellows.

Eris frowned, willing the fire to disappear. His frown deepened when nothing happened. “I’m in control,” Eris muttered. He tried picturing dying embers in his mind, just as his mother had taught him, but if it were possible, the flames seemed brighter. “I’m in control,” Eris repeated, his voice a low growl, the fingers of his one hand curling into a fist. Eris hadn’t struggled with taming his magic like this in over a century.

He was still looking in the mirror, at the sharp lines of his face, at the harsh line of his mouth, as he scowled. Eris thought he had never looked more like his father.

One moment, Eris had been standing still, the next, he’d moved as quick as a snake. He threw his fist forward with all his strength, the glass of the mirror cracking under the impact, his flaming eyes still visible in every shard. Eris punched the mirror again, small fragments of glass clinking against the floor.

The smell of faerie blood hadn’t really gotten any better, Eris realized, probably because it was still under his nails, in the lines of his palm, in the wrinkles on the knuckles of each finger.

A beastly snarl ripped from his throat as he grabbed the carved wooden frame of the mirror, ripping it off the dresser only to slam it against the floor. The glass finally fell from the frame, shattering, but Eris continued to hit the frame against the hardwood floor.

Eris was tired and angry and he didn’t want to see his own reflection, would have preferred if he never had to look in a mirror again. He broke the wood of the mirror, splinters littered around his bare feet along with the small pieces of glass. Eris threw what remained in his hands at the opposite wall, surprising himself when it turned into ash before it crashed against the stone. Eris ran a trembling hand through his long hair, his chest heaving with each breath.

He took a step back, leaning against the dresser before he slid to the floor, eyes clenched shut. “I’m in control,” he whispered, hoping the lie would become a reality.

Eris had always been aware of the little control he had in his life, but only very recently had he started feeling like a puppet with strings. Everything his father asked, Eris did, a cruel smile on his face all the while. Eris couldn’t even bear to look at his mother, didn’t want to face that kind of disappointment.

Eris breathed in from his nose slowly, opening his eyes as he reached for a larger shard of the mirror right by his hand. He angled it so he could see his face, and tightened his hold along the edges when he saw there were still flames in his eyes.

Blood leaked from where Eris gripped the sharp glass, dripping along his hand, down to his wrist, and onto the floor. He had hoped that perhaps the pain would anchor him, offer him some control on his magic, but it didn’t even hurt.

“Eris?”

Eris flinched, startled, dropping the bloodied shard and knocking the back of his head against the dresser with a loud thud. His mother had spoken so softly, he shouldn’t have jumped like that. He ran his uninjured hand through his hair, “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

She ignored his question, pushing the heavy door to his room open and slipping inside, asking another question of her own. “What are you doing?”

Eris took a breath, “I’ve made a real mess of things.” He waved his bloodied hand in front of him, and the Lady of Autumn gasped, but Eris just continued speaking. “Just a horrible, horrible mess of things.”

“What happened?” Eris could hear the panic in his mother’s tone, but he just shrugged, shaking his head.

She walked towards him on silent bare feet, “Watch the glass,” Eris barked. He must have looked quite frightening with the flames in his eyes shining bright in the dark of the room.

She didn’t even pause, expertly stepping around the pieces of the mirror, before she sat down right beside him. Close, but not touching. Her russett eyes hadn’t stopped looking at his hand. “Oh, Eris,” she breathed, a slight tremor in her voice, “There’s glass in your knuckles.” Eris hadn’t noticed. When he lifted his other hand to brush the pieces away, his mother placed a hand on his arm. “Not like that,” she said a tad sharply.

Eris faced her, and while she might have been slightly horrified to see what he’d done to his hand, she reminded Eris of the female he remembered from his childhood. She lifted her chin, her mouth set in a firm line and her back straight. Even in her nightgown, her hair in a messy braid over her shoulder, she was a force to be reckoned with. “You’ll make it worse like that.” She reached past his head to grab the towel he’d thrown onto the dresser, “Give me your hand.”

Eris scowled, he was too old to be getting told what to do by his mother. She raised a brow at him and Eris scrunched his nose, doing as she said. With gentle fingers, she slowly pried all the pieces of glass from his hand, wincing when blood dripped from his knuckles. “Tell me what happened,” it wasn’t a request.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Eris mumbled, he definitely wasn’t going to tell her why, he didn’t want her to know what kept him up at night. “And then I couldn’t get the scent off.”

The Lady of Autumn lifted her son’s hand closer to her face, sniffing subtly, “What scent?”

Eris shook his head, refusing to answer. He didn’t know whether or not the High Lord had told his wife what his son had been spending much of his time doing as of late.

“I smell nothing but blood, Eris.” There was no judgement, no frustration, in her tone. She held his large hand in one of her much smaller ones, certain there was no more glass, as she pushed the towel against his knuckles.

“Me too,” Eris muttered, amber eyes following his mother’s every move. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to his mother for this long. He guessed that it must have been at Cato and Owain’s funeral. Eris hadn’t wanted to speak with her, not after he’d broken his oath to protect Lucien, not after he’d managed to fail at the only thing his mother had ever asked of him. Eris felt a burning behind his eyes and blinked a few times, taking a small breath.

His mother flipped his hand once his knuckles had mostly healed, but the deep cut he’d gotten from gripping onto the sharp shard of the mirror was still bleeding. It might even scar, Eris thought. The Lady of Autumn sighed, “I wish I knew what was going on in that head of yours.”

Eris was glad she didn’t know what was going on in his head, thanked the cauldron that his mother was not a daemati. His head was a horrible place to be, especially lately, now that he felt overwhelmed with everything.

Lagos had tried apologizing countless times. Eris had kicked him out of his cottage, had pulled rank and ordered him not to return, but that hadn’t stopped him yet. Eris wondered how long he’d keep it up. Eris hadn’t tried talking to Micah, and he knew perfectly well that Micah wouldn’t come to him, that he’d let Eris make the first move always and that wouldn’t change. Widge always came to the cottage and sat with him as he worked; Eris couldn’t shake the feeling that he did so out of pity.

Not only that, but Cato and Owain’s deaths meant that Beron was pitting Maddox and Priam against him. Eris was almost certain they wanted to kill him just to prove to their father that they weren’t as worthless as he’d always thought they were. Rufus was still trying to convince Eris that gaining their father’s trust was an impossible goal, and Eris knew that his actions would eventually push Rufus away. And Lucien was gone, exiled to Spring, and he hated his oldest brother.

Eris clenched his jaw, staring fixedly at the flames flickering in the fireplace on the opposite side of the room.

His mother placed a hand on Eris’s chin, tilting his face so that he looked at her concerned gaze, “Tell me what troubles you.”

Eris could have died at the sob that escaped his lips. He felt a rush of shame, his cheeks heating, as his mother’s eyes filled with tears as well.

His mother hadn’t seen him cry since he was eighteen. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d broken down like this, especially in front of somebody else. Many things troubled Eris, but he’d gotten very good at hiding behind sneers and scowls. Eris didn’t like following his father’s orders, Eris didn’t like smelling the blood on his hands, Eris didn’t like looking in the mirror.

Eris brought his uninjured hand to his face, covering his eyes with it as another sob fell from his mouth. He didn’t like the way his mother looked as if she saw into his soul, if she looked too close he feared she wouldn’t find one. Eris felt his mother wrap her arms around him, her hand going to the back of his head.

“I’m so sorry, Eris,” she whispered, “I’m so terribly sorry.”

Eris didn’t know why she was apologizing. He tried to shake his head, but his mother was still holding him tight.

“I never should have made you take that oath,” she spoke with her lips pressed to his hair. “I’m so sorry, Eris.”

Maybe she was right. That fucking vow had been the start of his downward spiral. Or maybe it hadn’t been. Maybe he’d been spiralling for centuries.

Eris didn’t say anything, he just ever so slowly wrapped his arms around his mother, his chin resting on her too-slim shoulder. Eris didn’t really like being held, hadn’t liked it as a child, but this wasn’t too bad.

He made a funny sounding whimper and bit his tongue to keep himself from doing it again.

“Eris, tell me what troubles you,” she repeated, her fingers pushing his hair over his shoulder as she moved back to look into his eyes. His mother lifted a hand to his face, gently wiping at the tears on his cheeks. “Please.”

Eris shook his head, he could not tell her what he was feeling, not really. His mother had enough to worry about.

He knew her thoughts were with Lucien, and if they weren’t, she was probably thinking about Cato and Owain. She didn’t need to spend any time thinking about what was troubling him, especially since Eris knew it would break her heart to know that he was unhappy.

“I’m alright,” Eris lied.

“Eris, please,” the Lady of Autumn tried again.

Eris took a deep breath.

He needed to become High Lord, to sit on the Autumn Court throne, and he would do just about anything to steal his father’s crown. Beron had raised a monster, and it would come back to ruin him. He was the Tamer of Flames, the Heir of Autumn, the Prince of Ashes. He was not broken, and he would not break.

So Eris just flashed his mother an empty smile, the iron scent of blood still burning through his nose as he spoke.

“I’m just tired.”

57 notes · View notes

the-only-ace · 3 years

Note

can you please write something about taem's enlistment? honestly feel awful i feel like he's lowkey sad about it i just wanna give baby cheese a hug :(

haiii i love this request since it is really well... timely (?). i have been planning to finish this request before taemin's enlistment but yeah, here we are... things been busy. so i hope this one is not that late and may this be some sort of comfort for everyone as we wait for our baby cheese's return.

serve well and always take care, taem! we will be just here and wait for your return with bright smiles on our faces.

taemin scenario: looking forward

pairing: taemin x reader

word count: 2.7k

summary: it is taemin's last few hours before his military enlistment and reader tries their best to ease his worries. both are making sure that they have spent the remaining time together to the fullest.

warning: semi-nudity, implied sexual activity (no smut thought)

send in your requests here!

your eyelids slowly fluttered open and soft rays of sunlight greeted your still adjusting eyes. you attempted to rub the sleepiness away from your eyes before slowly sitting up. your raised both of your arms above your head and stretched with a small grunt. the sheets fell down and exposed your naked torso to the cool breeze from the air conditioner. you looked at your side and smiled gently. you rested your cheek on your bended knee and gazed at the sleeping figure beside you.

taemin was sleeping soundly on his chest and the blanket was comfortably wrapped around his hips while his broad bare shoulders were displayed to you. his head was tilted to the side, facing your direction. his eyes were closed with a hint of dark circles visible underneath them--a sign of his hard work within the last few months. his lips were slightly parted and you can hear his soft breaths. his hair that used to be unruly as they got ruffled by the pillows was now cut short. you can't help but reach out and touch them with your cold fingers.

there he was, the love of your life. it may sound cheesy and a bit cliche but it was true. he was your first boyfriend and you were more than pleased that you're still together given how young you both were when you met years ago. you went through a lot of ups and downs like every other relationship out there. it was also challenging at first especially with the nature of his work since he can not fully dedicate his time to you. you eventually got over it mainly because you knew how important and passionate he was with his career. every after his performances, you can see his eyes lit up and his lips stretched into a big bright smile. it was then you knew you have to support this man. you have to be his rock when things got shaky and unstable.

you two actually hit a big milestone in your relationship quite recently. you were living with him for more than a year already and both of you were still amazed how no media outlet has sniffed it out yet. also considering the number of times taemin recorded a live video around the apartment, you're just thankful there were still no accidental reveals.

your train of thought was cut short when taemin suddenly stirred on his position. "sorry, did i wake you?" you asked softly as you retracted your hand away from his hair.

he shook his head before dragging himself towards you. his arms found their way around your waist and his head rested contently on your lap. you smiled at his behavior and then proceeded to stroke his hair again. both of you stayed like that for a bit and soaked into each other's presence while waiting for the drowsiness to pass.

"is it weird?" his muffled voice broke the silence after a few minutes.

"what is?" you inquired back.

"my hair." he rolled to his back and looked up at you.

"it's... new." of course it was, just a few days ago you were happily playing with his hair and extensions. he always allowed you put it up into a bun whenever he came back home. now, you can barely grip them with your fingers. "it's not weird, just new. it actually made you look younger in my opinion." you reassured him with a small giggle.

he frowned and groaned, clearly displeased on your response. he thought you were just lying to make him feel better. he won't believe you anyway even you deny it so you decided to ignore his sulking. you then began drawing lazy shapes across his skin while he started to hum one of his songs. your fingers eventually linger around his tattoos and you can't help but admire them.

"should i get one?" you muttered more to yourself actually but taemin heard it very distinctly. it made him shot up from the bed and beamed at you widely.

"you should!" he exclaimed excitedly. '"i mean if you really want to. we can even go to my artist and get one together."

"okay, calm down, mister." you chuckled since was almost bouncing with enthusiasm. "where should i place it though?"

"well... it would look nice here." he reached out and touch your rib area. his eyes soon landed on the red mark beside his index finger and a playful smirk slowly made its way to his lips. "or here..." he continued and moved his pointer on your collar bone, on another one of his marks. "here would be good too..." he went on and on while pointing out all of his work while his grin grew bigger and naughtier.

"stop..." you rolled your eyes and push his hand away. "i know what you're doing. someone went overboard last night." you can't help but narrow your eyes at him. it would be a pain to hide later when you go to work.

"i'm sorry, i just thought they would be a great parting gift." he shrugged before leaning closer. "so did you like it?" he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"eh... it's alright, i guess." you teased with a joking scowl.

"well, that can be fixed easily." he tackled and pinned you down in the bed, making you let out a high-pitch scream. he wasted no time on littering quick kisses all over your neck. you writhed under him as you attempted to escape him since you were feeling ticklish from his soft lips.

a blaring alarm noise interrupted your noises and movements. taemin pushed himself up and looked at the clock on your bedside table. he took a deep heavy sigh before dismissing the alarm. you immediately felt the change in his mood as he got up from the bed.

"i'll go brew us some coffee," he announced and got out of the bedroom.

it was now your turn to sigh. you already tried your best to ease his worries yesterday but just like you have predicted he was still troubled. you can't blame him though, after doing only one thing ever since he was only 12 years old, you get why he was anxious about this upcoming change. not to mention that he will be going through this alone in a way. his other members enlisted at the same time so the thought of someone experiencing the same helped them get through it much easier.

you got up and walked towards the chair near the bed and snatched taemin's shirt that was carelessly hanging from its backrest. you pulled it down your head and you can't help but smell his scent; it was his favorite shirt after all. god, you were going to miss him so bad.

you followed taemin towards the kitchen and the aroma of the coffee greeted you. he looked at you from head to toe and it made him smirk. he knew how much you love stealing his shirts. it was quite comforting to know that at least his clothes will be used even though he was away.

preparing breakfast was peaceful and intimate. taemin was hugging you from behind while you cook your meal; outrightly ignoring your protests since it was not really easy to move around with him clinging to you. in a few minutes, both of you are sitting down at the dining table and quietly enjoying the hot food in front of you.

it felt like a normal lazy morning. days like these were common after his promotions. it was when he has some time to rest and replenish his energy. those were the days you always anticipate since you were able to see him more often and spend more quality time together. if he didn't have a buzz cut, it was easy to fool yourself that this day was one of those.

"do you think, i'll do well?" he suddenly asked when he placed his chopsticks down.

"of course," you quickly replied without missing a beat. no matter how many times you convinced him already, you will never get tired of doing it if that will give him peace of mind.

"what makes you say so?" he looked up and met your unwavering eyes. "what if i'm not fit for it?"

"and what if you are?" you challenged. "look, we'll never know something unless we try it but trust me, knowing you, you'll do just fine. they used to criticize your singing career back then and look where you are now. you don't let external factors affect you and you always work hard to achieve your goals. so what makes this different? i know once you set your heart to something, you'll be able to do it. you just have to trust yourself as well."

"always saying the right words," he sighed and rested his head on his hand. "what will i be without you?"

"still probably as great as you are now." you knew that taemin achieved his success on his own. all those late-night practices and sacrificing a normal life as a teen, it was all him. you were only his supporter who hopefully made the process a bit easier. "besides, you crushed the obstacle course in dream team last time so i believe the drills will be manageable for you." you cheekily added.

"wow, you still remember that? i'm no minho though." he shook his head while chuckling.

"no one's like that competitive monster." you scoffed.

"yeah..." he trailed off, obviously being concern about another matter again. "i hope our fans won't forget me."

"don't be stupid." you frowned and kicked him lightly under the table. "of course they would wait for you especially after being their comfort when the other members were serving their time. i'm sure that they would be counting the days for your return and they would be delighted to see you again. although, no one would be more thrilled than me so... don't forget me as well."

"how can i forget you if i will be thinking of you every single day?" he stood up and gave you a kiss on the forehead. "thank you."

"for what?" you inquired.

"for always being there especially when i need it the most." his tone was warm and heartfelt. "i should probably take a shower now."

you nodded and listened to his footsteps disappear into the bathroom. as soon as you heard the water running, you stood up as well and placed the plates on the sink. you then went back to your shared bedroom and doubled check the contents of his black backpack, making sure that he did not forget anything important. knowing him, there was a huge chance that he does. you also added a few extra clothes and toiletries just in case he did something stupid and end up breaking or losing some of his stuff.

it felt wholesome to pack his things for him. as if you were his wife helping him prepare for his upcoming trip. if only the trip wasn't going to be 18 months long.

the time flew by quickly after taemin's shower and suddenly you were by the doorway, watching him wear the straps of his backpack. you handed him his black baseball cap before fixing the strings of his black hoodie.

"you all set?" you asked trying hard not to make your voice crack. it was finally sinking in for you and you didn't want him to know that.

"yeah," he nodded as he fixed his cap.

both of you stood there, not really knowing what to do or say next. you should probably wish him luck and send him off but you don't want to. not yet, you keep on repeating to yourself. sensing your dejection, taemin suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you into one of the tightest hugs he has ever given. your hands quickly wrapped around him and you buried your face on his chest, inhaling his scent and trying to memorize it--even though you already do.

"i'm going to miss you," he whispered tenderly. "so much."

"i will miss you too." you finally let out the sob you were holding back. thinking that it was impossible, his embrace tightened even more around your shaking frame.

he kissed the top of your head and murmured how much he loves you again and again. right then and there, you wanted to be selfish and don't let him go, and as if on cue his phone started to ring. he answered it and their conversation was less than a minute but you know exactly what it was about.

"they're downstairs already," he stated as he let go of you.

"you should not keep them waiting then." you clumsily wipe away the tears in your eyes.

you both bid your goodbyes before sharing one last kiss. he then got out of the apartment and closed the door behind him.

and just like that, you were left there in complete silence. you blankly stare at the closed door and you never felt more alone in your life.

you were about to turn around when the door burst open without warning. standing there was taemin who unmistakably ran back considering his heavy pants.

"taemin?!" you exclaimed from the shock. "what, did you forget something?"

"yes, i forgot to ask you something." he exhaled. "i forgot to ask you to marry me," he said in full seriousness while staring straight into your eyes.

"y-you... what? huh?" you fumbled with your words as your brain tried to process whatever he just said. "w-what did you say? i don't--" you attempted to ask again.

"when i get discharged, will you marry me?" he repeated as he moved closer towards you. you just gaped at him without saying a word and that made the nervousness slowly crept into him. "sorry, i was not able to get a ring since this was... well, spontaneous. but um... here, will this do?" you watched him remove the ring he was always wearing on his right hand. he unceremoniously raised it in front of you and waited for your reply.

you were beyond stunned. sure, you both talked about getting married someday but you didn't think he would propose today. you always knew that when he planned for the special day, you will easily catch on. he was not really the best planner and secret keeper after all. nothing has prepared you for this moment.

"y/n?" he cautiously called out, getting a little concern from your lack of response.

you looked away from the ring and moved your eyes to meet his uneasy ones. he was undoubtedly waiting for your answer.

"yes," you barely managed to blurt out. "yes, of course, i do!" you repeated, this time firmer.

you have practically seen the weight off his back after hearing your response. he broke into a tiny celebration dance before composing himself again and sliding the ring into your finger.

"okay... i didn't think about that part." the ring was big for you which was not surprising. "sorry, i'll just get you a new one soon." he embarrassingly rubbed the back of his neck.

"it's alright, it's perfect." you can now feel another urge to cry but this time it is out of happiness.

"i love you," his expression soften and one eyebrow raised up, a habit of his whenever he says something genuine. he titled your chin up and captured your lips for a passionate kiss. you stand on your tiptoes in your attempt to deepen the kiss which made him smile. his other hand moved to your lower back and pulled you closer to him while you ran your fingers through his hair. it felt right, both of you know exactly that this is where you two belong--with each other.

however, your little heaven was interrupted once again by the ringing of his phone.

"okay, you should definitely go now." you ultimately let go of your hold around him.

he nodded. he knew he cannot delay his departure any longer. "goodbye."

"goodbye," you echoed. "just for now."

he waved his hand before going out and shutting the door. this time though, he did not come back running. you knew he was on his way to his enlistment and you would be alone in the apartment for months but right now, you did not feel that lonely anymore.

you looked down and adored the ring around your finger. 18 months would indeed move slowly but it will be bearable because this time, both of you have something to look forward to.

#shinee #taemin #lee taemin #taemin x reader #shinee requests #shinee scenarios #shinee request #shinee scenario #taemin enlistment #taemin proposal #taemin tattoo #shinee world #shinee x reader #shinee x you #taemin x you

125 notes · View notes

wlntrsldler · 3 years

Text

treacherous (j.p one shot)

PROMPT: based on treacherous by taylor swift. slight enemies to lovers? James Potter and Y/N can’t stand each other until they get to know each other.

A/N: does not follow the timeline at all. the events are not accurate but let’s pretend for the sake of the fic lol.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, a bit of wolfstar, and some sexual tension (brief)

WC: 5.6K+ (this is my longest fic yet omg)

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

treacherous (j.p one shot)

“You’re so goddamn reckless.” James hissed, slamming his fists down on the kitchen table. “You need to wait for my command. This wasn’t a solo mission, Y/N/N. We work as a fucking team around here.”

“If I waited for your command, Prongs,” you replied, rising from your seat. You acknowledged his nickname with a bitter taste in your mouth. You knew you had to listen to James because everyone listens to James but you knew your plan would work. “We wouldn’t have gotten the mission done.”

“You went rogue!”

“But we got it done, right?” you seethed, eye drilling holes in Prongs’ skull. You felt Sirius offer a comforting hand, placing his on top of yours. Your eyes flickered to look at your best friend, features visibly softening. You sighed, slowly feeling yourself come down from your anger. “That’s the important thing, Prongs. I’m done talking about this.”

“Yeah we got it finished but at what cost?” James pushed, not backing down from his dominant exterior. “You could’ve died, Y/N. We don’t trade lives around here.”

“You don’t have to act like you care about my well-being, Potter,” you spat, starting to limp away from the briefing. You sustained some minor injuries because of your decision but you knew you’d do it again if it came down to it. “We all know you just don’t want another person’s blood on your hands.”

It was a low blow. Everyone in the house knew that James was feeling guiltier and guiltier everyday because of the events that happened over the past few months. The McKinnons, the Prewetts, his fight with some Order members— all of it was finally taking a toll on James. Maybe it always did take a toll on him and he just never showed that it did. Nobody really knew what the last straw was but now it was obvious— James Potter was tired, worn out, almost defeated in nature.

Yeah, what you said was a low blow.

James gulped, demeanor changing after your words rattled the room. Remus looked at James apologetically, not really knowing what to say. He didn’t expect that from you, nobody did. Lily cleared her throat, fixing the scattered parchment on her side of the table. Sirius stood up and patted James on the back, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze.

“Right, uhm..” he started, blinking back the effect of your words. “We can revisit this some other time. Great job today.”

James left the room without another word, your voice taunting him as he walked further and further away from the team. Is that what you really think of him? A leader, if that, who only cared about not being the person responsible for another death? Did you think that he didn’t care about you? That you were just a number to him?

Obviously you didn’t. You knew James Potter was a good man, deep down. You could see it in the way he put everyone’s needs before his. He wakes up every morning and gets everything done so the rest of you wouldn’t be burdened with such mundane things. James Potter cooked meals, cleaned the house you all shared, and bought groceries on the weekends because he thinks that you all fighting with him is something he can never repay you for. James Potter thinks that your trust as a team— as a family— is the most important thing in the universe and he’s so thankful that he has you all by his side, even if the whole world disagrees with your cause. James Potter is a good man.

You had a loud mouth. You found yourself, more times than you’d like to admit, scolding yourself after you let your mouth run amuck. This was one of those times. You let your anger get the best of you. The only reason why you even got angry with James in the first place was his lack of trust in you. Did he not think you could complete the task successfully?

“Y/N?” A voice from outside of your room called. You tried to get up from your bed, cursing as the pain shot through your right leg. “Hey, you in there?”

“Yeah,” you yelled out, realizing that it would be better for them to let themselves in rather than you try to open it for them. “Come in.”

Sirius entered, chuckling at your pained expression as you sat up in your bed. You glared at him, propping your injured leg on top of a pillow. “You good there, sweetheart?”

“Just dandy.”

He sat next to you, careful not to touch your leg. He smiled at you, sadly, and you knew what was coming next. A lecture as to why you should apologize to James or at the very least take his point of view under consideration. This was almost normal, and it was definitely expected. You and Sirius grew close, attached to the hip at times, and he was the one who would typically talk some sense into you. You knew that he and James were the blueprint of what an everlasting friendship should look like so you listened to him. Rarely were you ever the first one to apologize, though, but you knew this time was going to be one of those times.

“What you said to James..” he trailed off, eyebrows furrowing in worry. “I think he kinda took it to heart, Y/N.”

“I know,” you sighed, acknowledging your mistake. “I don’t know why I even said that.”

“You don’t like to use your brain when you’re angry.” Sirius responds, laughing slightly. You push his shoulder playfully. “Just apologize to him, Y/N. You know he means well.”

“I know he does.”

“So I’ll leave you to it then,” he announced, getting up to leave your room. “He’s in his room, locked himself in there since the meeting.”

Ouch. You felt the guilt start to eat you up. Sirius shot you a warm smile before shutting the door behind him. Groaning, you lifted yourself up, trying to ignore the swelling in your leg. Was it the smartest idea to walk on an injured leg? No, but you were never one to have smart ideas anyway and today’s events made that clear.

You started to make your way down to James’ room but stopped when you saw him exiting the bathroom. You began to walk towards him, gasping in pain when your foot landed the wrong way.

“Goddamnit, James!” you shuffled towards him, gaining some speed. He stopped to see who was calling him. His face paled when he realized it was you and continued to walk towards his room. “Will you wait for me?”

James stopped in his tracks, feeling bad that you were chasing him with a bad leg. He waited patiently as you limped towards him, an annoyed look on his face. “What do you want, Y/N?”

You blinked, not expecting the harsh tone he was using. No matter how many times you and James argued and were at each other’s throats, his harsh tone always surprised you. He raised his voice, yeah, sure, but this— this was different. You tried to ignore it, knowing that you probably deserved this. “I just wanted to say sorry for what I said earlier.”

He froze up, looking down at his feet. He glanced over at your leg, red with bruises littered over your skin. God you were lucky you didn’t die, he thought. James shrugged, “I don’t care, Y/N. Is that all?”

“Well, blimey,” you snorted, already putting up your harsh exterior, “I was trying to be nice. Get that stick out your ass.”

“Are you done?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

That was it.

James walked away and entered his room before you even moved. You were left to crawl your way back to your room, quite literally. Half way through, the pain in your leg traveled to your hip and you gave up on walking. Remus found you dragging your body across the carpet and took it upon himself to carry you back to your bedroom. You thanked him, half-heartedly, not being able to forget James’ hurt expression from your sorry-excuse of an apology.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were all supposed to win the fight. You were supposed to reconcile and have a drink at the house, continuing to dance the night away. You weren’t supposed to lose.

Half of the people you knew were gone. Poof. Like they never existed.

You, Lily, and James stayed in the Potters’ home, resting after a long day of fighting. Dumbledore left to check on the Order, or what was left of them. Molly and Arthur joined him. Peter was— Merlin knows where. Sirius left to check on Remus. The world seemed so quiet. Empty.

“It’s not the end,” Lily tried to say, looking between you and James. She paced the floor, unsure if she even believed her own words.

There hasn’t been much spoken between the ones who survived. You started to wonder if you were one of the lucky one who survived or if this fate was more unlucky given the circumstances. You lost people you called your family. You all did.

This was a battle none of you expected. It was a surprise attack on the Order during a time when you all had your guards down. One minute, you were all in the backyard, excited as the Weasley’s announced another addition to their already large family. People were dancing, cheering, drinking, and for a moment it seemed normal.

And then they came. They slaughtered everyone that they could. You were lucky enough to get out before it got too crazy. You ushered the young kids into the room, casting protective charms as you held onto Percy Weasley with your other hand. You watched people fall. You heard people scream in terror as they were being tortured. You shielded the kids from looking out the window, afraid that if they were to see something so traumatizing, they would never recover. You were sure it would take years before you would.

“I’m gonna help Euphemia out,” Lily announced, getting up from her seat. You knew there wasn’t much that Euphemia needed help with, Lily just felt restless and she wanted to do something that she could control.

James nodded silently, staring at his shaking hands. There have only been a handful of moments where you’ve seen James Potter— confident, self-assured, James Potter— doubt himself or be nervous.

The first time was when he put on the Sorting Hat in your first year and he pleaded the tattered hat to place him in Gryffindor, though the hat knew better than to place him anywhere else. Then, second year came around and you four found out that Remus was a werewolf. You accidentally overheard their conversation, and it confirmed the suspicions you’ve had for a year. The third time was in fifth year when Sirius made the stupidest mistake of his life and told Snape about the Whomping Willow. He was afraid he’d lose his second family because of it, and he knew that Remus’ anger was justified. And the last time, before today, that you’ve ever seen James Potter nervous was in seventh year. It was the day after his date with Lily— a date that took him years to convince her to go on— and he realized that they were not compatible at all. Poor bloke was afraid to hurt Lily’s feelings and when he finally told her, she laughed and said, “I know, Potter. I’m glad you see it now.”

Now, you were alone with a terrified James Potter and you didn’t know what to do. You stared at him from across the room, unsure of your next step. You cleared your throat, “Do you need me to do anything, Potter?”

“Huh?” he looked up, eyes weary and mind jumbled. He registered your question and he shook his head, “No, I’m alright. Um, are you going to be staying here tonight?”

You gulped, “Yeah, if that’s alright. I-I don’t really have a place to stay, but if you want me to leave I’m sure I can stay with Remus and Sirius.”

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine,” James replied, quickly, getting up from his seat, “I’m sure mum and dad won’t mind. Please, make yourself at home.”

“I appreciate that,” you sent him a tight-lipped smile and rocked back and forth from your heels to your toes, ignoring the pain that shot up your leg with every move.

“I’m gonna help mum.”

“Okay.”

He left you in the room, rushing to help his mother, but you had a feeling it was to save the both of you from the awkwardness of the situation. Sighing, you began to make your way to your room upstairs. You were half way out the room when suddenly, the room was filled with your friends. Some of the remaining members of the Order popped in, stopping you from completing your plans.

“Well, welcome back everyone,” you remarked, sitting on the couch. “Nice to see you.”

James, Lily, and Euphemia all entered once they heard the commotion. James stayed by the doorframe, arms crossed as he watched Dumbledore take center. Lily and Euphemia sat beside you, on opposite sides. Euphemia gave your leg a light squeeze and a kiss on your temple.

“As you all know, today’s attack caused mass casualty,” your old professor started, eyes flickering to empty spots in the room that the old members used to occupy. “To prevent such things, we will assign teams to designated areas. We can no longer put all our eggs in one basket. We need to prepare.”

Dumbledore continued, “Euphemia, you and Fleamont stay with Mad-Eye. He needs your expertise. Remus and Sirius, your flat is near the Black family home, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replied, “Wanted to be close, just in case.”

Regulus. Sirius wanted to be close to look after Regulus.

The old wizard nodded, “Very well. You two stay there and make note of any movement. We suspect they’re having meetings there. Lily, Dorcas, and Peter, you three will be taking care of Hogwarts students who live in the muggle world. They’re in Hogwarts for sanctuary, but since Minerva and myself are going to be preoccupied, we need you to make sure they’re safe.”

“What a reunion, aye gang?” Dorcas chuckled, though her laugh was empty. Lily snorted, shoving her lightly as a move of endearment.

“James and Y/N, we need you two here. This will be our headquarters.”

Sirius scoffed, “Professor, are you sure you’d want to pair Prongs and Y/N/N? We’ve already lost a lot of Order members and I’m afraid that if you pair them, we’ll lose one more. One of them will end up killing the other.”

“Shut it, Pads,” you glared, scrunching your nose, “I’m sure Potter and I can be civil.”

“I can be,” James added, side-eyeing you.

“What does that mean?” you questioned, squinting your eyes at the boy by the door. You began to get up but Euphemia stopped you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“James,” she said, warningly.

“Alright,” Dumbledore clapped his hands, calling the attention back to him, “I expect you all to be at your posts by tonight. Stay safe, everyone. Our numbers are dwindling by the hour.”

By 11PM, the house was empty. It was only you and James left. You locked yourself in the comfort of your room, staring wordlessly at the ceiling. The house was unusually quiet. There was no loud laughter coming from the living room— four boys who had to grow up too fast. You sighed, swinging your legs down the side of your bed, wincing as you forgot about your injuries.

“Fuck me,” you muttered, closing your eyes for a moment until the pain subsided. Once it became bearable, you slipped on your house shoes and made your way down the stairs. You tried to tiptoe down the stairs, not wanting to wake James and go through another awkward encounter. However, once you got to the entrance of the kitchen, you realized your efforts made no sense as James leaned against the cold counter, a cup of tea in hand, and his glasses fogged by the steam from his drink.

His eyes flickered over to where you stood, suddenly making you feel self-conscious. You were wearing nothing but pajama shorts and a large t-shirt that you were sure once belonged to Sirius. James raised his cup a bit as a sign of acknowledgement.

You smiled awkwardly and poured yourself a glass of water, “What are you doing up?”

“I reckon for the same reason you are,” he replied, taking a sip from his tea. James snickered, “Nice shirt.”

“It’s Padfoot’s,” you chuckled, “Don’t tell him I still have it.”

“Actually,” James started, placing his drink down. He faced you, “It’s mine. I let him borrow it and I asked for it a few times now. He keeps telling me he’ll give it to me later but I had a feeling he was stalling because he lost it. Mystery solved.”

You blushed, “Sorry, did you want it back?”

“No, it’s alright. Looks good on you,” he coughed, ducking his head to hide the slight blush on his cheeks, “Can’t sleep?”

“No.”

James nodded, “Yeah, me either. You can sit with me for a bit, if you want.”

You pondered it for a moment until you finally decided that a conversation with James Potter was better than staring at an empty ceiling for the rest of the night. You limped to the seat in front of him, clutching your glass of water like a lifeline.

“Are you still hurt?” James questioned, getting up to help you to your seat. He held your arm as you sat on the chair. Once you were situated, he knelt beside you, inspecting your leg, “You are still hurt. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“It’s not a big deal,” you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck in embarrassment. “We all had bigger things to worry about.”

“Why didn't you just cast a spell on it?”

“I’m not the best healer around,” you admitted, looking down at him.

If it was any other circumstance, you would not have admitted your shortcomings to anyone— especially not James Potter. But perhaps it was the toll that the war had put upon you or the tiredness in your system… Or perhaps it was the way he was staring at you from his position on the floor, eyes wide with worry with the candlelight reflecting off his glasses and the look of absolute beauty on his face, that made you become so brutally honest.

“And why didn’t you ask one of us to help you?”

You scoffed, “Well, none of you are licensed healers, either. I figured I’d just live with it until it healed the muggle way.”

“Always so prideful, you are,” he chuckled, pulling out his wand. He muttered a simple incantation and then studied your once injured limb. “There. Better?”

You looked down at it, pleasantly surprised that it was indeed better. You nodded, a skeptical look on your face. James dusted off his pajama pants and made his way over to the seat he occupied before. You tilted your head, “Where did you learn that?”

“I learned for Remus,” James said, “After his transformations, sometimes he would still be in pain from turning so I learned a few things to help him. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn’t but Remus always says that just the thought that I wanted to help him helped with his recovery. Load of rubbish, I say but who am I to decide that, right?”

“Wow.”

James laughed at your reaction, drinking from his tea once more. A playful smile appeared on his lips, “I do have a heart, you know. I’m sure everyone else can see that but you.”

You rolled your eyes, “I know you have a heart, Potter. That’s not why I can’t stand you.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“Well, Godric, where do I start?” you hummed, a laugh escaping your throat. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, smirking at your answer. You bit your lip, “Let’s see… you’re arrogant, cocky, obnoxiously loud. You act like you know everything, all the time.”

His eyebrows shot up. James’ tongue poked out to dampen his cracked lips, “Don’t hold back, I guess.”

“Shut up,” you chuckled, “Your turn. Why do you hate me?”

“Because you hate me.”

“Come off it,” you stared at him, shaking your head. “Why do you really hate me?”

“Seriously, that’s it. I only act like I don’t like you because you don’t like me. I don’t actually hate you, you know.”

You were in shock. Your voice came out as a whisper, “Really?”

“Really yeah,” he shrugged, as if his confession was nothing, “You love Sirius, Remus, Peter, Lily, and all our friends like they’re family to you. I can tell you’re a genuinely good person with how you treat the most important people in my life. I can’t hate a good person.”

You pursed your lips, “Well, I only dislike you because you act like I’m not a good witch.”

“What?”

“Come on, James,” you gestured with your hands. “You act like I’m a bloody awful witch and an even worse person. Always have since we were in Hogwarts. I just always assumed you thought I wasn’t good enough.”

James was baffled, “Are you being serious right now?”

“I mean, yeah,” you began to explain, thinking back to the many moments in the past where he made you feel that way. “I remember when we first all found out about Remus. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone but you still followed me for two months to make sure I didn’t say anything because you didn’t trust me. Or whenever Sirius would tell you to ask me for help on a prank that required some advanced charms, you would refuse to let me participate like I couldn’t possibly be any help to you. Or more recently, when we had that task to do and you blew up on me for not following the intended plan. You don’t think I’m capable.”

“Y/N, I never thought I made you feel that way,” James frowned. “I was just really scared for Remus. Even as a second year, I knew that he was going to be my best friend for life and I just wanted to protect him. I didn’t let Sirius drag you into our pranks because I knew you were aiming for a spotless record at Hogwarts. I didn’t wanna get you in trouble because honestly, a prank that didn’t end with at least one of us in detention was a failed prank.”

“Oh,” you squeaked, “I didn’t know that was where your mind was.”

“Yeah,” James continued, “A-and as for the last task, I just didn’t want you hurt. We’ve lost enough people already. I’d hate to lose you, too.”

“Careful, Prongs,” you teased, swirling the water around in your glass, “You’re gonna make me think you actually like me.”

“I do, yeah,” he admitted, “I’m quite fond of you.”

The both of you stayed silent after those words left his lips. It wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable. It was the first time you two had a proper conversation and you learned things about each other that you never imagined. James continued to sip on his tea and you stared at each other from across the counter. You smiled at him, admiring the redness of his cheeks.

“Well,” you finally said, standing up. You placed the empty glass in the sink and made your way to the stairs, “I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

James smiled, showing off his perfect teeth, “Goodnight, Y/N/N.”

“Goodnight, Prongs,” you returned his smile, turning your back on him. Before you reached the first step, you turned back around, “James?”

“Mhm?”

“I think I can grow quite fond of you too.”

James’ eyes flickered from his tea to your face, his cheeks completely flushed pink by now. He bit the corner of his bottom lip, trying to suppress his smile. He chuckled, shaking his head, making his curls bounce around. You willed yourself to remember that image because it was the first time that you truly saw James Potter for who he was.

Over the next few weeks, you and James began to grow closer. Your late night conversations almost became mandatory. He began to leave a cup of tea for you across from him where you sat the first night. It took him precisely three nights to finally make your cup the way you liked it without being told. He started to light the fireplace in the living room after seeing goosebumps rise on your skin a week and a half after the first night. Then by the third week of your traditions, he began to walk you up to your bedroom door to wish you a goodnight there.

Sirius and Remus didn’t come to check in until a month later. Sirius, as always, made himself feel at home by raiding the kitchen and eating the food that you and James made earlier. Remus laughed from the living room, muttering about how Sirius acts like he doesn’t feed him.

Sirius sat beside James, peering over the pile of parchment on the side of his desk. He nudged his best friend’s shoulder, “Surprised you and Y/N haven’t killed each other yet.”

James blushed, “She’s not so bad, Pads.”

“Oh, I know that,” he hummed, taking a bite out of the biscuit in his hand, “Glad you know it now, too.”

“I never thought she was bad,” James frowned, placing his quill down to properly talk to Sirius, “Why does everyone think that I do?”

“Prongsie, darling, you would always shut up whenever she’d walk in. You’d avoid her like the plague.”

“I just knew she didn’t like me, that’s all. Figured that if I shut up, she’ll see that I’m not so bad.”

“Huh… Why did you want her to like you so bad anyway?” Sirius asked, sitting on the desk now, disregarding the work that James had done. He waited patiently for James to answer, but the answer never came. Instead, James’ cheeks flushed pink and the boy tried to hide his flustered expression by pretending to massage his temples. Sirius’ eyes widened and he jumped off the desk with excitement plastered over his face, “You fancy her! Merlin, how did I not see it before?! You fancy Y/N/N!”

“Will you—” James shushed Sirius, pulling him down by the fabric of his shirt. He was starting to draw attention to himself. James saw Remus stare at the two boys, puzzled as to why Sirius was running around like a dog. James wouldn’t be surprised if he turned into Padfoot just to swing his tail around. “Will you calm down?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, his lips still twisted in a large grin, “You fancy Y/N/N.”

“Yeah, I do,” James was embarrassed now. He didn’t expect to come clean to Sirius like this— not in the middle of a war. “I’ve always thought she was gorgeous, you know, even back in Hogwarts! I just never did anything about it because she hated me. I mean, really, genuinely, hated me. Then we got to know each other over this time and— I don’t know, Pads. She’s great.”

Sirius smiled so hard, James thought his lips would tear apart, “Yeah, she bloody is. Are you gonna tell her?”

His eyes widened at his best friend’s words as he frantically shook his head, “Merlin, no! Of course not! We’re in the middle of a war, Pads, and I’m sure she barely tolerates me. I doubt she’ll like me.”

Before Sirius could reply, you appeared behind the two boys, an eyebrow raised, “What are we talking about gentlemen?”

“Nothing!” James exclaimed, rubbing the back of his neck in fear, “Sirius was just saying how he needed to get home. Right now.”

“Is this how you talk to your best friend that you haven’t seen in a month, Prongs?”

Remus entered as well, laughing as he spoke, “Come on, Sirius. We do have to head home now. Nice to see you both.”

“Always a pleasure, Moony,” you smiled, hugging them both before they apparated out of the house. You poked James’ cheek, “So what were you really talking about?”

“Guy stuff,” he lied, returning his focus back to the parchment that Sirius messed up.

“Guy stuff?” you snorted, grabbing his jaw and turning his head to look at you. James visibly gulped, all the color draining from his face. You cocked your head, not letting go of his face, “We’re lying to each other now, Potter? Shame.”

“‘M not lying,” he said, voice shaky. You were so close to him. He could smell the strawberry chapstick you dabbed on your lips. Godric, your lips looked so kissable.

“Yes you are,” you tutted, your palm now cupping his jaw. You didn’t even realize how intimate this move was, too busy looking into his eyes to notice your movements, “I can tell.”

“How?”

“You can’t look me in the eye,” you stated, eyes flickering to the different features on his face. You never noticed the small freckle on the bridge of his nose or the small, fading scar on the left side of his lips. “Whenever a good man is lying, he can never look at someone in the eye. So tell me, James, what were you guys talking about?”

James still refused to look at you in the eye. He couldn’t bring himself to because he knew you were right. The minute his eyes met yours, he would crack like an egg. Instead, he focused it on your parted lips, feeling your breath tickle the tip of his nose as you spoke. He mumbled, “I can’t tell you that.”

You didn’t know what came over you but when you spoke again, your voice came out as a sultry tone— breathy and slowly dragging your words, “Please.”

James’ eyes immediately jumped to look at yours once he heard the tone of your voice. He’d never heard you use that tone before and he would be lying if he said it didn’t make him weak in the knees. And for the sixth time in your life, you saw the nervous James Potter again. In a moment of weakness, he spoke, “You. We were talking about you.”

“Me?” you asked, shocked by his revelation. Your hand that was once cupping his face was now hanging off his shoulder. You twirled a curl on the nape of his neck around your index finger, slightly tugging it. It took all of James’ willpower not to groan at the pressure. “What could you have possibly been saying about me?”

“How utterly insufferable you are,” James nudged his nose with yours, tilting his head the slightest bit. His tongue poked out of his lips, licking them in both nervousness and excitement.

“I’m only insufferable because you make me this way,” you tilted your head the opposite direction. Your lips were moving towards each other with every breath you took.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you whispered, closing your eyes. You let your lips ghost over his, before pulling away. You opened your eyes to taunt him, a mischievous smirk on your face. You pulled away from him, untangling his hair from your finger.

“See, you’re proving my point. You’re insufferable,” James said.

And with that, he pulled you by your waist, a surprised squeal left your mouth. He placed you on his lap before he kissed you. You instantly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His lips melted with yours, tongues shying away from each other until he finally had the courage to caress yours with his. James squeezed your hips, pushing you down his lap. A soft moan escaped your throat and that brought James back to reality.

Before things could escalate, he pulled away— lips bruised and completely out of breath. You smiled at him, biting your bottom lip. He returned the favor, running a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t want to continue without telling you,” James confessed, “I like you. A lot, actually. I don’t want you to think this means nothing to me because it does. I-I hope it means something to you, too. If it doesn’t, let me know because I don’t want to do this if I’m just setting myself up for failure here.”

Your features softened at his words. You cupped his face in your hands, once again, and kissed the tip of his nose, then each cheek, then his forehead, and finally, his lips. It was an innocent one, less steamy and passionate than the first, but lovely regardless. You intertwined your fingers with his, “This means something to me, too, Potter. You’re not the only one who feels that way.”

“Really?” he asked, now grinning widely. He connected his forehead with yours, chuckling, “Who would’ve thought we’d get here?”

“Not me,” you giggled, “However, don’t think I won’t bicker with you now that I know you’re an incredible kisser.”

“I didn’t expect you to go easy on me,” James laughed, wrapping his arms around you. “But now, I can just kiss you to shut you up.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment with a fond smile, “Hmm.. I suppose that’ll work.”

James pulled you closer to his body, looking up at you as you sat on his lap. He murmured into the skin of your neck, “See? Insufferable.”

#frances writes #frances song fics #frances x taylor swift x harry potter #James Potter #james potter fanfic #james potter one shot #james potter imagine #sirius black #remus lupin #lily evans #james potter x reader #james potter x yn #james potter x y/n #the marauders #the marauders imagine #the marauders oneshot #the marauders fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine

366 notes · View notes

hes-writer · 4 years

Text

Routine

Summary: y/n catches harry live streaming a show

Warning: smut

Word Count: 2293 words

___

University was no joke. It’s expensive for sure. Harry had a full-time job at the beginning of the semester working at a cafe near his flat. He soon found out that that wasn’t the best idea. Maybe because he didn’t manage his time right or it was simply too exhausting for him to work late hours when he had to take mandatory morning classes. His next solution was more--risky per se.

Harry had always been confident with his body. He ate well; loading up on fruit smoothies and veggie shakes every morning to accompany him on his early morning workouts. The sweat beading in between his toned pecs made him revel in the accomplishments of self-care, washed away as he palmed his face underneath the stream of the locker room shower. His wet curls stuck to his small ears as he pulled his sweater over his body, exiting the gym with a bag slung over his shoulder, plucking a peace sign to the person at the front desk as he left the building.

It started off as a blog; posting pictures of his body that he worked hard on. The narcissist in him craved the compliments of strangers drooling over his muscles and shapely body. Sometimes the messages he received were explicit, but he also couldn’t help the arousal flowing through his veins as blood pumped towards his cock. Thus, the next part of his routine was to go home to his flat and strip his body off of his clothes. His webcam would be switched on with a push of a button, his long fingers floating over the keyboard as he signed in to his account.

Speaking of, the meat between his thighs plumped up with the lingering thought of user ‘sweetgirl112’ messages last night. How much she wanted to tuck his thick length in her mouth, how much she craved to feel his large hands adorning her body. God, she had such a way with words and here Harry was with an erection pudging up in his lycra leggings. An outline of his mushroom head visible through the tight material. He played with his bottom lip as he waited for the traffic light to turn green. One hand tapped against the steering wheel in a rhythmic pattern, his mind drifting away to how it would feel like to have those pleasures within his reach.

But he didn’t.

He rushed off from his seat, quickly locking his car and keying the front door to his flat. Harry was hornier than usual today, thanks to sweetgirl’s lovely messages from last night. Harry rolled his eyes at the effect the stranger had on him. He dropped the chain dangling from his fingers on the bowl beside his door, sighing with excitement as he toed off his runners.

On the couch, Y/N snoozed with her mouth agape, hair messily splayed across the pillow he provided her. He almost forgot she had slept over last night during their movie night. She insisted to sleep on the sofa despite Harry offering his bed to share between the both of them. In the end, both of them slept on the uncomfortable cushion cuddled up into one another. The distance between them was non-existent but Harry found it endearing the way Y/N cuddled up into his body in order not to fall off the edge, snuggling into his chest with a quiet snore after jolting when one of her legs tumbled of the border.

Nonetheless, that meant that Harry had to tone his volume down a bit, keeping a keen ear to make sure his noises don’t wake her up or arise any alarm from his friend. He crouched down beside her sleeping face, waving a hand over her eyes to make sure she was still in a deep sleep.

“Hope yer’ having sweet dreams,” His thick accent made the words stick to his tongue, lazily drooping like honey. Harry pressed a kiss to her forehead, ignoring the way his heart thumped as she smiled slightly in her sleep, humming with satisfaction and cuddling closer to the pillow clutched between her arms.

Adorable, Harry thought.

Soft footsteps tiptoed over his bedroom, shutting the door gently. He stretched his arms to remove the black sweater over his head, ruffling his curls in the process. His nose hooked at the opening, muffling his breath for a bit that had him tumbling down on the end of his bed with a slight bounce. Harry is clumsy.

He managed to remove the rest of his clothes without further trouble, leaving him in his boxers briefs and socks which he would take off when he got situated in his office chair situated in front of his computer. His set up was on the corner of his room, facing the door. It was a bit odd at first but Harry learned to make it work.

Harry pushed two pumps of coconut-scented lotion into his large palm, lathering his upper body with a subtle sheen, moisturizing his biceps to appear shiny. The excess cream was rubbed along the nape of his neck, massaging the tense muscles along the way. A swift glance at the time at the bottom corner informed him that he had five minutes left until his scheduled show would begin. In preparation, Harry gathered the items he might need during his session. A bottle of clear, water-based lube, a bullet vibrator that recently joined his collection of toys and a silicone cock ring that looked to be a struggle to fit around his plump dick. He set the items aside on the table in front of where he would be sitting.

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, hands grasping the width of his hip as he opted to check on Y/N again. She was a heavy sleeper and the show will probably take around thirty minutes to do, minus the foreplay and all of that. It was still pretty early in the morning too; around ten-thirty, surely she’d stay put till then. He peeked his head through a small gap in his door, craning his neck to catch Y/N shifting just in time to rest on her other side.

Pretty soon, the webcam displayed a green dot at the corner and his screen was loaded to a black screen. The chat indicated that there were currently twenty people watching him. The total viewer count increased with each passing second that had Harry grinning to himself. Once the camera was adjusted to where it cut off around his neck, he sat back in his spinny chair, splaying his wide palms on his muscly thighs.

20 seconds left.

Harry could feel his cock grow in his boxers, the anticipation of his fans commenting on dirty things that they would like to do to him left his imagination endless. A blurt of precum stained the inside of the fabric, dotting the area a darker colour. He sighed deeply, wide eyes watching as the countdown changed.

5...4...3...2...1

In a blink of an eye, Harry’s toned body was showcased on the screen, allowing him to view what his viewers had the pleasure of viewing. The ‘LIVE’ sign blinked repeatedly.

“Hello,” Harry drawled out purposefully using a deeper tone to set the mood. “How are you today?” His fingers stayed hung over the armchair, griping it slightly when comments started rolling in.

“How’s my baby? Are you needy for me?” He found that the best way to ensure as much of connection between his viewers was to speak as though it was a one-on-one conversation. “Because I am,” A hand crawled towards his crotch where his half-massed dick rested on his upper thigh, the head prominent against the tight briefs.

Making sure to keep his face out of view, Harry leaned forward to read the remarks.

User12314: i love your tattoos

User48529: what i’d do to have my hands on you

He chuckled to himself, rubbing up and down to tease himself and them even more. Various 'pings' littered the room with Harry thanking each of them as much as possible.

“I’d love to have my hands on you too,” He gave his cock a gentle squeeze, sucking a breath through his gritted teeth at the sensation. “Wanna feel your body on my skin,” Harry released a throaty groan as he shifted to pinch at his nipples, “Would ya’ let me touch your breasts? I bet they’re soft and perfect for my hands,” His thumb rubbed circles on his top two nipples, shivering slightly.

One palm cupped his balls, thumbing at the middle as the other continued the ministrations on his chest. This went on for a couple more seconds until he pulled his hands away to rest on the ferns tattooed on his hips, rubbing the skin there sensually while he spoke, “Y’wanna see my cock? It’s so hard for you,” The head twitched twice, forcing an involuntary moan to leak from his plump lips.

User09321: yes please

He sighed at the message, his stomach burning with the need to just wrap his fingers around his dick and jerk it till he cums. But he couldn’t do that—at least not yet.

___

Y/N woke up from her slumber, dizzy and discombobulated about where she was only to realize that the ache in her lower back was caused by Harry’s uncomfortable couch. Her phone buzzed beside her; an alarm to wake up to watch a show. Not just any show—a filthy, dirty cam boy who hadn’t left Y/N’s mind ever since she discovered him for the first time a few days ago. She was drunk on wine and barely remembered what the live stream had contained. He was hot, that much she knew.

He wore a dark red sweater that covered his body which Y/N found quite adorable. Yet at the same time, his fist peeked out from his bunched sweater paws to desperately tug at his cock while endless whispers and groans flowed from his mouth through the speakers. His covered body arching against his seat, the walls behind him a plain white. Apparently, he was feeling like a sub that day and asked permission to touch himself like a good boy, pleading to cum. His audience couldn’t resist the whine in his deep voice, shooting streams of cum on his sweater, staining the fabric and probably ruining it forever.

Just before the live stream ended, he reminded everyone when his next show was--today-- and in her drunk daze, Y/N must have set up a reminder on her phone, completely forgetting that she was to hang out with Harry the day before. She rubbed the ball of her palm against her eyes, willing away the sleep on her lids. Sitting up on the cushion, she looked around Harry’s apartment to find the curly-headed boy.

“Harry?” She called out, checking his kitchen to find it empty. She went to his bathroom to freshen up, picking up her toothbrush that Harry had sweetly brought her after Y/N stayed at his place more times than both of them can count. After spitting out the foam pooling in her cheeks, Y/N dabbed the corners of her mouth with a soft, fluffy towel.

As she exited the bathroom, Y/N opened up the web browser in incognito mode, refreshing the link from a few days ago. The page loaded slowly, enabling Y/N to continue searching for Harry. She absent-mindedly walked to Harry’s closed bedroom door—the last place she had yet to look. Her phone produced a muffled sound when it finally loaded. She rapidly typed out a comment to send.

“Can’t take it anymore,” The man said, “I‘ve gotta touch myself but I’m wishing it’s you wrapping your hands around m’cock,”

Y/N could feel her thighs tighten, standing in front of Harry’s bedroom.

Sweetgirl112: touch yourself for me daddy. i wanna hear you say how good it feels

Harry growled upon seeing the message and its user, ��pulling the fabric down and letting his dick hit his skin with a faint slapping sound on his flushed stomach. Shaky fingers teased his length, tracing of the prominent veins that pumped his cock with blood. “Mm, it feels so good, love,” His thumb spread the liquid seeping at the tip, making sure to lube the head of his dick for a smooth stroke.

With distracted thoughts, Y/N pushed the bar handle down, a gentle bump knocking the door open.

She couldn’t believe her eyes when the loading screen on her phone mirrored the sight in front of her; Harry’s head thrown back, resting against the head of the office chair. Her phone cut off at the veins stretched over the expanse of his neck. His heaving chest glistening with sweat and the faint smell of coconut lingered in the air. His fist pumped his long cock up and down, squeezing at the tip to produce a dollop of wispy pre-cum. Closed eyes blocked his vision from Y/N standing frozen on the door, gazing back and forth towards the device on her sweaty palm to the even hotter view right in front of her.

A resonant sound of ‘pings’ pulled Harry out of his pleasure, lifting his head with the aim to thank whoever tipped him but was taken aback by the sight of his friend at his doorway.

“Oh shit,” He mumbled, impulsively clutching his full balls cradled between his fingers. Harry’s green irises were hooded, observing Y/N’s face with such intensity that it made her want to cower back. His two-front teeth grazed his bottom lip before parting his sweet mouth in a silent gasp at a particularly good stroke. “Wanna join me, baby?”

——

Let me know what you thought!

——

Permanent Taglist: @splendidsunsetx @swagmoneymaya @luviewoo @textingharry @arypesanchez @theresthingsthatwellneverknow @sunguines

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry smut

641 notes · View notes

hoe-doroki · 3 years

Text

stay

A response to this ask:

Reader having a silent mental breakdown and trying to hide it with Bakugo and iida!( bakugo’s fine if not iida)

warning: detailed descriptions of panic attack, self-loathing

pairing: Bakugou x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

word count: 2.2k

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

It seemed stupid to have any kind of mental illness around someone like Bakugou.

Bakugou had experienced near death multiple times by his mid-twenties had had witnessed the worst of the world first hand. His teens had been littered with trauma and, as an adult, his work was constantly throwing him into circumstances where his body, his life was at risk. He did this day in and day out and it wasn’t even a question. He survived it all and, more than that, he let the world think it was easy.

Sometimes just getting out of bed wasn’t easy for you.

You felt like your body was rotting. You’d been on the couch all day and it smelled stale from the layers of lazy sweat you’d gotten on it. From the shower you hadn’t taken and the hair you hadn’t touched. But was it rot from the outside in—something a bit of soap and buffing could slough off—or was it the inside out? Harder to reach, harder to fix. As your brain sent your every thought clenching on your veins, your vital organs, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was both. Rotted from the inside out and the outside in.

You tensed when you heard the door to your shared apartment click, a key being shoved into the lock. Over the cold numbness that you’d felt all day, a shot of panic sprinted through your bloodstream as a million ways to lie popped into your head. You popped off the couch and tried to think of a way to look busy, so you ran to the kitchen and started boiling some water.

This was something Bakugou couldn’t see. The last thing you wanted, the last thing he needed was for you to be another person that he had to save. Another person to risk himself for.

You eyed Bakugou when he came in, shoulders drooped, gait wide. He looked tired, but otherwise normal. You usually tried not to worry yourself with the cuts and scrapes he often showed up with after work, and, so long as he was walking, he usually told you to calm down and that he was fine. You weren’t going to test it today.

“Hi, babe,” you said, putting strained effort into your pitch, your tone, your face. Maybe your voice was too high, maybe the smile spread a bit too wide, so you turned back to the water, watching it heat.

“Hi,” Bakugou greeted as he kicked off his sneakers, voice gravely as it usually was after a shift. He was in civilian clothes now, having showered and changed at the agency. A black tee and jeans that never fit quite right on his narrow hips and tall frame. “What’re you up to?”

“Oh, I, um…” You looked down at the water, still cool enough to stick a finger into. You’d done nothing all day, having skipped out on all your classes with half-assed emails sent to the teachers. The idea of going had been too much to take—for reasons you had no language for—so you’d wallowed on the couch as the hours of the day had bled away. So the question felt like an interrogation about to put a scalpel to your flaws. “I’m just heating some water for tea. Was gonna get started on dinner.”

“What were you gonna make?”

Bakugou was in the kitchen now, coming up behind you to press a kiss against your temple. Your heart rate increased but not in the good way. Not in the way that it should. Instead of flutters it was pounding, smacking against your ribs in a reminder that he was too close, you were too visible—you might explode and you would hurt him.

“I, um, I wasn’t sure,” you said, the answer sending shameful heat to your cheeks. And then you were slapped the other way by how stupid that was. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Okay,” Bakugou said, going to the fridge. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Bakugou was always insistent on having a stocked fridge. With his job and you in your master’s program it was hard to find the time to grocery shop, much less eat consistent meals together, but those were the kinds of things that Bakugou prioritized. The things behind his sharp persona and shrinking legacy of reckless anger that made him a good boyfriend. An amazing partner and enviable roommate.

And what did you offer him? Emotional instability without just cause? A nascent—at best—career while he was climbing the pro hero charts every cycle?

Who were you kidding? You hadn’t even gone to class. You hadn’t done any of the work that you needed to do—the evening was a wash now, so you wouldn’t catch up. You were just wasting everyone’s time, like you always did.

“Hey, babe?”

By the tone of his voice, you realized that Bakugou had called you multiple times. Your eyes flicked toward him, but your head felt heavy to lift. “Hmm?” you asked, squeezing every last bit of breath into that hum.

“The water’s boiling.” Bakugou walked over to you, two mugs with teabags slumped at the bottom. He set them on the counter and put a hand on your shoulder, turning you a degree closer to him.

“Oh,” you intoned, pulling away and turning off the fire. Stupid. You were about to grab the pot when Bakugou dropped his hand down to your elbow, giving a firm squeeze.

“Are you okay?”

You ignored his gesture to stop and reached for the kettle, putting all of your effort into keeping your hands steady as you poured hissing water in one mug and then the other. Doing something was the only thing keeping you upright as your thoughts continued to swirl in your head poisoning each brain cell you had. You hadn’t done anything worth living for today. But goddamn it, if you couldn’t make these mugs of tea, then you should just walk out of the apartment and let Bakugou be better off without you.

“Woah, woah, what’s happening?”

Bakugou’s hand was on your chin as he pulled your face a little too roughly towards him. Or, rather, it wouldn’t have been rough, if you weren’t resisting it. But you didn’t want him to look you in the eye. See what a failure you were. Someone who couldn’t even overcome a bad emotional day to go to class while he’d been out saving lives—as usual. He took the pot from your white-knuckled grip and set it on the stove.

“Why are you crying?”

Were you? You hurriedly brushed a hand under your eyes and they came away slick, the water hot as the tea you were steeping.

“The…The steam…” you started, prepared to lie and lie and lie until there was nothing real left. The real stuff was too hard to hold. “I think…It just must have irri…tated my eyes.”

Your breathing was running away with you, chest heaving as you pulled away and faced the other direction. Your attempts were thin, too threadbare to hide behind. And your boyfriend wasn’t nearly stupid enough to be fooled, even by your best efforts.

“Babe, tell me what’s wrong,” Bakugou said forcibly, stepping around to face you again.

His eyes were searching for yours, but you held fisted hands to your cheek as you turned away from him. Now you could feel the tears streaming, and you couldn’t turn them off. But what was there to tell him? That you were just a big, stupid idiot who cried for no reason? That watching him become a better man only emphasized how totally shit you were? That when the two of you were on the street together, you knew that people wondered what a guy like him was doing with a person like you?

“I just want you to stop crying,” Bakugou said, and you could hear him getting desperate, only making you feel worse. You were biting your lips closed to keep the sobs from tearing out, but that only made embarrassing little huffs come out your nose, whimpers sneak past the back of your throat.

You couldn’t stop crying. How could you stop it when you didn’t understand what had started it?

“I’ll just,” you hiccupped, backing away from him. “Just give me…I’ll be fine, just give me a minute.”

“Fuck that,” Bakugou said, grabbing your wrist. “Do you want me to go because you want me to go, or because you think you deserve to be alone?”

The words felt like a trick, a riddle from some fairytale turned nightmare intended to make you fail either way. Telling him the truth would trap him in whatever trip wires had you tied in knots right now. But, at the same time, he was expecting the lie. He wasn’t letting you save him from this.

But why? He was always saving people. Why, for once, couldn’t you save him from you?

“Idiot,” Bakugou said, pulling you in to him. You cried harder, the weight of your failure dropping in your well and spilling more tears out of you. “Why would I leave you alone?”

A sob crashed out, breaking through haphazard letters of attempted defense. He needed to go; him seeing you like this only made it worse.

“It, um,” Bakugou’s voice was low, a register that was unfamiliar even to you, unsteady and unrehearsed. “It seems easier to be alone. I know it does. But…you’ve shown me that’s not true, so just. Let me show you the same, okay?”

You could feel how hard he was trying as he pressed you into his chest and you finally, finally let him. The sobbing made you weak in the knees, light in the head, but he held you. He held you up, held you close, and he wasn’t letting go.

Everyone always talked about how crying felt good. About it being a release that helped you process your pain. And maybe that was right when talking about grief or loss, but not this. These tears felt like nothing more than splashing in the masturbatory wallowing hole of your self pity. Embarrassing and stupid.

“Why?” you finally whispered when the sobs subsided a bit, letting you keep enough of the air in to at least say that.

For a moment, Bakugou didn’t say anything, and you wondered if you’d imagined the words. If you were imagining the whole thing and he really had left like you’d wanted. But then you heard breath catch in the back of his throat as he seemed to try and fail to find the words a couple of times.

“In another world,” he finally started. “I’d come home from a day of work fucking exhausted, slump on the couch, eat, and pack it in to go to bed before starting all over the next day. And I’d probably be fine with that. But I’d be a fucking idiot, because coming home to you makes it worth coming home.”

Your breathing was steadying as he talked and you could feel the tears cooling against your cheek, against his wet t-shirt.

“Even with you looking like a damn mess like this,” Bakugou said and you could hear the smile in his voice. His smile, which had grown less rare over time, was always so wide that it made his words sound different. Warmer. They managed to draw a haggard chuckle out of you. “I’m happier just to be around you than convincing myself that being lonely at the top is the best way.”

“I don’t want to drag you down from the top,” you said. “Your company shouldn’t be dead weight.”

“Dead weight?” Bakugou repeated, pulling back to look at you. “Dumbass.”

He pulled you in again, both of his arms around the back of your head so that you were nearly smothered in his chest.

“That’s the stupidest fucking shit I’ve ever heard. You’re fucking incredible, and if that’s why you’re crying today, then you and me have to do some talking.”

Another laugh managed to crawl its way out of you and Bakugou let you pull back to breathe again.

“Are you okay now?”

‘Okay’ felt like such a far ways away. But you were above water again. Somewhere next to okay, distance undetermined.

“I’m surviving,” you decided.

Bakugou looked at you, a couple different things flashing over his eyes, too quickly for you to identify. “Well, that’ll do for now, but we’re not settling for that. Just talk to me. I’m not the best at this, but…I want to be better at it.”

In that moment, you remembered that Bakugou wasn’t perfect either. That he constantly had voices in his head telling him that he wasn’t doing enough and, not only that, he had the public constantly critiquing his attitude, his skills, his work. That, to some degree, this was already something you were going through together.

“I think you’re better at it than you think.”

Bakugou smiled again, this one not so wide, but more private. “You too, he said. Whatever bullshit you’re telling yourself—you’re better than you think.”

He pulled you in close again, and this time you sunk into it, enjoying his warm muscles, the way that his hair was still a little damp from the shower. You weren’t sure if anything had changed—all your problems were still present as they’d ever been. But yet, there was one thing. Now, with Bakugou’s arms like a buttress to your shaky but standing foundation, you, paradoxically, hoped that he would stay and stay and stay.

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo #bakugou #bakugo #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #mha x reader #hurt/comfort

366 notes · View notes

toosicktoocare · 3 years

Note

If ur taking request (if not it’s totally fine just ignore this) dick trying to keep going about his day with a fever because he doesn’t think his well-being is that important and he ends up collapsing in front of/on his siblings?

The situation, Dick thinks, is overwhelmingly less than ideal. He’s due at the manor in an hour, and yet the thermometer reading, 101.4 degrees Fahrenheit, is flashing red across his vision, a physical testament to the headache drumming across his temples.

His schedule, as it has been for the last few months, is packed. Now that he’s mending and strengthening his relationships with his brothers, he’s keeping himself actively involved in their lives, and thus, he’s near-constantly busy.

Today, he promised Damian he’d spar with him in the morning, then he’s due to work with Tim on some advanced science project for his advanced biology course, and then Jason, begrudgingly, agreed to a late lunch that Dick will be cooking for everyone at the manor, seizing the opportunity to utilize so the full kitchen without Alfred and Bruce breathing down his neck.

Relastically, he should cancel. He knows this; however, his commitment to his brothers means more than the fever pressing warm against his cheeks right now, so he turns the thermometer off and snags his jacket and bag, leaving his apartment, and hopefully, the knowledge of his ailments at his back.

***

Even just pulling his car into the cave, he can tell the manor’s buzzing with activity, and he parks beside Jason’s bike, sporting a curious gaze at it. Jason mentioned he wouldn’t be over until later, right before lunch essentially, citing he had “business” to tend to beforehand. At the time, Dick didn’t want to ask and still doesn’t want to ask now. Besides, he’s not sure his head can even properly wrap around Jason’s “business,” not with the now pounding that’s stretching out across his forehead.

He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, frowning at the faint drops of sweat, and takes a few moments to breathe deeply, willing his heart to ease up some of the rabbit’s foot racing. His breathing, however, goes interrupted when Damian bangs on his window, already geared up and ready to spar.

“Are you going to sit in there all day, Grayson?”

Dick plasters on a practiced smile, one he can manifest to be naturally radiant, and he slips out of the car, dropping his hand atop Damian’s head and ruffling his hair. “Sorry, Little D. You’re sparring in full gear?” He eyes the Robin costume fitted on Damian, and Damian nods tightly.

“Of course. Father says I should always spar in my suit to ensure I know exactly how my body’s able to move within it.”

Dick’s heard this one before, and he can’t help but roll his eyes. “Right, well, believe it or not,” he pauses, reaching for his bag in his backseat, I’ve only got sweats and a tank.” He waves the bag in front of Damian’s face, smiling almost impishly. “Unfortunately for you, that’s all I need.”

Damian scoffs, whipping sharply on his heel and starting toward the manor’s large sparring arena, and Dick laughs, his smile only faltering when he’s sure Damian’s no longer in sight. He slips to the changing rooms, locking the door behind him and sagging against it, his bag falling to the floor. It’s occurred to him, just now of all times, that in his rush to disregard his own well-being in favor of his brothers’, he completely forgot to actually take anything to alleviate the fever. The changing room’s not stocked since med-bay’s close by, and Dick’s sure he won’t manage to sneak into medical without Damian seeing.

Instead, he hunches over a sink, splashing cold water over his face, the feeling odd as it eases the heat coating his face but brings a mute chill down his spine. Shuddering lightly, he changes from his jeans to his sweats, and he tugs his GCPD shirt off, slipping his tank on and rubbing lightly at his bare arms as he starts out of the room.

Damian’s already center of the mat when Dick walks in, and Dick pulls his arms into long stretches and shakes out his limbs as he walks forward, planting himself in front of Damian.

“Ready?”

“Are you?” Damian spits out, eyes narrow behind his domino.

“Show me what you’ve got, Robin.”

Dick’s quick on feet, effortlessly dodging Damian’s fists swinging at him, the batarangs flying toward him. When he catches on between two fingers, a cocky smile playing on his lips, Damian comes at him harder, stronger, really putting what he’s learned from Bruce on display. Dick can still keep up, he can still pin Damian within each cycle, but his headache, that he’s forced to the back of his mind, is blooming centerfold, tugging at his attention enough for Damian to sneak in a leg swipe, promptly knocking Dick on his back.

In seconds, Damian’s atop him, a knife pressed to his throat, and Dick raises both hands. “I cave.” Dick smiles, his chest heaving, lungs desperate to suck in air, and Damian flips off of him, frowning.

“What’s wrong with you? You aren’t normally winded this early in.”

Dick climbs to his feet, a groan threatening to creep up his throat, and then he moves, catching Damian off guard and knocking him square in the chest. Damian falls back, and now Dick’s pinning him. “No distractions, Little D.”

“Ugh,” Damian growls, shoving Dick off him. “You’re hot and sweaty, and you aren’t playing fair.”

“Playing,” Dick parrots back, and though his muscles are aching deeply, he pushes himself back to his feet, a tight smile teasing at his lips. “Since when is this playing?”

***

By the time Dick and Damian finish, roughly two hours later, Dick’s muscles are shaking with each step. He only just managed to change back into his jeans and shirt without toppling over, his sparring clothes now drenched in sweat, and now, on his way to Tim’s room, he’s shivering slightly, the lingering sweat against his skin now properly chilling him.

He rubs at his forehead, sighing deeply, but when he reaches Tim’s door, he smooths out his features and wills his body to stop trembling. He knocks even though the door’s ajar.

“Come in.”

Dick makes to push the door opening, pausing when Tim adds, “unless it’s you Damian. If that’s the case, go the hell away.”

Dick breathes through a low laugh and slips inside. “Friend?” he asks, and Tim spares a glance from the supplies on his desk.

“Hey, Dick.”

“Hey, Little Wing,” Dick says, starting toward the desk. He eyes the supplies, but his foggy mind struggles to work through the project based on what’s littered across the desk. “What do we have going on here?”

Tim explains as Dick drops down into the chair across from Tim, but Dick’s having a hard time following. He nods when appropriate, offers a few light hums, but his eyes can only blankly stare. He’s really beginning to feel the heat of the fever. It clings to his cheeks and drags down his neck, stopping just short of his collarbone, where the heat dissapates to an uncomfortable sheet of ice atop his muscles. His jaw is clenched tight to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Dick?”

“Huh?” Dick blinks slowly, and Tim’s frowning at him.

“Did you... are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, of course.” Dick smiles easily, and he can visibly see some of the tension taut against Tim’s face fade. He picks up up something, twisting it around in front his his eyes. “So this thing needs to attach to...” he pauses, pointing, “that thing via... science?”

Tim huffs loudly, rolling his eyes. “You know, Bruce always raves about how smart you are, but there’s not a day that goes by where I wonder if he’s delusional.”

Dick clutches dramatically at his chest, and he purses his lips into a pout. “I’m hurt, Little Wing! I’ll have you know I was top of my class.”

“Then prove it,” Tim challenges, lips pulled into a flat, almost bored, line that contradicts the faint hint of fire in his eyes.

For the second time, Dick slots the headache, the fever, far into the back of his mind, instead hunching over and forcing his ears to send comprehensive sentences to his mind as he begins to work while Tim talks.

***

By the time Dick’s planted in front of the stove, he’s sure his fever’s spiking. The heat billowing up from the stovetop seems to skin into his face, mixing with the hot pressure of illness, and yet the rest of him, down to his toes, his positively freezing. He swipes the back of his hand against his forehead, his breaths coming out in hot puffs.

The others are talking behind him. Well, Damian and Tim are arguing, and Jason’s only chiming in to agree with one or the other. For a while, Dick was able to keep up, even offering his own input, but now, he can’t work his mind into multitasking, and right now, he needs to flip the grilled cheese.

He’s holding the spatula, but his vision’s starting to gray at the edges, a new development that’s currently capturing all of his focus. Second to that is the fact that he’s beginning to feel hot all over, to the point where his skin is prickling with sweat. The heat encompasses his vision, roars in his ears.

“Grayson? Are you burning the grilled cheese?”

“Don’t be a dick, Damian.”

“Both of you shut the hell up.”

The voices are faint, and Dick wants to ponder on why Jason sounds worried. Jason doesn’t do worried; that’s Bruce’s and Dick’s jobs. He very slowly turns around to see Jason walking toward him, and when he opens his mouth, his vision chooses that exact time to black out.

***

Dick comes to in slow waves, his mind immediately working through his surroundings without panic, as he’s been trained to do. He’s on the floor, and it’s cold, but the tile is familiar. And, he’s slumped against someone warm and broad. He thinks Bruce for a moment, but then there’s a voice that is definitely not Bruce speaking.

“Dick?”

It’s Jason, Dick easily supplies, and he sounds scared. Dick lifts his head and struggles to push himself away from Jason, swaying lightly despite being seated. “What happened?”

Jason’s eyes are narrow as they dart across Dick’s face. “You passed out.”

The three words are enough to bring Dick completely back to the present, and he whips his gaze to see Damian at the stove, trying to keep a fire from starting, and Tim tight against the doorway, arms crossed, worry clear across his face.

“Shit,” he mutters, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t think it would get this bad.”

“You didn’t think-”

“-Jason, don’t,” Tim cuts in. “You can yell at him later. Right now, he doesn’t need to be on the floor.”

Dick’s shaking, unsure of just when he got so cold, and his head’s throbbing like mad. He pulls his gaze back to Jason, and he must really look awful because Jason’s face twists from anger then back to concern, and he starts to his feet, dragging Dick with him.

Dick’s unsteady, his legs wobbling, and he leans heavily into Jason as he’s guided out of the kitchen and into one of the many living rooms, where Jason eases him gently onto a couch.

“Have you taken anything?”

Jason’s voice is tight, and Dick shakes his head, draping an arm across his eyes to ease the pain the light filtering in from the window adds to the pressure already in his head. He can hear the others busying themselves around him, and then he’s being eased upward by Jason and offered a pill by Damian. He takes it, accepting the water Jason’s got in his other hand, and then he’s back on his back. A blanket’s draped over him, and then after some hushed debate above him, another one is added, which he’s mutely thankful for.

He tries to tug the blanket over his face, to block out the light, but Jason stops him with a low growl of “don’t,” and shortly after, a cold, damp cloth is being draped across his forehead.

“Here, Jason.”

Dick squints at the thermometer being handed to Jason, and he frowns when Jason presses it to his ear.

“Jay-”

“If you say ‘I’m fine,’ I’m going to call Bruce and have him bring down the wrath of Batman on your ass a thousand times over.”

The thermometer beeps quickly, before Dick can defend himself, and then he’s blinking slowly at the 103.2 degree reading flashing at him.

“See? Not fine,” Jason grumbles, leaving his spot on the edge of the catch and starting himself into a pace across the room.

“Dick, why didn’t you say something?”

Dick drags his gaze to the ceiling and tries not feel too hurt by Tim’s quiet voice. “I didn’t think it was important,” he admits and Jason throws his hands up, exasperated.

“Of course you fucking didn’t. Your self-sacrificial bullshit really grates on my nerves, Dick.”

“Jason-”

“-no. Todd is right,” Damian interrupts, cutting Tim off. “Grayson, your well-being is just as important as ours, if not more so. If you’re unwell, you should say so and rest.”

“You sound like Alfred,” Dick groans, eyes squeezing shut and only opening once more when Tim twists the blinds shut. “I just...” he tries, sighing deeply. “We’ve been through so much,” he starts, sure he’s got all eyes on him, “and we still have a long way to go. I didn’t want to cancel today and miss being with you three because of a small fever.”

“Small?”

“Jason,” Tim sighs. “Dick, you know I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t mean it, but Damian is right. Everything today,” Tim pauses, gesturing around the room, “could have waited until you were better. We aren’t going anywhere.”

The thing is, that’s what Dick struggles to believe the most: that his family isn’t going anywhere. He suffered long through Jason’s first death, the pain was so deep it felt untouchable, and now he feels like he’s constantly chasing lost time, time that has the potential to be endlessly fragile.

“Ugh, stop,” Jason groans, and Dick whips a sharp gaze to him. “You have that stupid sad look on your face, and it’s annoying. You still wanna spend time with us, even though I personally think you should be hooked up in med-bay? Fine.” He pauses, turning to Tim, “Figure out something to watch. I’m going to try and salvage lunch.”

Jason storms out of the room before Dick can apologize, as he feels he needs to, and when he tries, Damian cuts him off by slapping at his legs so he can curl up on the end of the couch.

“Save it, Grayson. Just try not to be such an imbecile next time you have the plague, got it?”

“Once again,” Tim says, “I’m with Damian on this one.”

Dick smiles, the first genuinely real smile he’s mustered up all day. It’s tired, worn, and a little shaky, but it’s still real.

“I’ll try.”

#batfam #batfamily #batbros #sickfic #fanfiction #whump #whumpfic #prompt fill #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #tim drake #this is not edited i'm sorry #i just found out i lost 7k words of a fic i'm working on #that of which i had planned to upload the second chapter of tomrrow #so i'm just sad

143 notes · View notes

90slevi · 3 years

Text

Loneliness {Levi Ackerman x Reader}

TW: a bit of gore? a LOT of angst, more of me venting lol

Levi ran his hands through his hair as he flopped down onto the old, crusty sofa.

It'd been a tough day for him and his squad, the group of them only just surviving as they frantically dodged a mass of titans and tried their best to weave through the pounding rain that was so heavy it almost left marks on the scarred bodies of the soldiers. Thank god the group had found a small, secluded cabin, or they might've frozen to death - if they hadn't been eaten first.

The number of people Levi had seen get mutilated in front of him in the past few hours alone was enough for the average person to see in a lifetime. For him, it should be normal. He should be used to it by now, maybe even desensitised, but every time he watched a person get split in half by the gaping jaws of a titan, it felt like a fresh, stinging wound on his skin. It was painful, yet all he could do was watch with his stern expression to hide the way he truly felt. To keep the confidence of his squad high.

Now, he and his crew were safe. Physically, maybe, but certainly not mentally.

Levi missed his wife. His head pounded in pain as the blood-stained bandages began to unravel and his headache increased, but all he wanted to do was think about her. He held her letters close, and he held the small oil-painting of the two of them close to his heart, something that'd been made by one of the higher-ups as a gift for Humanity's Strongest. The letter was one of the first things Y/n had written to him and the pretty yet smudged handwriting along with the cute curls of her Gs and Ys made his heart feel warm.

It'd been about a month since they'd both left Wall Sina to go on this extremely long, drawn-out expedition, and how much he cared about her was beginning to dwell on him. His heart and body ached, and he wished she was there with him to comfort his pains, even if he acted like he wasn't listening.

That was what Levi liked about her; she knew how much he cared about her without him needing to express himself. Something he wasn't... the best at.

Levi didn't realise his eyes were welling up with tears until he felt a small, fresh droplet appear on his upper cheek, and his eyelashes felt sticky. Quickly, he wiped it away with his sleeves, but it was unlikely anyone would see. Everyone was supposedly asleep, while he stayed up due to his unfortunate insomnia. Y/n was always there with him in their bed at home, someone he could hold onto while he tried his best to sleep. Her fingers running through his hair, leaving small little pats on his scalp, and tiny kisses on his forehead were all things he missed dreadfully, and he gulped a little as his heart pounded slightly.

Love was never really a thing Levi had believed in. He just went about his life, trying to survive and find a better life for humanity. But when he met Y/n, everything changed. Of course, he disliked her at first, just as he did with most people. Her bubbly, caring personality with too much sympathy and love for other people were things he, unfortunately, despised, mainly because they were things he seemed to lack. Yet... he couldn't help but be drawn to her, giving her extra chores such as cleaning his office and bringing him tea just so he could see her. Often he'd ask Y/n to help him with his paperwork so he had some sort of company, once even choosing her over Hanji to fetch him food.

He slowly began to realise over the months that it wasn't hatred he felt for Y/n. It was... fear. He was scared of loving someone, especially someone like her. Someone who was part of the Survey Corps, and someone who could die within a week and not have the chance to say goodbye. It hurt him way too much to love someone, yet he couldn't keep his feelings to himself.

When he found out she felt the same way, the two discussed their options. One being totally ridiculous and one being... more reasonable and sensible.

The first? Choosing to leave the Survey Corps and get married, far away from the life they'd been leading.

The second? Staying in the Survey Corps and going separate ways, never to speak of this again and to drop the feelings if they could.

But of course Y/n managed to merge the two together. Staying in the Survey Corps and getting married.

But... they were in different squads. While he led his own, Y/n was under Hanji, and he currently had no idea where her squad was or IF they'd even survived. They'd been seperated for three weeks now, and the questions that filled his mind felt like psychological torture. Levi tried his best to block that thought out of his head, not wanting to be plagued with the thoughts of his wife's death instead of focussing on the mission at hand. At that moment, he needed to prioritise his own Squad's safety, but he couldn't keep those thoughts at bay.

A sniffle escaped his nose as he felt his eyes well up again, and Levi had never felt so lonely. His free arm reached upwards as if he could magically touch fingers with Y/n and know she was okay, but it was pointless. His arm flopped back down as he tried to find a comfortable position on the absolutely awful-excuse of a sofa, but struggled. Crying was not a very-Levi thing to do, but at that moment? He just couldn't help himself.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he felt almost like a baby. He was not only upset about not having his wife near, but extremely embarrassed too. He was hyperaware that someone could see him, even though nobody was there, and he knew that as a captain, it was highly irresponsible to be sobbing like this. He'd only cried twice in front of Y/n; the first was when he thought she'd died, and the second was the aftermath of his original squad dying. If only she could see him now, looking pathetic and weak.

But he should've known she didn't think of him like that. Y/n knew him as the strongest person she'd ever met in her life and believed that crying was not a sign of weakness, but a sign of holding it in for too long. Holding in those negative emotions and putting on a strong facade only she could see through. Only a fool would think Levi was brave all the time, because even the strongest get scared.

"Fuck," Levi muttered shakily, noticing that one of his tears had merged two words together on one of the letters, creating an inky black blob. He placed the pieces of parchment onto the table beside him, making sure not to ruin them anymore, and balled his fists into his eyes to stop himself from crying anymore. He didn't want to feel this; he wanted to go home and spend the rest of his days with you, blissfully unaware that the titans even existed. Maybe he'd be a dad.

But no. The world just liked to cruelly torture him and watch him suffer. The world wanted him to watch everyone he ever knew die in front of him in ways he didn't want to experience. The world just wanted the worst for him, and he wondered what he'd ever done to deserve it.

When he heard a knock at the door of the cabin, he completely ignored it, not wanting to get up and answer. His eyes were red and puffy, while teardrops hung in his eyelashes. It was clear as day he'd been crying, and for some reason, it didn't exactly register in his mind that there was someone at the door until he heard footsteps.

"Captain Hanji!" a voice from downstairs exclaimed, one Levi recognised as Armin Arlert's. Levi almost shot up in his seat at that name, and his heart almost dropped to the pit of his stomach. He held his breath, the pain of not knowing whether his wife was alive or not becoming too much to bear. And now, he'd be told what'd happened to her. "It's so late, where have you been?"

"We took a detour," Hanji chuckled, and Levi groaned quietly at her poor taste in jokes. It was somewhere around 2am and everyone was filled with so much anxiety that it really wasn't the right time for her 'comedic expertise'. "No, we got ambushed by a ton of titans and we had to hideout in this abandoned castle until it was safe. We used the night to kill the ones that were resting before coming here."

"But we got lost," a male's voice said, and Levi heard Armin physically face-palm. The captain kicked his legs over the sofa and his ears pricked up, his heart racing against his chest for any sign of his wife. He was completely frozen in place, unable to leave the room and confront the group, never mind help them. Thank goodness Armin was there. "Hanji went way too far East instead of West."

"Hey! I was listening to your directions, Heinrich," Hanji sighed, and he heard the door close behind them as the whole group wandered inside. A few members of his own squad seemed to be leaving their temporary bedroom, greeting Hanji and the others with a fake display of delight. Not that they weren't happy to see Hanji's squad; they were delighted to know the group was alive and well. They were just... tired, and too mentally traumatised from that day alone to give a proper smile.

Footsteps echoed around the house to the point that Levi had no idea if people were coming up or going down the stairs, and he finally stood up when the door to his room opened...

And his heart skipped a beat.

Standing in the doorway was Y/n, her eyes swollen from tears and her wrist in a temporary bandage. Cuts and bruises littered her visible skin, and she dropped her cloak to the floor as she rushed over, flinging herself into her husband's arms. Levi fell backward onto the sofa, his eyes wide with surprise as the woman nuzzled her face into his neck and chest, unable to get enough of him. A strangled breath left her as she pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, and he returned it. His hands roamed her back, gently taking off her brown jacket and examining her broken wrist.

"Y/n," he said quietly, looking up at her as she straddled his legs, hugging him with her free arm. "What happened?"

"I went to rescue Lorena Engel and fractured my wrist in the process," she said softly, sitting up and wiping her eyes as she attempted to look him in the face. "She was grabbed by a titan and I went to slice at the wrong angle... it was purely an accident."

"I'm glad to see that other than that, you're okay," he said, a small, strained smile on his lips. It wasn't that he wasn't happy to see her. In fact, he was completely overjoyed to see his wife again. It was just... really difficult to smile at that point in time, and thankfully, she understood. Then, he wrapped his arms around her waist once more and held her tightly, his face against her chest as he listened to her racing heartbeat. Tears began to escape again, and when she noticed, she planted soft kisses across his head, her hands running through his hair just as he liked. "God, I missed you so fucking much."

"I missed you too," she answered, the goosebumps that'd prickled on her body due to the cold eventually disappearing. The dim candlelight in the room was barely exuding any heat, but the warmth from her husband was enough. Just Levi being there, safe and sound, was enough.

After a while, Levi's voice entered the silent room.

"Did everyone in your squad make it?" he asked, and it took a few moments for Y/n to reply.

"Everyone except Marcus Karsten" she whispered, choking slightly. "He... lost his life a week ago. What about... you?"

"Everyone made it," Levi answered, gently rubbing her back comfortingly. He wasn't best with words, so he made sure to make up for it with actions. She seemed to like that, anyway. "I'm... thankful for that."

"Yeah, that's good," Y/n said, a genuine smile on her lips. She was grateful his squad had no fatalities. They were a good bunch of kids, and she got along with most of them. "Levi, why is there a bandage on your head?

"Little accident," he answered, amused that she was worried about the little things. His injuries didn't matter to him, but to her they were incredibly important. "I misjudged where I was going and banged my head, but it's okay."

"It better be," she chuckled quietly, even the tiniest bit of laughter meaning the world to him. He hadn't heard it in so long that he hadn't realised how desperate he was for it. "Now, I can see those little eyebags creeping onto your face. You've barely slept."

"So?" he muttered, burying his face further into her chest. "What about it?"

"God, your stubborn," she sighed, ruffling his hair. "Now that I'm here, will you try your best to fall asleep?"

"But you've only just arrived-"

"So?" Y/n answered, teasing him and brushing his forehead with her thumb. She then planted another yet smaller kiss onto his lips, one Levi tried to push further into but was denied. "You'll be seeing me all day tomorrow. Just a couple hours rest won't do any harm."

Levi knew there was no winning against his wife. She was incredibly persistent when she wanted to be, so he sighed in annoyance before falling onto his back, lying on the sofa. She lay on top of him, his arms tight around her body as she snuggled into his shoulder. A tiny sigh of relief left his lungs and he took a deep breath in, filling his nose with her scent (and the unfortunate smell of dirt and blood, but he didn't care).

As happy as he could get, Levi eventually fell asleep, holding his dearly beloved in his arms.

#levi ackerman #attack on titan #levi #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot #anime #levi fanfiction #one-shot #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff and angst

109 notes · View notes

ot7always · 4 years

Text

Fractured (part 3)

prev / Series Masterlist / next

Word Count: 5.9k

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Mafia AU, angst, fluff, (future) smut

Warnings: objectification, mentions of sex, guns, knives, murder, and death (non-graphic), mentions of blood (not gory, but it’s there several times), non-serious injury, depictions of mental illness in the form of: nightmares, self-loathing, anxiety

Rating: 18+

Summary: You’d always known something was strange and different about your “family,” but it wasn’t as though your environment encouraged curiosity from you. You thought you wanted to know all the answers, but nobody ever told you that the more you learned the more pieces of yourself you would leave behind.

A/N: Part 3 is here! This is going to be the last ‘introductory’ chapter before some more exciting things happen in the series. Let me know what you think!

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

It was cold.

Damp.

The floor beneath your feet was solid concrete, drops of water littering the floor, having fallen from the pipes above.

You were unarmed. Only a plain black t-shirt and cotton pants – why was this all you were wearing?

The cold air thoroughly chilled your bones, your teeth chattering together in your skull.

“Pay attention, bitch.” Before the voice even completed its sentence, the deafening boom of a gunshot rang through the room, bullet ricocheting off the wall behind you before clattering to the floor.

It was then that you took in your circumstances. You were standing in the middle of a circle of chairs, seated bodies facing you, faces blindfolded. Your heart stopped in your chest when you realized.

Seven chairs. Seven men. Bound around you as you were unarmed.

You rose your gaze to meet the eyes of a man you didn’t recognize, his pistol dangling at his side. Despite his laid-back demeanor, his men were behind him, and you knew without a doubt that you would surely die before you could even hope of making it to him.

“Choose.” His voice rang through the room, echoing off the bare stone walls.

You blinked in confusion, glancing at the men seated around you. Why was nobody struggling? Surely there wasn’t a tie in the world that could hold Hoseok, right?

Attempting not to show your anxiety, you cleared your throat. “Choose what?”

“Choose which one of your little boyfriends dies, and the rest of you can go free.”

You couldn’t hide the flash of panic on your face at his words, your gut twisting. “My boyfriends?” You schooled your voice, the carefully crafted cold mask returning to your face. You could only hope to stall until you found a way out of this situation.

“Aw, sweetheart, we both know they wouldn’t keep you around if they couldn’t put their dick in you, don’t we?”

Anger flared in your chest, quickly stamped down as you struggled to maintain neutral features. In the corner of your eye, you saw Jimin’s angry grimace, his body shifting beneath the ropes. You elected to ignore it, lest you draw unnecessary attention to him.

But it seemed that the man didn’t miss it.

“That one doesn’t like me talking about his slut, does he?” he laughed cruelly, pointing his gun at his direction.

Your heart rate rose exponentially in your chest. “We’re a family. Surely you understand – or do you not understand anything besides fucking?”

Stall. Stall. Stall.

But it appeared he chose to ignore your latter comment. “Oh, is that what they call it nowadays? My apologies, my lady,” he taunted, sending an ugly grin your way.

“Why are we here?” you deadpanned, eager to get on your way.

“You’re very hated out there, my dear,” he sung mockingly. “A certain someone paid me very generously to torment you, and I thought this seemed fun!”

“You’re insane,” you scowled, eyes darting around the room. But it seemed he did his research – there was only one visible entrance, and he was right in front of it. The distance between you and him was too great to get close enough to stand a fighting chance without weapons. Someone would surely die if you tried. If not you, one of the boys.

“Everyone’s insane in this business, sweetheart. Speaking of business, choose. Don’t think you can stall this out like you’ve been trying to do.”

You didn’t bother hiding your scowl. “Can’t I choose myself?”

“What good would that be? We both know dying is easy. Living with blood on your hands is a lot harder, don’t you think?”

He was right – but it didn’t change the fact that you would exchange your life for any of theirs in a heartbeat.

It didn’t seem like there was any way out of this. He wouldn’t really kill someone here – right?

Wrong.

You knew more than anyone how ruthless everyone in the world could be when it came to money.

He could kill all of you if he wanted.

But you were sure he knew that if he tried something too drastic you’d be able to take advantage of his distraction.

He was too smart to do anything besides what he said. And you were too desperate to try anything else.

You took in the sight of the men seated around you, some biting their bottom lip in an attempt to remain quiet. There was absolutely no way you could do this. Wasn’t there any way you could stall this out?

BANG.

You wouldn’t have known exactly what happened if not for Jimin’s loud scream, blood gushing from his shoulder from where the man had skillfully aimed. Wide-eyed, you had to keep yourself from springing towards him, though upon first glance it didn’t look like a deadly wound.

“You don’t have much longer before I get angry. Choose.”

“Hey.”

You only spun around to face everyone surrounding you, the helplessness washing over you, dread rising in your stomach. Was this a joke?

You paused when you spotted Yoongi mouthing something to you. He was sitting opposite the door, his back to the heartless man, who couldn’t see what he was doing. You stared as he moved his lips, trying to make out the words.

‘It’s okay.’

“Y/N!”

You had to stop the tears from rising to the surface. This wasn’t okay, and would never be okay.

“Particularly attached to that one, huh?”

Before you knew it, the gun was pointed to Yoongi’s head, the man’s chuckle punctuated by the pull of the trigger.

You let out an ear-piercing scream at the same time as the bang rung through the room, knees crashing to the concrete beneath you, your eyes too afraid to look up.

“Y/N!”

Your eyes flashed open at hands grasping your shoulders tightly enough to grate against the bone. Panting heavily, you shot your gaze around the room, heartbeat slowing as you took in the sight of Yoongi’s bedroom and not a windowless, concrete building.

“Hey. You’re safe.”

At the sound of a soothing voice, you fully realized the presence of another person as your senses started coming back to you. At his warm tone, you focused your blurry vision on Jimin’s face, blinking away unshed tears. His brow was furrowed, concern clear on his face.

“You were screaming.” When he realized you were fully awake, his grip on you lessened, but his hands remained in place as he took in the fear in your eyes and the trembling of your limbs. “Hey, are you with me?”

You nodded your assurance, closing your eyes to focus on evening out your breathing. “I’m okay,” you mumbled. Physically you knew you were, your body becoming more awake, feeling more under your control by the second. But you were shaken by what you saw, how real it seemed. How realistic it was.

Nobody appreciated the reminder that the people they loved could die at any moment.

Jimin waited patiently as you struggled to pull yourself together. This wasn’t the first time he’d found you like this, and it almost certainly wouldn’t be the last. He’s witnessed some of your lowest moments, after all. Jimin was arguably the softest and most attentive one in the house – with you guys, anyway. You’d never seen anyone who could flip a switch in the way Jimin did as soon as he stepped out into the field. You admired the way he allowed himself to let loose at home, but could be professional as soon as he stepped outside.

The way he fretted over everyone like a mother hen had endeared you to him since a time before you’d even started kindergarten.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he prodded gently once you’d opened your eyes, vision fixed on an empty spot on the wall to avoid his searching gaze.

You quickly shook your head, burying the mess of emotions deep within you, as though acting unbothered would will your anxiety out of existence. Despite receiving the same answer each time over the past few months and years, Jimin never failed to ask the same question. You both loved and hated him for it, to no fault of his own. You simply didn’t feel comfortable laying out all of your thoughts, and the vulnerability that came with it. Not when so much of your sanity relied upon your mask of indifference and focus on work.

Despite your refusal, he eyed you for several more seconds, hesitantly releasing you and seating himself beside you so that your shoulders were touching. In your peripheral vision you caught a glimpse of his conflicted expression. You couldn’t blame him – he did, you assume, come in here because your screaming was audible from the hallway. You would be concerned too, especially in a house where every room was made to be relatively private, sound-wise.

Images of that dream still floated through your mind, the last few seconds before you woke up playing on repeat again, and again, and again.

“Where’s Yoongi?” you asked, hoping to distract Jimin from your sorry state. But it appeared that your question was most definitely not the right way to go about that, because his concern only grew more noticeable.

“Yoongi-hyung...? He’s out tonight, remember? With Seokjinnie-hyung?” He stared at you incredulously.

Right.

You couldn’t believe it had slipped your mind – and neither could Jimin, apparently. His astonishment made sense, though. If there was one person in the house with laser focus on the job, it was probably you. It was easier that way – your work brain didn’t worry so much about what happened in the field.

But that meant you usually kept tabs on what everyone was doing, especially considering what they were doing was related to what you would be doing tomorrow. Especially considering you could barely sleep without knowing every one of them was back home and safe.

“Are you... sure you’re okay?” he asked at your lack of response.

“I’m fine... just wasn’t fully awake, you know?” you deflected, awkward chuckle falling from your lips. You were fine, right? Your mind was just a little bit too preoccupied to remember something. Something very important, and something that you usually never forgot, but it wasn’t that big of a deal.

But Jimin didn’t seem to think so, the disbelief clear on his face. But before he could open his mouth to say something, you spoke first.

“Do you ever have nightmares?” you asked simply, hugging your knees to your chest, wrapping yourself into a little ball. Of course, you knew the answer already, but a selfish part of you just wanted the reassurance that you weren’t alone in your experiences.

“Y/N...” he trailed off, tone sad. “I think we all do. You’re not alone here.”

“What do you do?”

That seemed to surprise him. The words slipped from you before you could stop them. For lack of better wording – you didn’t tend to initiate conversations about things that really mattered. Things that were important to you personally, things that weren’t surface-level or work-related. Perhaps waking up after an awful dream next to a person rather than your usual empty room brought forth an unusual vulnerability.

He seemed to ponder over a response, taking his time before answering. “I talk about it.” He had decided to answer honestly, cringing inwardly at the answer, knowing how much you avoided talking about your problems with anyone.

You deflated almost imperceptively at his answer, though you were sure he noticed. You didn’t know what you were expecting, and didn’t know why you were disappointed. Did you really think Jimin would have some secret to help you?

No – he just wasn’t a coward like you were.

“Y/N, I know things are a lot harder for you than everyone else-”

“They’re not,” you interjected.

“They are. Everyone else grew up knowing what this house was from birth. But you? They let you become a person and then forcefully replaced you with another version of yourself later. Us? This is all we ever were.” There was a trace of bitterness in his tone, one you chose not to comment on. “I don’t know why they waited so long to tell you. Maybe that’s the reason you’re so-”

He cut himself off before he could finish the sentence, grimacing slightly at his uncontrolled babbling.

But it didn’t take a genius to understand where he was going with that thought.

“So what?” Fucked up? Broken? You weren’t sure you wanted to know what he was going to finish that sentence with.

“Never mind,” he sighed, taking a deep breath before changing the subject. “I was supposed to come get you anyway. Yoongi-hyung told me to make you eat once you woke up.”

“He told you to make me eat?” you mumbled, slightly affronted, but amused nonetheless. Your comment seemed to break the tension in the room, Jimin breathing a laugh at your reaction.

“You know how he is,” he grinned. “But anyway, come join us. Taehyungie is downstairs waiting for me already. Said he wants to watch The Office or something.”

You knew you should eat something, but you really didn’t have much of an appetite after everything. Perhaps being punched in the gut and then dreaming of your family’s death by your hand will do that.

Noticing your hesitation, however, Jimin piped back up. “Please? I think it would help. For me?”

You knew you were helpless the moment he fixed his pleading stare onto your face. Nobody could ever deny that man anything, and you were more than certain he knew that. You were lucky he wasn’t using his powers for worse things than convincing someone who needs food that they need to eat.

Rather than respond, you simply let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending you didn’t know that he was definitely correct. Besides, if there was anyone who could take your mind off things, it was definitely Jimin and Taehyung. On their own you’d almost mistake them for any other 20-something year old, but together they were their own brand of chaos. Chaos that never failed to brighten the mood.

You made to hop off the bed, planning on throwing out an “if I have to” once you did, but it appeared that you’d been so focused on your mental state that your physical one completely slipped your mind.

Not expecting your legs to be so weak, you lost your balance almost immediately, saved from an embarrassing potential fall by Jimin’s quick reflexes. He stood beside you, a hand on your shoulder, luckily not fussing over you too much.

“Hm, Jungkookie didn’t tell me he messed you up that much,” he teased, though you thought there was an ounce of concern somewhere in there.

You scoffed. “I’m fine, I just forgot how sore I was.” You shrugged off his hand, taking a few pained steps towards the door, hiding a grimace at the scream of your muscles. “And Jungkook did not do this to me, by the way,” you added, unwilling to let Jimin prance around the house thinking Jungkook was able to beat the living shit out of you. Even if it was partially true.

As amusing at it was to watch you unintentionally walk around like a newborn lamb, Jimin couldn’t help his wince at the sight. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“Let’s go eat, Jimin.”

As expected, dinner and sitcoms with the Chaos Pair (as you and Hoseok liked to fondly refer to them) did wonders to improve your mood. Seokjin had so kindly made some sort of stir-fry before leaving with Yoongi, meaning all you three had to do was warm up some food before settling down on the couch.

But that was several hours ago. It had to be past midnight, and you knew what Yoongi and Seokjin needed to do tonight wasn’t something that should have taken too long. In fact, scouting out the meeting place for tomorrow shouldn’t have taken more than half an hour or an hour at most – any longer and getting seen was too risky.

You couldn’t help but let your mind wander, wondering what could have held them up so much. Surely nothing could have happened, especially when the plan for today wasn’t even that dangerous – right?

Captured within your own thoughts, not absorbing what was on the screen, the transition to the ending credits snapped you out of it. You spoke out before Taehyung could click the next episode button for the nth time that night.

“Hey... do you guys know what’s happening with Yoongi and Jin?” You tried to make the question sound casual and nonchalant, but each of the boys were well-versed in your worry any time work didn’t go according to plan – especially when you were at home while others were out. It was a silent but well-known fact that you were almost always the last to bed on mission days, your body only relaxing enough to sleep once you knew everyone was home safe.

“I’m sure they’re fine, Y/N,” Jimin was quick to reassure you from the opposite end of the couch. “Coming back late isn’t that strange here, you know.”

“Right. This is Yoongi-hyung and Jin-hyung we’re talking about here, remember?” Taehyung added, slinging an arm around your shoulder from his place beside you. “Besides, Yoongi-hyung is a master at doing stuff quickly and quietly. I bet they were done in like 20 minutes and they’re out eating or something.”

“Without any update?” you replied, skepticism clear in your tone. “Not even an ‘all done, see you guys later,’ nothing?”

“Just think about it this way, Y/N,” said Jimin, matter-of-factly. “Even if something went wrong, isn’t it better to have no news at all than for us to know something?”

As much as you wanted to argue the nuances of that statement, you knew in general, he was right. If they were captured, you’re sure Namjoon would have heard something about it by now. People were too impatient in this line of work to wait before leveraging whatever bargaining chip they had – especially when it wouldn’t be unheard of for them to lose their chance before it could be used. And if they were killed? News of such a thing would have spread even faster, considering their status as the two oldest sons.

Jimin was right, in a way – you could be fairly confident that whatever was happening, they were at least alive.

But that didn’t stop you from worrying. Some things were worse than death.

“You’re right, I guess,” you conceded, though you certainly didn’t sound happy about it.

When nobody made to speak further, Taehyung hit play, and you tried your best to focus on the show.

And you did. For another hour, with no word from anyone, and still no Yoongi or Seokjin in the house.

As much as you wanted so badly to call them and demand what was taking up their time, you already knew such a thing wasn’t possible. You knew that by now, if they had time, they would have called you already.

All there was left to do was wait, and you were not a patient person.

You didn’t even realize how much you were fidgeting until Taehyung reached out a hand to rest on your shoulder, the other moving to pause the episode.

“Y/N.” Taehyung’s voice was firm. “Don’t worry so much, they’ll be fine. I think you should sleep.”

“You should,” Jimin agreed. “Don’t you guys have to leave early tomorrow?”

You made a noncommittal noise in response. As much as your muscles screamed with exhaustion, as much as your mind probably needed rest, you knew you wouldn’t be capable of sleep. Not when the last time you’d slept wrought you so much terror, and definitely not before everyone was accounted for.

But you couldn’t focus on the show, and as much as you loved them, you didn’t think you could sit there any longer and hear the same reassurances from Jimin and Taehyung. It wasn’t their fault – you knew they wanted you to feel some peace of mind, but there was only so much that could be said when dealing with very real danger. And at the same time, you felt bad for making them fuss over you.

“I think... I think I’m going to head upstairs. Sorry I couldn’t be very good company,” you said, wincing as you stood supporting your own weight, the dull pain in your abdomen and calves protesting.

They were quick to claim otherwise, each of them reaching out to give your arm a gentle squeeze. As you made your way to the staircase, you could hear their quiet whispers from the couch, though you couldn’t make out their words. You would bet that they were probably discussing Yoongi and Seokjin’s absence, too considerate to worry you further while you were still there.

When you reached the landing upstairs, you were fully planning to head to your own room, lounging in bed, phone in hand until either the boys came home or you passed out from sheer exhaustion. But this late at night, you didn’t expect to see the strip of light coming from beneath Namjoon’s door. Perhaps distracting yourself with work would be your best bet to shift your focus.

You were knocking on his door before you were even fully aware you’d made the decision, entering when a tired voice called for you to come in.

When he saw it was you, he gave you a kind smile from where he was seated at his desk, though the fatigue in it was clear. But you supposed you weren’t one to talk.

“Everything okay?” he asked easily, spinning around on his clear until he was facing you fully. On his desk you could see almost a dozen open folders, sheets scattered around – work-related, no doubt. You were positive there was some kind of method to the madness, though. This was Namjoon, after all.

Though he liked to deny it, Namjoon was something of the leader in the house now that everyone’s parents no longer lived there full-time. Like true important individuals, they lived off in vacation homes now that their children were fully grown and fully capable of doing every bit of dirty work for them. They stopped by sometimes since much of the important technology (read: weapons) and paperwork were here, but for the most part, once night fell you guys were on your own. Not that the 8 of you really had any say in what you’d be doing despite being mostly alone – you were independent in name only, and you didn’t doubt that the parents were keeping tabs on everyone anyway. Namjoon’s father proved that earlier.

Being the son of the head of the entire “operation,” most communications came to Namjoon to relay to the rest of you. Despite never volunteering for such a thing, his father liked to work him to the bone. In watching their interactions, you’d hardly be able to tell they were family – Namjoon’s father treated him more as a servant than anything. As much as he claimed he didn’t mind, the work definitely took a toll on him. The fact that he was alone in his room working at what must be around 3 am was evidence enough.

“I was hoping to talk to you about tomorrow...” you began unsurely. “But if you’re busy, it’s fine. It’s not that important anyway.”

You hated to intrude and ask him to talk about work when he was already clearly so swamped, but in all likelihood what he was doing was about your next task anyway.

“Actually, it’s good that you’re here. I think if I look at these papers any longer, I’m gonna go insane. Talking has always been better for me, anyway,” he replied, and you visibly perked up at the realization that your presence was desired rather than simply tolerated.

“All that stuff is about tomorrow?” you questioned, making your way over to sit cross-legged at the end of his bed. Now that you were closer, you could see that the papers flooding his desk were some combination of floor plans, building sketches, and walls of text that looked much too small to read even if it were right in front of you.

“Right. Everything had already been mapped out already, but my father sent me these about an hour ago saying the first set they gave me was wrong.” He huffed a bit in annoyance at that, before continuing on. “So, I’ve mostly just been double checking whether it changes anything. I think we should be okay, but better safe than sorry, right?” he chuckled humorlessly, a hand raising to pass mindlessly through his hair.

“Lay it on me, Joon,” you grinned, forcing enthusiasm into your voice in the hopes that you could at least make him feel a bit better. It was, after all, much easier to help others than to help yourself. You leaned back on your hands, giving him your full attention.

“You read through everything I sent you already, right?” he inquired, despite knowing that the obvious answer was yes, considering you’d have to set out only hours later.

When you nodded your assent, he continued.

“So you know that this isn’t too complicated of a mission – a go in, talk, come back out type of thing. We’re already at a temporary peace with their family, so you and Jungkook will be there as assurance that they can’t just shoot me dead.”

“Uh huh. So what’s changed?”

“Pretty much just the map of the warehouse we’re going to. The windows are placed differently than we originally thought, and apparently there might be some sort of back door. Yoongi-hyung and Jin-hyung were supposed to confirm those details, but...” he trailed off, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip betraying his worry. But when he saw your face fall at the mention, he carried on.

“In theory, all we have to do is be a bit more aware when we get there, keep an eye out, especially for that other entrance. But I’ve mostly been thinking about what could go wrong with the added unknowns, especially if someone tried to throw us off intentionally-”

His voice was cut off abruptly by a loud bang from downstairs, followed by voices. You were up on your feet in an instant, out the bedroom door before you could even check whether Namjoon was following. Any semblance of pain was forgotten as you bounded downstairs at a speed that was probably unsafe, skidding to a stop when Yoongi and Seokjin came into view.

Your eyes scanning them over quickly, at first you thought nothing of it as you came closer. They looked ragged and tired, hair sticking to their foreheads, clothes dirty. If you didn’t notice the movement of Yoongi’s hand twitching against his abdomen, you would have gone straight into questioning them about their whereabouts for the past four hours.

But you did notice it, and your eyes zeroed in on the fact that his hand was, very faintly, stained with red. After that, any restraint you might have shown was gone in an instant.

“What happened to you?!” you exclaimed, closing the distance between you faster than they could think to move or respond. Pulling Yoongi’s hand away from his body with one of your own, the other yanked his shirt up before he could protest. There was no such thing as decency in this house when the other person was bleeding.

“Y/N-” Yoongi began in a tone that was definitely about to tell you to calm down.

“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me!” you huffed, holding his shirt up and away from his wound. Luckily, it didn’t look too bad, and wasn’t bleeding all that much. The sight calmed you somewhat, relieved by the fact that this was something that would be incredibly easy to recover from. But that didn’t mean you’d forgotten that he shouldn’t have even been injured in the first place. “Start talking, Seokjin.”

You saw him cringe a bit in the corner of your eye. He was almost never ‘Seokjin’ to you – it was clear to him that you were angry, even if it wasn’t necessarily at him.

He took a deep breath before starting. “We-”

“Hyung?” came Namjoon’s voice from behind you, and a quick glance showed that Jimin and Taehyung were right on his heel. “What happened?”

You could hear Seokjin wind himself up to start again, but a sharp sigh from Yoongi cut him off once again. “Can’t we sit for this?” Yoongi grumbled, irritation lacing his tone. The presence of not one, but four people fussing over him at the same time left him seemingly annoyed.

Instead of speaking, you begun to tug him in the direction of the kitchen table where you’d all be able to speak properly. If he wasn’t injured might have been comedic to see a grumpy Yoongi being led through the house by your grip on his shirt, but those nearby were too concerned to say anything. If you were anybody else he probably would have cussed you out by now – you were the only person here who would try such a thing nowadays.

When you reached the closest chair you pushed him down into it, taking his hand and forcing him to hold up his own shirt. “Hold that there,” you demanded, no-nonsense tone leaving no room for disagreement.

By the time you returned with clean hands and a first aid kit, everyone else was already seated, waiting for your arrival to get into the story.

You crouched on the floor next to where Yoongi was seated, pulling out supplies as Seokjin began. You listened intently to Seokjin’s explanation about arriving at the warehouse, parking in an alley and keeping an eye out from afar while Yoongi went around the building on his own.

“I was surveying as planned, but when I got around to the back I ran into – agh, fuck,” Yoongi grunted when you wiped at his wound with antiseptic, paying no mind to the fact that he was mid-sentence. “Ran into a guy with a mask on who pulled a knife on me,” he finished through gritted teeth, muscles tensing as you cleaned the blood away until you could properly see what you were working with.

You hadn’t fully relaxed until you’d reached that point. When the mess of dry blood was gone, it was clear that despite the cut being long, it didn’t seem deep enough to need stitches. So long as it didn’t get infected, it likely wouldn’t even scar. The fact that it wasn’t bleeding anymore was a good sign, though you cringed at how long he must have gone around with it like this.

You listened to Seokjin detail how Yoongi ended up coming back to the car far earlier than expected, and how whoever was there had chased them down. As you listened to how they’d had to drive around for hours to ensure they really lost them before returning home, you worked on dressing the wound. You pulled the gauze snugly around his narrow waist, pausing when he gave a quiet grunt.

“Too tight?” you asked quietly, searching his face.

“It’s fine. I could’ve done this myself, you know,” he mumbled, not looking at you.

You narrowed your eyes. “Aren’t you the one always telling me to accept help?”

Despite his lack of verbal response, his sigh was enough to signify his resignation as the point you’d made.

You hardly registered Namjoon leaving the table to call his father, more focused on the task in front of you. When you finally secured the gauze with tape, you leaned back to examine your handiwork. It wasn’t your best, and certainly nowhere near as neat as Jin would have made it, but it would do. Before you could move away, however, Yoongi’s hand rose to rub affectionately at your head.

“Thanks,” he cracked a smile at you, grin widening when you batted his blood-stained hand away with a barely-disguised look of disgust.

Rather than ream him out for dirtying your hair, an unreadable look spread over your face. “I was worried about you.”

As much as you’d tried to erase the image from your memory over the course of the last few hours, it wasn’t something that could easily be forgotten. It was irrational to think that your nightmares had any relation to what occurred in reality, but fear didn’t have to be rational.

It must have been obvious that something was troubling you more than the fact that they’d arrived home late and injured. There was no other reason for you to be staring into nothing, face screwed up into an expression that looked something like pain.

“Did something happen?” he asked simply, reaching for your hand and pulling it into his grasp when you didn’t resist. That you let his dirt and blood-crusted hand anywhere near your body without complaint was concerning in and of itself.

“No...” you said unsurely, gaze fixing onto the floor, shaking your head as though to dispel the image from your mind. “Not really.”

You heard an intake of breath as though he was about to protest, but Namjoon’s hurried footsteps returning to the table distracted you both. As you caught the troubled expression on Namjoon’s face, you rose to take a proper place at the table, beside Seokjin and Yoongi and across from Jimin and Taehyung.

Namjoon took a seat at the head of the table where everyone could see him, and the sight of his clear distress, hands running over his face, had you unsettled immediately.

“What’s wrong?” you asked hurriedly, business face on immediately.

“My father had someone look into who attacked you at the warehouse and chased you afterwards. The footage from the warehouse wasn’t clear, but based on street cams and red-light cams...” he took a deep breath, grimacing before his next statement. “It was Lee Taemin.”

The speed at which your brows shot up was impressive.

Lee Taemin.

The man who you were supposed to meet up with tomorrow. The man whose family supposedly had a partnership with yours.

“Excuse me?” came Seokjin’s bewildered voice.

“Lee Taemin attacked you? He had to have known it was you, after however long he chased you,” said Jimin.

You gripped the edge of the table harshly, nails digging into the surface. This wasn’t something to be taken lightly – in fact, you were surprised they had the nerve to double-cross Bangtan.

Were the changes Namjoon was looking at earlier a result of their meddling? What would have happened tomorrow if you’d shown up according to plan? What would have awaited you there?

“There’s no way three of us can just walk in there tomorrow,” you said through gritted teeth, fury rising the longer you thought about how close to disaster you’d come because of their betrayal. How had they managed to keep it all secret? Surely whispers should have made it to you by now.

Unless he was acting alone?

Nothing made sense.

“We won’t be going to the warehouse tomorrow,” Namjoon stated, though the resignation in his tone sent a shot of confusion through you. He didn’t seem very happy about that fact, despite the risks being massive.

“And you’re upset about that, because...?” you prodded, sensing something else laying beneath that statement.

“We’ll be going to a party tomorrow night instead.”

Tagging: @shere-khan-the-lizard @wwilloww @propinqxity

prev / Series Masterlist / next

232 notes · View notes