#he would not opt to return to the past | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thedensworld · 5 months

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Forever His | C.Sc

Pairing: Seungcheol x reader

Genre: fluff, angst, slightly smut

Words Count: 3,5K

Summary: You found out that Seungcheol was marrying you for your property and wealth while you're pregnant with his child. What would you do? Let him go or play a fool?

Seungcheol growled in anger upon hearing several hurried knocks on his bedroom door well past midnight. Inside, he held you close, releasing all the pent-up affection from his business trip. Your face blushed from the intimate activity, your lips plumped, and Seungcheol was the reason behind it all. Initially oblivious to the noise, you regained your senses when he suddenly stopped and questioned him, "Why?"

Seungcheol sighed, his lips peppering a gentle kiss on your forehead. He whispered, "I'm sorry," before continuing, "get dressed. Don't want anyone to see you like this," accompanied by another peck on your shoulder. You observed him donning a robe before rising to walk to your closet to get dressed. It had been a week since you last saw him during his business trip to Hong Kong, and he immediately reveled in the moment upon his return.

You understood the frustration etched on his face as he headed to the door, reprimanding his assistant whom he had just seen a few hours ago—more than he had seen you all week. Despite the interruption, you decided not to retake your shower, opting for minimal clothing just in case the interrupted moment could be resumed. Wrapped in your robe, you lay on the bed with a tablet in hand, patiently awaiting your husband's return while attempting to mentally prepare for the upcoming workday.

It had been a year since you met Seungcheol, and you had been married for six months. People remarked that you two were still in the honeymoon phase, a sentiment you couldn't deny. The longest time apart was a mere week, and when you were both home, the opportunity for intimacy was ever-present—bed, kitchen, home office, or even the car. Seungcheol cared little about the location as long as he could be close to you, witnessing your pleasure, and hearing you moan his name, a source of immense satisfaction and ego boost for him.

After nearly half an hour since your shared intimacy was interrupted, Seungcheol entered the bedroom, and you welcomed him with a smile, setting aside your device as he approached. However, your joy was short-lived as he dropped a bombshell— an urgent matter required his immediate attention, shattering the serene moment.

His apology hung in the air, and you gazed into his eyes, almost whispering, "Can't it wait until tomorrow?" His gaze met yours, and he replied, "I'm sorry, but everyone needs me." The weight of his words settled, and you nodded, offering him a kiss. He whispered a goodnight and covered you with a blanket.

As he prepared to leave, he assured you, "I'm going. If you need anything, Eunji is downstairs, okay?" The deep kiss on your forehead lingered, leaving you with a mix of understanding and a touch of loneliness as he walked away, duty calling him away from the warmth of your shared moments.

As you sat in your office, a sense of solitude crept in as hours passed without any news from Seungcheol. Reflecting on your father's words, "A big power would come with a big responsibility, Y/n," you realized the weight of the responsibilities that came with leading two prominent companies. You, as the director of Seri Corps, and Seungcheol, the owner of a property investment company dealing with hotels, apartments, residences, and department stores, found little time to break away from the demanding roles.

The constant influx of work surrounded your thoughts, echoing your father's wisdom. You yearned for a moment to confront Seungcheol's assistant, Kim Mingyu, about easing the workload on your husband. Simultaneously, you knew Seungcheol harbored similar thoughts about Myungho, your secretary.

Seungcheol's suggestion of taking a break from work and starting a family lingered in your mind. "How about a little break from work? It might end up with a cute baby like you..." he had expressed his desire to build a family since the early days of your marriage.

Initially hesitant, thoughts swirled in your mind. Could you be ready to be a mother? Your upbringing without a mother made you wary, but Seungcheol had gradually changed your perspective. His love, support, and dreams of a family with you had softened your reservations. You found yourself yearning for the joy of building a family with Seungcheol, confident that he would be an exceptional father, creating a world of happiness for your future children.

After a lengthy discussion with Seungcheol about starting a family, you took the decision to visit your ob-gyn and began the journey towards pregnancy. For the past three months, you had gradually reduced your workload, entrusting responsibilities to your younger brother, Lee Chan, while actively trying to conceive with your husband. Unbeknownst to Seungcheol, you had already been pregnant for four weeks, and the only person privy to this news was Myungho, your ever-attentive secretary.

Myungho had been a pillar of support, ensuring your well-being by sending nutritious meals and a glass of pregnancy milk to your desk every morning. He also exhibited consideration for your workload, making efforts to send you home before 6. This morning, upon entering the office, you found Myungho had prepared your favorite breakfast from a beloved restaurant, lifting your spirits from the previous night's glum mood.

Despite your gratitude, you declined Myungho's offer to check an anonymous file that had been delivered to you. As you enjoyed your meal, you informed him that you'd arrange for your own transportation home and would call upon Eunji, the bodyguard Seungcheol had assigned to you.

"Just in case," Seungcheol explained when he was questioned about the need for a bodyguard, triggering memories of a near altercation when you initially resisted the idea. You asserted your ability to protect yourself, having learned jiu-jitsu and basic shooting. However, that night, Seungcheol revealed a hidden compartment beside your bed containing a gun. Holding your wrists firmly, he calmly stated, "I'm not doing this because you're a woman, but because you're my woman," emphasizing his commitment to your safety.

"Are we heading home, mam?" Eunji inquired, her gaze alternating between the road and the rearview mirror, noting the exhaustion etched on your face. Concerned, she questioned you about it.

"Just tired, thanks for asking. Yes, we're going home, please," you replied with a smile, appreciating Eunji's thoughtful gesture. Myungho, attentive to the shifting atmosphere, was about to join the conversation, sensing your unease.

"I'm okay, Secretary Seo. You should go home," you reassured him before closing the car door, leaving Myungho behind as the car set off for your house.

Looking out the window, your reflection mirrored the complex emotions brewing within you. As you questioned Eunji about your husband's whereabouts, her lips tightened, emphasizing her reluctance to share such information.

You hadn't received any news from Seungcheol today, a departure from the usual routine. While you recognized the demands of his busy schedule, today was different; a yearning for his comforting presence intensified, especially with the added vulnerability brought on by the pregnancy.

The familiar presence of threats was not new to you, but today brought a different kind of menace. A letter arrived this morning, accompanied by pictures and a USB. The images depicted Seungcheol in the company of an unidentified person, taken just hours after he left you the previous night. The revelation injected a new level of tension into an already uncertain day.

As you connected the USB, the file unfolded a chilling conversation between Seungcheol and his uncle, Choi Junggan. The revelation shook you to the core as they discussed plans to take control of Seri Department Store, a place with deep roots in your family history.

"We need her to hand you the Seri Department Store this year," Choi Junggan's voice declared, triggering disbelief and confusion within you. Seungcheol's voice, usually a source of comfort, uttered words that contradicted everything he had ever said to you.

Frozen in your car seat, you listened as Seungcheol acknowledged his role in the plan, vowing to gain your trust to further their hidden agenda. The shock reverberated through you, and doubts about the authenticity of your relationship took hold.

Arriving home, you rushed to your shared office, desperate to find evidence that would contradict the betrayal you had just uncovered. Each desk you searched only intensified the sinking feeling in your gut. Stumbling upon a hidden map and recalling the secret desk with a concealed gun, fear gripped you.

Questions raced through your mind—was Seungcheol planning something sinister? Was he preparing to harm you? The shivers intensified as you discovered a Memorandum of Understanding signed by your father and Seungcheol's father, outlining a deal that involved transferring the Seri Department Store to Seri Corps to settle debts. A chilling note from Seungcheol himself accompanied the document, vowing retribution for the suffering caused by Seri Corps.

The foundation of your trust crumbled as you grappled with the harsh reality that Seungcheol might have used you to fulfill a hidden agenda, driven by a desire for revenge against your family. The love and assurances you believed in were now clouded by a chilling revelation, leaving you in a state of shock and betrayal.

Click

In the sudden darkness, every creak of the floor beneath your cautious steps echoed through the house, a symphony of dread playing in the silence. The weight of the unknown assailant's presence hung heavily, suffocating the very air you breathed. Your trembling fingers fumbled for your phone, desperation rising as you attempted to call Eunji for help, but the device felt foreign and cumbersome in your anxious grip.

Before the call could connect, a vice-like grip clamped around you from behind, the cold edge of a knife pressing menacingly against your neck. Panic set in, and your mind raced through the horrifying possibilities of what this intruder might do. The chilling voice that whispered into your ear shattered any semblance of security, laying bare a sinister knowledge about your husband's actions.

"Have you found out about who your husband truly is?"

As you closed your eyes, you clung to a prayer for rescue, desperately hoping that someone, anyone, would come to your aid in this supposedly secure haven. The slight pain from the knife's pressure served as a cruel reminder of the peril you found yourself in, each second dragging like an eternity.

Summoning the courage to question the intruder, you choked out, "Who sent you?" The tightening grip around your neck conveyed a chilling refusal to answer, and the revelation hinted at a darker truth about Seungcheol, unraveling the very fabric of the reality you once believed in.

"The person who sent me wants the department store you have."

In a surreal twist, the lights flickered back on, momentarily blinding both you and your assailant. Seizing the opportunity, you instinctively flipped away from the unknown threat, your heart pounding in your ears as you sprinted towards the bedroom. The slam of the door, the metallic click of the lock, and the thudding of your own heartbeat created a cacophony of tension in the enclosed space.

As you sought the hidden gun, the room felt like a battleground, the seconds ticking away in sync with your frantic breaths. Dialing Myungho, your voice trembled with urgency, "Send police to my house, someone's trespassing and tried to hurt me!" The air became charged with a sense of impending danger as you awaited assistance, realizing that the sanctuary of your home had been shattered, leaving you vulnerable and exposed to a threat that had breached even the most intimate corners of your life.

Seungcheol's heart raced as he sped towards home, two police cars in tow. The tension in the air was palpable, and he exchanged a concerned glance with Kim Mingyu, who was navigating through the traffic while contacting the dispatcher for an alternative route. However, the gravity of the situation became evident when Mingyu's expression shifted, and their eyes met in the rearview mirror.

"They are heading to your house, sir," Mingyu relayed the alarming news.

Seungcheol's furrowed eyebrows betrayed his growing anxiety. "What do you mean?"

Mingyu swiftly removed his earpiece and pressed harder on the gas pedal. "Someone's trespassing your house and trying to hurt Mrs. Choi."

Upon arrival, Seungcheol rushed into the house, his senses heightened by the impending threat. The scene unfolded before him – you seated on the kitchen counter, Myungho tending to a wound on your neck, and police officers meticulously investigating the incident. The sight cut through Seungcheol like a knife, and his eyes locked onto yours as he approached.

Without a word, he enveloped you in his arms, a mixture of relief and concern etched across his face. The chaos in the house seemed to fade into the background as Seungcheol held you close, silently vowing to protect you from any harm that dared to breach the sanctuary you both called home.

Seungcheol's concern was evident as he gently inspected the wound on your neck, his expression softening in a mix of worry and tenderness. Faced with the undeniable proof of your vulnerability, he couldn't help but ask, "What did he do to you?"

A hesitant smile played on your lips as you replied, "So you know him..."

Myungho, ever considerate, discreetly stepped away, allowing the two of you a moment of privacy. Seungcheol's eyes remained fixed on yours, a silent acknowledgment of the tumultuous situation that had unfolded.

Pulling you into his protective embrace once again, Seungcheol's concern escalated into frustration. He directed his anger toward Mingyu, demanding to know why there wasn't proper security in place when the intrusion occurred. Mingyu bowed apologetically, promising to investigate the lapse.

As the commotion settled, Seungcheol engaged with the police officers, his anger simmering as he learned the details of the trespasser's actions. His insistence on swift justice was clear, emphasizing that whoever had harmed you should be held accountable.

Once the room cleared and additional security measures were put in place, Seungcheol finally had the chance to sit with you. As you handed him the file of the Department Store Ownership Transfer, a heavy silence filled the room. The shared understanding between you two spoke volumes, acknowledging the depth of the betrayal that had unfolded.

In that moment, the room held the weight of unspoken emotions, and Seungcheol's gaze lingered on you.

The room hung heavy with the weight of revelation as you confronted Seungcheol. The truth, once hidden in the shadows, now stood exposed, unraveling the carefully woven fabric of your marriage.

"He wants Seri Department Store," you mumbled, your arms crossed, standing defiantly before Seungcheol. Frustration radiated from you as you ran your hand through your hair, grappling with the gravity of the situation that had unfolded.

"My life," you paused, "was worth of that store!"

Seungcheol shook his head, attempting to deny the painful reality. "Baby, no..."

"Don't call me that! You had the same intention!" The words burst out from you, a sharp accusation that hung in the air. It was a yell, a rupture in the calm facade of your marriage.

"You've been lying to me..." your voice faded, replaced by hot tears streaming down your cheeks. The vulnerability you revealed was a stark contrast to the stoic persona you had been trained to adopt.

Seungcheol's throat went dry, words catching in the tangled web of emotions. He took a deep breath, his heart breaking as he witnessed you, the strong and composed figure, breaking down in front of him. Wiping your own tears away, you showed a side that was rarely seen by anyone.

In that moment, Seungcheol loathed himself for causing the tears and hated that he couldn't be the one to comfort you. "I never lied to you," he finally uttered, but the truth seemed feeble against the magnitude of the situation.

You threw a letter at him, a tangible representation of the deceit that had taken root. "Then what is it? You're trying to fool me by marrying me. You're into my property, Seungcheol."

Seungcheol's voice matched your intensity, "Yes, I was! But I've been delaying..." His tone softened, desperation lacing his words. "Because I fell for you, for real. And I've been trying to stop my uncle for the revenge."

The room echoed with Seungcheol's explanation, his vulnerability laid bare. This was a side of him you had never seen before, and in this moment, as he bared his soul, the fragile bridge between betrayal and redemption trembled in the air.

In that vulnerable moment, Seungcheol shed the facade of superiority and power that he often wore. Tonight, he laid bare his emotions, doing everything in his power to make you believe in the sincerity of his love for you.

"I'm aiming for a hotel abroad and offered him the condition that we won't involve anyone from Lee Family, from your family, including you. He agreed. But little did I know he had sent someone to hurt you." Seungcheol approached you, gently rubbing your arms before his hand traced the tender area on your neck.

"They hurt you," he declared with fiery intensity in his eyes. Seungcheol sighed, his chest filled with anger, and he closed his eyes, seeking solace in looking at your face. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry for everything."

Your hand caressed his cheek, and your lips met in a kiss that started calm and slowly transformed into something more passionate and charged with desire. As the kiss broke, leaving both of you gasping for air, his eyes opened, fixated on you.

"Promise me, this won't happen again," you whispered, and he immediately nodded. His lips sought yours again, but you playfully dodged, pulling your head away from him.

He looked at you with longing, whispering, "Baby..."

You licked your lips, making a demand, "Say that you love me."

"I love you," he replied without hesitation.

"Say that I'm more than that store." Your hands roamed to his stomach, then gradually went down to his hardness. Seungcheol groaned under your touch, "You're more than that, baby. You're worth the world," he whispered into your ear. His hands explored the warmth of your skin under your blouse, his member pressing against you.

"Can I take this off?" he asked, pulling the hem of your blouse. You nodded, and soon both of you stood there, stripped of the barriers that concealed your vulnerability.

He kissed your lips again, guiding your hands to his shoulders. "I love you, I love you so much." The words hung in the air, reaffirming the bond that transcended the complexities of the world outside.

Myungho entered your room, holding the file that contained detailed information about Choi Junggan, your husband's influential uncle who seemed to have a significant impact on Seungcheol's life since the passing of his parents.

"How about the guy who attacked me last night?" you inquired, your focus shifting from the file to Myungho. As you scanned Junggan's list of properties and business history, you nodded in acknowledgment, recognizing the extent of Junggan's influence on Seungcheol's business trajectory.

"Cops captured him. He hasn't said anything about the person who hired him. But it's definitely Choi Junggan. He's the only one who's into your property," Myungho revealed, shedding light on the tangled web of motives and alliances.

Seungcheol's revelation from the previous night suddenly made a lot more sense. While delving into the file Myungho had handed you, a realization struck you—the depth of Junggan's control over Seungcheol's life since the tragic loss of his parents when he was just a high schooler.

Understanding that Seungcheol, as the sole heir to his parents, had been manipulated by Junggan to make your family pay for something you were yet to uncover, you recognized that the only way to unveil the truth was by confronting the man himself. The file in your hands became a key to unraveling the intricate layers of a past that had been concealed for far too long.

"Could you do me a favor, Secretary Seo?" you inquired, and Myungho nodded politely, ready to assist. "What is it, Mrs. Choi?" he asked.

"Are you personally close to Kim Mingyu?" you questioned, prompting a quizzical expression from Myungho. He responded, "I guess, we regularly meet at the pub blocks away from your house."

A smile played on your lips as you outlined your request, "I need you to find out about the properties my husband has been eyeing recently, possibly around Hong Kong and Singapore. I need all the details."

Myungho, respecting your privacy, sought clarification, "May I know what this is for, ma'am?"

"I want to buy them first, before my husband could," you calmly stated, leaning back in your seat. Myungho noted the determination in your eyes and quickly understood that Choi Seungcheol had underestimated the strength he was up against.

After few hours, a familiar figure approached your office. Seungcheol, clearly agitated, entered the room after signaling Mingyu and Myungho to stay outside. Your eyes met, and you became aware that your husband, Choi Seungcheol, had an undeniable issue with anger. He took control of the switchable glass, making the room opaque, a move that intensified his presence. He looks so hot like this.

"I thought I made it clear this morning that you shouldn't be at work after what happened last night?" Seungcheol voiced his concern, frustration evident in his demeanor.

You nonchalantly replied, "I was safer here than in your house, Seungcheol," rising from your seat and approaching him.

Seungcheol sighed, massaging his temples, "Baby, please don't do anything."

Your hands gestured in confusion, "I don't do anything," you replied with a shrug.

Concerned about the dangers posed by his uncle, Seungcheol attempted to explain, "My uncle, he could be pretty dangerous."

Understanding his apprehension, you nodded, "He is. Great to hear that you and I are seeing him from the same boat."

Seungcheol stepped forward, gently grabbing your hand and placing it on his cheek. Closing his eyes, he savored the softness of your touch before pecking your hand. As he opened his eyes, a soft smile adorned his face.

"Trust me, please," he earnestly begged, "Trust me, baby. I'll take care of him."

You bit your lip, confessing, "I want to help you."

Seungcheol shook his head, "I don't want you to get hurt. You were almost... killed last night. I won't ever let that happen again."

You nodded, whispering, "I know," and offering him a reassuring smile.

Attempting to steer the conversation back to a professional tone, you asked, "What are you doing here, by the way?"

Seungcheol, catching the shift, followed suit, "I have a meeting scheduled with Mr. Lee. Surprised to learn that it wasn't you leading the meeting with investors."

Concerned for your well-being, he inquired, "Are you okay?"

You assured him with a nod and a quick response, "I'm totally fine. I have a business trip to attend; I'll be home pretty late tonight."

Seungcheol nodded in understanding, seeking more details, "Where to?"

With a calm smile, you disclosed, "Singapore."

"Okay, you got my attention now..." Junggan's voice resonated from the phone speaker as Myungho handed you his phone, subtly mouthing, "Choi Junggan."

You chuckled upon hearing his first words, "Great to know that. You started it first by sending a poor man into my house," you replied, gazing out the window at the nighttime view of Incheon as the plane descended.

Junggan's laughter echoed through the call, "What a feisty girl! Yeah, Seungcheol has captured him, hasn't he? He was honest when he said he loves you."

A smile touched your lips, "Why? Is it hurting you? That your 'one and only doll' finally betrayed you? He's not a doll, Choi Junggan. He's your nephew."

Junggan scoffed, getting straight to the point, "What do you want?"

"Stop controlling my husband, and I'll give you the hotel," you proposed, offering a straightforward agreement.

You could hear the old man laughing, "You really bought a hotel just for my nephew?"

You sighed, "He's not just your nephew; he's my husband."

A sly smile crept into Junggan's voice, "But his worth is more than a hotel, isn't he?"

You couldn't help but chuckle at his audacity. Even in this situation, with you acquiring properties he had his eyes on in Singapore, Junggan remained arrogantly composed. The negotiation had just begun, and it seemed like dealing with him would be a game of wit and strategy.

"A hotel and 3% of your department store shares?" Junggan negotiated in a sly tone.

"Here's the thing, Mr. Choi," you paused, "I actually want to give you the department store. I thought about that, honestly." You could sense his excitement at the prospect. "However, I don't think my late mother-in-law would be happy if I give her precious building to someone who has been very deceitful and manipulative toward her son, Mr. Choi," you continued, and your words resulted in a moment of silence.

A confident smile played on your lips; you knew you had him.

There was a pregnant pause before he asked, "How do you know?" in a tone that betrayed his vulnerable point—Seungcheol's mother, a person Junggan held very dearly in his heart.

"I have my sources," you said, "just like you have Eunji as your source."

Before the phone call could reach its conclusion, Myungho subtly indicated that it was time to go, as Seungcheol and your grandfather were eagerly awaiting you for a late dinner.

"You need to decide, Mr. Choi. Time is ticking," you said before decisively ending the call. The negotiation had just begun, and you felt a sense of satisfaction at holding the upper hand.

The starry night welcomed your landing at the international airport, and you were ready to disembark when Myungho suddenly announced that he had left an important file on his seat. He urged you to go ahead since your car was already waiting outside. Unusual for Myungho, who typically had other business to attend to, you signaled your new driver to head home immediately.

As you traversed the city streets, a notification alerted you to a text from Myungho. With a sigh, you muttered, "He won't ever let me rest," before opening the message. A shiver ran down your spine as Myungho requested that you inform Seokmin, one of Seungcheol's drivers, that Myungho would be waiting for him in his office since he couldn't reach him personally.

You put your phone down, inhaling a heavy sigh silently. Seokmin was assigned to drive you home, but whoever was behind the wheel of this car was certainly not Seokmin. You refrained from looking at him, sensing that he had been eyeing you through the rearview mirror. In response, you swiftly sent Myungho your location with a concise message:

"Send me help."

Seungcheol's heart raced as Mingyu delivered the alarming news of your kidnapping on the way home from the airport. His mind immediately pointed fingers at his own uncle, considering the recent threatening call and the ominous words echoing in his ears: "Betray me again, I'll let you know the consequence."

He had been cautious, attempting to shield you from the dangerous business involving Choi Junggan. However, your determination to help him and seek revenge had taken an unexpected turn. When Mingyu, panic-stricken, revealed that you had purchased the property intended for Seungcheol's uncle, the pieces fell into place. You aimed to confront Junggan directly.

Seungcheol had just spoken with his uncle an hour ago, and now the shocking news of your kidnapping left him reeling. It appeared Junggan had anticipated Seungcheol's plan, orchestrating a betrayal that ran deeper than Seungcheol initially thought. The threat wasn't just about revenge; it was a move calculated to protect his money laundering activities.

During Seungcheol's time as Junggan's assistant, he had diligently documented evidence of his uncle's illicit activities. Those notes and additional proof could be the leverage needed to finally put Junggan behind bars. As a mix of fear and determination surged through Seungcheol, he knew he had to act swiftly to save you and dismantle the dangerous web his uncle had woven.

As Seungcheol continued to make urgent calls to his lawyer, Mingyu updated him on the situation. The news of Seokmin found unconscious at the airport heightened the tension. Mingyu, sitting in the driver's seat, couldn't hide his frustration as he chuckled angrily. Your location, frozen for the past 10 minutes, signaled that the kidnappers might have discarded your phone.

"Myungho has informed the police to track your wife's location. They must have thrown her phone," Mingyu reported, the concern for your safety evident in his voice.

Seungcheol sighed, realizing the urgency of the situation. In a moment of clarity, he remembered placing a GPS on your wedding ring, a precaution due to your tendency not to update him about your whereabouts. Swiftly, he shared your latest location with Mingyu, who promptly relayed the information to Myungho and the authorities. The race against time had begun, and Seungcheol couldn't shake off the fear that gripped his heart, praying that they would reach you in time.

"Sir.."

Seungcheol's heartbeat quickened as Mingyu's revelation about Myungho having something important to share reached his ears. The car's atmosphere shifted into an air of tension, each passing second increasing Seungcheol's anxiety. Mingyu, with a look of concern on his face, executed the announcement with a gravity that made Seungcheol's gut twist.

As the speaker crackled to life, Myungho's voice trembled slightly, an unusual undertone of nervousness underscoring his usually composed demeanor. Seungcheol's instincts sharpened, sensing that whatever news was about to be delivered carried weight.

"Sir, I'm sorry for not telling you this before," Myungho began, the apologetic tone heightening the tension in the car. A heavy sigh punctuated the pause before he revealed the bombshell, "But your wife..."

The moment hung in the air, pregnant with unspoken implications. Seungcheol's mind raced, contemplating what revelation could follow, unaware that the news about to unfold would reshape the stakes of the impending rescue mission.

"She's pregnant."

Seungcheol's heart skipped a beat as the revelation about your pregnancy echoed through the speaker in the car. The gravity of the situation suddenly multiplied, intertwining the fear for your safety with the concern for the life growing inside you. The realization struck him like a lightning bolt, and for a moment, he felt a mix of emotions—fear, panic, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility.

Mingyu, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, glanced at Seungcheol with worry etched on his face. Seungcheol took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts.

"Myungho, I... Thank you for letting me know," Seungcheol finally responded, his voice carrying a mixture of shock and concern. The news added an extra layer of urgency to the already critical situation. The thought of you, pregnant and in danger, fueled his determination to bring you back safely.

"Let's focus on getting her safely," Seungcheol instructed, his tone more resolute. The drive to rescue you became not only a mission to save his wife but also an imperative to protect the life growing within you.

Opposite to the confidence in his words, Seungcheol's hands tightened on his phone. A sharp pang of guilt surging through him like a current. The revelation of your pregnancy, a joyous occasion under different circumstances, now bore the weight of his past actions. Learning that you hadn't shared this significant news with him triggered an ache in his chest, a feeling of betrayal intertwined with remorse.

As he absorbed the reality of your pregnancy, Seungcheol couldn't escape the haunting guilt that you might perceive his lack of knowledge as a testament to your distrust. He couldn't shake the notion that your choice to keep this life-altering secret from him was a consequence of the distrust seeded by his initial motives for marrying you. The revelation of his original intentions – driven by revenge against your family – added a layer of complexity to his guilt, a realization that his past deeds were casting a long shadow over your relationship.

The darkness of the night seemed to mirror the turmoil within Seungcheol's mind. He wanted to protect you, cherish you, and share in the joy of impending parenthood, but the ghosts of his actions stood as barriers between them. The weight of guilt pressed on him, magnified by the realization that your silence might be a form of self-preservation.

In the confined space of the car, the echo of Myungho's revelation resonated with Seungcheol's internal struggle. Your trust, or lack thereof, became a tangible force, a barrier he needed to dismantle. As he raced against time to rescue you, Seungcheol grappled with the urgency to bridge the emotional distance that had unwittingly grown between you. He yearned not just to save you physically but to rebuild the trust that now seemed more fragile than ever.

The phone rang, and Seungcheol's heart skipped a beat as he saw the caller ID – his uncle. Answering with a trembling hand, he braced himself for the chilling exchange that awaited him.

His uncle's voice, dripping with malevolence, cut through the silence of the car. "Seungcheol, my boy, I see you're on your way to retrieve your dear wife."

Seungcheol's grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. "Let her go, uncle. This ends tonight."

A sinister chuckle resonated through the line. "Oh, but my dear nephew, it's just the beginning. You see, you've been quite the disappointment, trying to dismantle my plans."

The image of you, bound and unconscious, flashed on Seungcheol's phone screen, and his breath caught in his throat. His uncle's voice continued, each word a venomous threat. "I've sent you a little preview of what's to come. A taste of the pain she'll endure unless you comply with my demands."

Seungcheol's jaw clenched, a mixture of fear and rage fueling his determination. "Enough of this, Junggan. I won't let you harm her any further. Tell me what you want."

His uncle reveled in the power he held. "Simple, my boy. You come alone, or she pays the price. I've arranged a charming little place for our reunion. You have twenty minutes, Seungcheol."

The connection severed, leaving Seungcheol with a chilling ultimatum. The car accelerated, racing against time, each passing second amplifying the desperation in his heart. The road blurred beneath the car's tires, mirroring the whirlwind of emotions raging within him.

In the dimly lit room where you were held captive, your unconscious form became a pawn in this deadly game. The timer ticked down, a countdown to a confrontation that would determine not only your fate but the unraveling of a family's twisted legacy.

Seungcheol arrived at the designated location, the eerie silence of the abandoned building sending a shiver down his spine. He motioned for everyone to stay back, keeping a solemn promise to Junggan, who had threatened unspeakable harm if he defied the rules. Mingyu stood by his side, holding back your team and Myungho as Seungcheol ventured into the decaying structure by himself.

The building exhaled a musty breath, its walls stained with the remnants of a dark past. Shadows danced ominously in the corners, and the creaking floorboards echoed through the desolate halls. The air hung heavy with tension, a palpable reminder of the impending confrontation.

As hedelved deeper into the labyrinthine structure, the distant sound of a knife being sharpened reached Seungcheol's ears. Each scrape against the blade reverberated through the corridors, amplifying the sinister ambiance of the place. The echoes seemed to mock him, a haunting reminder of the imminent danger that lurked in the shadows.

Your captor's sadistic preparation was evident, the chilling sounds intertwining with the apprehensive silence, painting a grim picture of the confrontation ahead. Seungcheol tightened his grip on the makeshift weapon he had grabbed on his way in, steeling himself for the horrors that awaited him within the dimly lit recesses of the old building.

In the eerie ambiance of the dilapidated building, Seungcheol cautiously followed the echoes of his uncle's cold welcome, each step a tense reminder of the impending confrontation. The air was heavy with anticipation as he approached the dimly lit room, the shadows casting an ominous backdrop to the unfolding drama.

As Seungcheol entered, the scene before him unveiled a tableau of despair. There you were, seated vulnerably on a worn-out chair, your eyes reflecting a mix of fear and relief at the sight of him. A masked figure, an ominous silhouette in the dim light, stood menacingly beside you, wielding a gleaming knife at your neck—a silent threat that echoed through the room.

Junggan, concealed in shadows, initiated the negotiation, his demands echoing with a sinister undertone. The metallic edge of the blade against your skin served as a cruel incentive for Seungcheol to heed his uncle's commands. A choice lingered in the air—sacrifice his empire or risk harm befalling you.

Seungcheol, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, dared to question his uncle's malevolence. "Why, Uncle? What satisfaction do you derive from causing such pain? Is revenge worth the torment you're inflicting?"

In response, Junggan unraveled a tapestry of resentment and bitterness. He confessed that his hatred stemmed from the belief that Seungcheol wasn't his son but the offspring of the brother who had allegedly stripped him of everything.

Seungcheol, eyes ablaze with a mixture of anger and desperation, couldn't fathom the depth of his uncle's resentment. "Is this the only way you see to settle your grievances, Uncle? To use me, to hurt her? What did she ever do to you?"

Junggan, his voice dripping with venom, responded with a sinister chuckle. "You've always been the pawn, Seungcheol. A pawn in my game for justice. Your existence is a constant reminder of what was taken from me."

As the masked figure tightened their grip on the knife, you winced, and Seungcheol's resolve solidified. "If it's revenge you seek, hurt me, not her. She has nothing to do with your vendetta."

A wicked smile played on Junggan's lips. "But that's where you're wrong, Seungcheol. She's entwined in this web of revenge just by being a part of your life. The Lee family took everything from me, and now, through you, I'll take everything from them."

Seungcheol's fists clenched, grappling with the reality of his uncle's malevolence. "There has to be another way, Uncle. We can find a resolution without resorting to this brutality. I'm willing to face consequences, but spare her from this."

Junggan, unmoved by Seungcheol's plea, continued to press his demands. "Relinquish your shares and your position, or her suffering will be just the beginning. Your family will pay for the pain they've inflicted on mine."

In the tense exchange, Seungcheol's mind raced, searching for a solution that would save you from the impending danger. The cold metallic resonance of a sharpening knife underscored the urgency of his decision, knowing that every passing moment brought you closer to the brink of harm.

The reminiscence of past grievances escaped from Junggan's mouth—the CEO status taken by Seungcheol's father, the love of his life, Seungcheol's mother, passed away after an accident made by Lee Family after a debt they couldn't afford. Betrayed by the nephew he saw as a means to reclaim what he believed was rightfully his, Junggan revealed that Seungcheol's actions had thwarted his grand plan for vengeance, fueling a burning desire to settle the score against a family he deemed responsible for his life's misfortunes. Desperate to thwart the unfolding tragedy that hung heavily in the air, his voice quivered with a potent mix of fear, anger, and an enduring undercurrent of love that defied the years of familial discord.

Seungcheol's plea cut through the tense silence, the gravity of the situation reflected in the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Uncle, you can't let this happen. There has to be another way. I won't let you harm her," Seungcheol implored, his eyes betraying a deep-seated concern for you, the woman he loved.

Junggan, shrouded in malevolence, reveled in the chaos he had orchestrated. His response dripped with vindictiveness.

"Seungcheol, you were always naive. You're a mother's son indeed, but you've betrayed your bloodline by siding with the Lees. Her family took everything from me!" Junggan's voice echoed through the desolate space, carrying the weight of years of perceived injustice.

Seungcheol, clinging to a glimmer of hope, pleaded for reason.

"I can't change the past, but causing harm won't right those wrongs. This cycle needs to end," he urged, his gaze unwavering despite the ominous figure holding a knife to your neck.

Junggan, driven by a festering bitterness, pressed on with his ultimatum.

"Your father and your in-laws stripped me of everything. Now, you'll pay the price unless you give up your shares and the CEO position," Junggan declared, the shadows accentuating the grim determination etched on his face.

Seungcheol, sensing an opening, sought common ground in an attempt to alter the course of events.

"I know you loved my mother. Is this what she would want? Revenge? Darkness?" he questioned, hoping to kindle a spark of humanity in his uncle's hardened heart.

A moment of hesitation flickered in Junggan's eyes, caught between the allure of vengeance and the echoes of a love that once defined him.

Seungcheol seized the moment, his voice resolute as he proposed an alternative.

"Let's find a way out of this darkness, together."

Seungcheol, desperation etched across his face, pleaded with his uncle. "See me as my mother's son then, as someone's son you truly loved. Is this what she would have wanted for us? For me to cause harm to the ones I care about?"

Junggan's cold gaze wavered for a moment, a fleeting glimpse of humanity breaking through the hardened exterior. Seungcheol seized the opportunity, buying precious seconds, knowing you were attempting to free yourself from the restraints.

"I know you've suffered, Uncle. I can't change the past, but I refuse to perpetuate this cycle of pain. Let her go, and we can find a way to heal, to break free from this darkness."

The room hung in a tense pause, Seungcheol's words echoing as he desperately sought a crack in his uncle's resolve. As you managed to loosen the ropes around your hands, you prepared to make your move.

Unable to sway Junggan, Seungcheol saw your decisive action. In a split second, you turned the tables on the masked assailant behind you, catching them off guard. Seungcheol seized the distraction, lunging at his uncle, attempting to overpower him and put an end to the sinister plan unfolding in that dimly lit room.

The deafening sound of a gunshot pierced the air, sending shockwaves through the dimly lit room. In a twist of fate, the bullet veered off course, sparing you but hitting the masked assailant square in the chest. The mysterious figure crumpled to the ground, revealing the chaotic tableau that unfolded before you.

Seungcheol, reacting with primal instinct, unleashed a barrage of punches on his uncle, Choi Junggan, driven by a potent mix of fury and the need to protect you. The room echoed with the collision of fists against flesh, a visceral symphony of retribution.

Heart pounding, you sprinted toward the chaotic scene, brandishing the knife you had managed to acquire. Desperation fueled your every step as you aimed for Junggan, determined to end the threat he posed. But the abrupt sound of another gunshot halted your advance, freezing you in place.

A searing pain gripped Seungcheol's stomach as he staggered back, a look of disbelief in his eyes. The room seemed to warp as your husband, once a pillar of strength, struggled to maintain consciousness. Panic clawed at your throat as you rushed to his side, frantically calling his name.

Meanwhile, the room buzzed with the arrival of law enforcement, finally catching up to Choi Junggan's malevolent pursuits. He was apprehended, the weight of his crimes hanging heavy as he was led away in custody. Mingyu and Myungho, responding swiftly, joined the chaotic scene.

Fingers trembling, you cupped Seungcheol's face, desperately trying to keep him conscious. The room spun, an unwelcome dance of disorientation as you fought against panic threatening to consume you. Mingyu and Myungho, sensing the urgency, swiftly called for paramedics, their voices a cacophony in the chaotic aftermath.

Seungcheol's eyes fluttered, struggling to focus on your face. The pain etched across his features intensified your desperation. "Stay with me, Seungcheol," you pleaded, your voice cracking with a mixture of fear and determination.

Myungho ushered the paramedics into the room, and their swift, practiced movements conveyed a sense of urgency. Assessing Seungcheol's condition, they worked efficiently to stabilize him. The sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with the lingering tension in the room as they set to work.

Mingyu, his expression etched with concern, hovered nearby, a silent pillar of support. The paramedics, clad in their clinical attire, exchanged urgent words, and the rhythmic beeping of medical equipment became a lifeline, a fragile connection to hope amid the chaos.

As Seungcheol was carefully placed onto a stretcher, your hand found his, the warmth of your touch a reassurance. "You're going to be okay," you whispered, more a declaration to yourself than to him, as if willing the words to manifest into reality.

The next day dawned with an incessant buzz of media activity outside the hospital, a swarm of journalists hungry for details about the tumultuous events that unfolded the night before. Cameras clicked, microphones were thrust forward, and questions were fired in rapid succession, creating a chaotic backdrop to the already tense situation.

Mingyu and Myungho, the steadfast guardians in this storm, ensured you were shielded from the relentless media frenzy. Their combined efforts allowed you moments of respite, a precious chance to attend to Seungcheol's side while navigating the whirlwind of investigations and inquiries.

The hospital became a temporary sanctuary, its walls offering both refuge and scrutiny. You moved through the corridors with the weight of exhaustion and concern etched on your face. The ordeal had left a lasting impact, and the layers of shock and fear demanded a toll on your stamina.

Mingyu and Myungho orchestrated a delicate balance, managing the influx of information while insulating you from the relentless bombardment of reporters. Their dedication ensured that you could focus on being by Seungcheol's side, a quiet force in the midst of chaos.

Seungcheol remained unconscious, a silent figure in the sterile hospital room. The aftereffects of the surgery lingered in the air, and the medical equipment surrounding him hummed a somber melody of monitoring and healing. As you sat by his bedside, your gaze flitted between the rhythmic blips on the monitor and the unconscious figure before you.

In the periphery, Mingyu and Myungho dealt with legal matters, fielding inquiries, and liaising with the authorities to ensure justice prevailed. The investigation into Choi Junggan's malevolent actions continued, unveiling a tapestry of deception and betrayal.

The quiet hum of the hospital room enveloped you as you maintained a vigilant watch over Seungcheol, waiting for the moment when he would stir from his unconscious state. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, creating an atmosphere of hushed expectancy.

Days turned into nights, and your presence by Seungcheol's side remained unwavering. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors provided a constant backdrop, a metronome marking the passage of time in the silent room. Mingyu and Myungho, the ever-dedicated allies, took turns supporting you, ensuring you had moments to rest amidst the persistent vigil.

Then, a subtle change began to unfold. The stillness in the room seemed to shift, and Seungcheol's eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the muted hospital lighting. The quiet anticipation gave way to a surge of relief as his gaze met yours.

For a moment, silence enveloped the room—a tableau where words seemed insufficient to capture the depth of emotions. You reached out, your hand finding his, and a faint smile played on Seungcheol's lips. The shared understanding transcended spoken language—a silent acknowledgment of the trials endured and the connection that persevered.

"My love," Seungcheol's voice, though weak, carried a resonance that resonated with the shared experiences of the tumultuous days. The weight of unspoken words lingered in the air—apologies, gratitude, and the silent promise of a shared path forward.

Mingyu and Myungho, attuned to the subtle shifts in the room, discreetly stepped outside, giving you the space for this intimate reunion. The hospital surroundings faded into the background as you and Seungcheol navigated the unspoken intricacies of the journey you had weathered together.

The initial frailty in Seungcheol's voice strengthened, and he began to piece together the fragments of what had transpired during his unconscious interlude. As you recounted the events, Seungcheol's expressions mirrored a spectrum of emotions—from disbelief to anguish and, ultimately, a steely resolve.

Seungcheol's concern radiated as he carefully examined you, his eyes searching for any signs of injury. Your sigh carried a blend of exasperation and affection, and a soft slap on his arm punctuated your reassurance.

"Stop worrying me! You got shot, but luckily it didn't hit anything vital," you said, your words laced with relief. Yet, as the weight of the recent events pressed down, a tear found its way down your cheek, betraying the underlying emotions.

Seungcheol, witnessing your vulnerability, regarded you with a mix of disbelief and tenderness. "Hey, I'm okay now," he gently assured, reaching out to wipe away the escaping tears. "I'm fine, just some pain in my abs. Don't cry."

As Seungcheol's fingers brushed against your cheek, attempting to alleviate your tears, a nuanced connection unfolded. Your laughter, tinged with both relief and lingering anxiety, echoed in the hospital room. Seungcheol's fingers delicately wiped away the tears that had escaped your eyes, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that transcended the spoken words.

"I thought... I thought I almost lost you," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. The emotions of the past days surged to the surface, and you found solace in Seungcheol's reassuring presence.

Seungcheol's thumb brushed against your cheek, capturing the stray teardrops. "You won't lose me. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere." His words carried a depth that resonated with the shared experiences, the trials that had tested the foundation of your relationship.

The intertwining of your fingers created a silent pact—an unspoken vow that traversed beyond the confines of the hospital room. The fragility of the moment, juxtaposed against the resilience you both exhibited, rendered the air charged with a profound understanding.

As the hospital surroundings faded into the background, you and Seungcheol navigated the uncharted territory of post-trauma healing. The physical wounds, while mending, paled in comparison to the emotional labyrinth that lay ahead.

Seungcheol's voice, a soothing cadence, broke the quietness. "We'll get through this, together. No more secrets, no more hidden agendas. Just us, facing whatever comes our way."

A week later, as Seungcheol was discharged from the hospital, you embarked on a dual mission—preparing a grand welcoming party for his return and orchestrating a surprise announcement of your pregnancy. The air was charged with anticipation, both for the joyous reunion and the revelation that would shape the next chapter of your lives.

Amidst managing company affairs and attending to Seungcheol's recovery, you meticulously planned the party, envisioning the moment when you would share the news with your closest circle. The guest list included your parents, Mingyu, and Myungho, each holding a special place in your journey.

Unbeknownst to you, Mingyu and Myungho had discreetly informed Seungcheol about the impending announcement, adding an extra layer of excitement to the occasion. They playfully briefed him on the need to feign surprise later, turning a heartfelt moment into a delightful act.

As Seungcheol made his way home, a swirl of nerves accompanied his anticipation. The idea of feigning surprise added a humorous twist to the heartfelt revelation, highlighting the camaraderie that had formed between him, Mingyu, and Myungho.

The echoes of laughter and warmth from the party venue set the stage for the surprise, with decorations and joyful chatter creating an atmosphere of celebration. You, with a radiant smile, welcomed everyone, your eyes holding the secret you were about to unveil.

Seungcheol, aware of the impending revelation, played his part with an endearing mix of anxiety and excitement. His eyes sparkled with the anticipation of a scripted surprise, concealing the joy that brewed within.

The party unfolded seamlessly, filled with genuine happiness, heartfelt congratulations, and a shared toast for the growing family. Amidst the festivities, Seungcheol's feigned surprise added a touch of playfulness, creating an unforgettable memory that blended sincerity with a lighthearted twist.

As you stood together, announcing the impending arrival of a new member to your family, the room brimmed with love and shared joy. The surprise element, a collaborative effort with Mingyu and Myungho, added a layer of laughter to the celebration, underscoring the support and unity that defined your close-knit circle.

As the echoes of laughter and celebration subsided, the warm glow of the party lingered in the air. The night wore on, and eventually, you found yourselves in the quiet intimacy of your home. The day's excitement had settled, leaving only the serene presence of you and Seungcheol, cuddling on the bed.

Seungcheol, ever the sweet and caring husband, wrapped his arms around you, creating a cocoon of comfort. The genuine happiness from the party still radiated from both of you, making the shared moments even more precious.

Hours ago, Seungcheol had brilliantly acted out the surprise of your pregnancy announcement, and now, in the quiet solitude of your bedroom, his tenderness shone through. He whispered words of love and anticipation, expressing his joy at the prospect of becoming a father. Every touch and caress conveyed the depth of his feelings, creating a cherished connection between you two.

"You know, Seungcheol," you began, your voice carrying a feigned hurt, "you didn't have to pretend to be surprised about the pregnancy. I know you already knew back in the hospital."

Seungcheol's expression shifted from affectionate to a mix of surprise and amusement. His eyes met yours, registering your playful accusation. You continued, maintaining the facade of being a little upset.

"I appreciate the effort, but I would have loved if you asked me about it in person," you teased, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Seungcheol, realizing the playful charade, chuckled softly. "You caught me," he admitted, a sheepish smile gracing his lips. "I just wanted to go along with the surprise, make it special for you."

You let out a melodious laugh, the earlier faux-disappointment dissolving into shared amusement.

Seungcheol, still holding you close, caressed your cheek and spoke with a sincerity that touched your heart. "I just want every moment, every announcement, to be special for you, my love. Our journey together, especially with our little one on the way, means everything to me."

You smiled, your heart brimming with love for the man beside you. "And it is special, Seungcheol. More special than any surprise. I'm grateful for every moment we share."

He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, sealing the sentiment with affection. "I love you, more than words can express."

"I love you too, Seungcheol," you whispered, cherishing the quiet closeness of the night and the promises it held for your growing family. The future, once shrouded in uncertainty, now felt full of hope and the enduring strength of your bond.

As you both drifted into a peaceful sleep, the echo of those three words lingered in the room, a sweet lullaby that embraced you in the warmth of love and the anticipation of a beautiful journey ahead.

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astarion-approves · 8 months

Note

Hello! So hopefully this isn't too similar to stuff you've done previously if it is feel free to skip, but may I perchance request a wee drabble of soft astarion caring for a particularly vulnerable tav after he takes maybe a bit too much blood. Like, tav is all pale and cold, tremble-y and dazed- maybe a wee bit delirious or confused, ya know blood loss things. (Someone needs to be making sure Tav is getting some juice or something after all the blood they're giving to astarion and losing in battle) thank you!!! I love your work! You're doing a great service for the astarion lovers <3

Astarion x GN! Tav

A poor bloodless Tav is just a bit out of it.

Tags: Gn! Tav/reader, OOC Astarion, confessions, hand feeding, 850+ words, short and sweet

Read below or on AO3

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

“Astarion.” Shadowheart approached him, waking him from his daytime nap, her lips pressed together and a glare already prepared before she even reached his tent. “Have you noticed something wrong with Tav?”

“Hm?” Astarion blinked up at her, his arms resting behind his back and not bothering to move as she stared down at him. “No, why?”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes and tilted her head to the side, gesturing for Astarion to look in that direction. Astarion sighed and sat up in his bedroll, glancing to where Tav stood.

They held a single kiwi in front of their face, their eyes narrowed as they stared at the fuzzy fruit.

Astarion blinked as he watched them. “Shadowheart, for just how long have they been standing there like that?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Long enough for me to notice?”

“By the Hells,” Astarion cursed and stood up, jogging past Shadowheart and making his way to Tav.

They didn’t even notice him approach, their staring competition with the kiwi still on going.

“Tav,” Astarion gently grabbed their shoulder, earning a gasp from Tav and the thud of the kiwi as it fell to the ground.

“Shit,” they said with a frown. “I was going to eat that.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you—“

“Do you wanna share it?”

Astarion looked down to where the kiwi laid at Tav’s feet, it landed directly into a muddy puddle. “I’m not sure you should still eat that, darling.”

“Damn,” Tav replied and sighed. They turned to walk away, bumping into Astarion’s shoulder and nearly falling to the ground.

Astarion reached out quickly and caught them, holding Tav in his arms, surprised by how little strength they had. They trembled in his arms, their skin a few shades lighter than it normally was—

“Tav, did you eat anything after I fed from you last night—?”

“Yes! Actually… No… I’m not sure?”

Astarion clicked his tongue at Tav, letting out a quick sigh before scooping them up and into his arms completely. They both said nothing as Astarion carried them to his tent, the human opting to snuggle their head into his chest as he carried them.

He carefully lowered them into the makeshift bed, Tav smiling up at Astarion and attempting to pull him down and into the bed with them.

“Ah, ah, ah, not quite yet, my dear. We need to get you a little snack.”

“I’m your little snack.”

“Yes, you are. My cute little snack.” Astarion chuckled as he left the tent in search of some food. It was rare that Tav would forget to eat something after one of their feedings, the human insisting on being awake for it these days as they claimed they enjoyed the intimacy. Not that Astarion disliked that, in fact it made his bite much more enjoyable knowing that Tav was there and happy to share their blood with him. Amongst other things…

Soon Astarion returned with clean fruit in hand, cut strawberries and a few blueberries prepared and resting in a bowl for his companion to enjoy. “Here,” he said and held a strawberry to Tav’s lips. “Eat this.”

“I wanted a kiwi.”

Astarion smiled and ran his free hand through Tav’s hair before pausing and carefully easing their head up and into his lap. “I’ll make sure to get you more kiwis later. For now, please eat.”

Tav pouted, but allowed Astarion to feed them the berry.

“My apologies, Tav. I must have taken more blood from you than usual. I didn’t notice how you were feeling.”

“Don’t be. Maybe I just like when you hand feed me.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and pressed a blueberry against their lips next. “Then I will gladly feed you fruit every day. It’s the least I could do.”

“I love you.”

Astarion froze, a slice of strawberry halfway in Tav’s mouth as they gazed up at him with tired eyes. “Tav—“

They pushed the berry to the side of their mouth with their tongue, only struggling slightly as they quickly chewed it and swallowed it down. “I know you’re not there yet, that you might not ever be there, and I know I probably look like shit right now—“

“Never—“

“But I love you, and I’m always willing to feel faint for a little bit if it means making you happy.”

“Tav,” Astarion placed the bowl to the side. “What would ever make you think that I don’t love you?”

Tav’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Do you have any idea how much I adore you?” Astarion laughed. “I don’t need your blood. Of course.. I do rather enjoy it, but I don’t need it.”

“But—“

“Could you honestly see me hand feeding fruit to Lae’zel because she gave me a little blood?”

Tav snorted. “No.”

“Of course not, my dear. Only you.” Astarion lowered himself, kissing Tav softly, briefly swiping his tongue over their berry flavored lips before pulling back with a smile.

“So… does this mean we’re dating?”

“I would certainly hope so. What other vampire spawn is going to feed you strawberries? You won’t find another like me.”

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surielstea · 2 months

Text

Glazed Over Eyes

Based on this request.

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader takes care of a very drunk, very clingy Azriel.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol | Fluff

1.9k words

The Inner Circle had gone to Rita’s. I had opted to stay at home with Amren— saying that she couldn’t be trusted to watch Nyx alone as my excuse instead of going to the pleasure hall, besides, I’d much rather be silently doing puzzles while listening to the music coming from beside the bank of the Sidra with the windows wide open.

Feyre and Rhys had come home with pink cheeks, nearly forgetting they shared a house with others, Rhys trying to mount his mate right in front of us. Amren banished them to their room with an annoyed look before returning to the nearly complete puzzle we only started an hour ago.

A moment later, Cassian is stumbling into the room with his arm hooked around a very sober, very annoyed Nesta. She lugs him behind her, he seemed too drunk to fly so they're most likely crashing here for the night. My brows crease when I notice my mate not following in after them. Azriel was hesitant to leave me here in the first place, not wanting to go to some kind of party without me there for him to retreat to when things got too loud. I encouraged him to go, to have fun. I was now worried he was having too much fun.

"Hey Nes?" I call before they can disappear down the hall. She turns to me with creased brows and tired eyes. "Hm?" She asks. "Do you know where Az is?" I ask worriedly, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, she pales and looks at Cassian who is oblivious to everything but her. "Azriel?" She snaps her fingers in his face and he blinks, waking from his stupor. "Uh, last time I saw him he was cradling a whiskey bottle so it's anyone's guess." He says and I square ny features. "That's reassuring," I whisper. "Sorry, I didn't know I was on babysitting duty for both Illyrians." Nesta sighs as if she's truly let me down. "It's fine, take care of Cass. I'll check Rita's." I wave her off and she nods in thanks. "If you can't find him let me know, I'll help you." She gives me a soft expression and I give her a carefree smile. "Will do." I nod at her, knowing damn well I would be too busy panicking to ask anyone for help if I couldn't find him. She nodded and left down the hall with the huge male draped over her shoulders.

"Sorry Amren, I'll be back," I say, walking towards the front door. "Go, girl. Gods know he's probably found himself in a jail cell by now." She grumbled and I pale. "Comforting, thanks," I mutter before slipping out the door.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Rita's was abnormally loud tonight, or perhaps it was just my lack of intoxication. My brows crease as I scan the pleasure hall for my mate, pulling at the bond connecting us and getting an overwhelming amount of attention back, more than a tug— a pull, towards him.

I don't hesitate to follow the golden tether, leading me right towards the bar.

I spot a familiar head of blonde hair, the girl flirting with the bartender as my mate lays his head down on the bar top.

I push past the crowd, eager to get over to them— shoving drunk males off of me until I finally reach the duo. Mor didn't notice, busy making seductive eyes toward the bartender. I tap Azriel's shoulder and he groans. "I have a mate." He waves me off and I roll my eyes. "I know," I say, he whips his head up and looks at me— eyes widening as he recognizes me. "I'm a genie." He smiled proudly and my brows twitched toward eachother, entirely confused at his giddy behavior. "I wished for you to be here, and now..." He searches for the right words in a long pause. "And now you're here." He finishes and all I can do is blink, bringing the back of my hand to his forehead. "How many drinks did you have?" I tilt my head and he smiles knowingly. "Just one, plus a few more." He shrugs innocently and I release a sigh. "You're drunk." I frown and he scratches the side of his cheek, staring at me blankly.

“I’m not—” hiccup. “Drunk.” He finishes and I arch a brow at him, my stare incredulous. “You’re also not a good liar.” I chastise and he glowers at me, setting his empty glass down on the bar and turning to me fully. “I’m the shadow-master, it’s my job to lie.” He crosses his arms over his chest and I need to refrain from my giggle threatening against my lips. “You’re the spymaster,” I correct and his expression falls.

“Whatever,” He brushes me off. “Words are dumb anyways.” The male grumbles and I laugh at his attitude. His cheeks flush pink and something tells me it’s not due to the alcohol. “You’re so pretty,” He murmurs dreamily and I roll my eyes. “Can you kiss me please,” His hands find mine, pulling me closer with a yearning look. “You’re drunk.” I remind and he groans, head going up to the sky before coming right back down to me. “Drunk on you.” He states as if that makes him any more sober.

I release a soft sigh, rising onto my toes and press a gentle peck to his lips. As I back away he looks at me with a glaze over his eyes, a dumbfounded smile coming to his lips. “That felt good.” He mused and I shook my head in disbelief, wrapping his arm around my shoulders to support him as I dragged him away from the bar and towards the exit. “Bye Mor!” I call back but I doubt she heard me, doubt she even noticed I was there with the way she was talking to the bartender.

Shadows swish around the both of us, causing the crowd to part a path for us, in fear of the shadow singer who, little did they know, was too inebriated to even think about harming anyone.

I lug him out of the bar. “Can’t fly,” He mumbles. “I know,” I pat a hand on his chest reassuringly. “Will you throw up if I winnow?” I look up at him and he takes about three seconds too long to answer. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” He shrugs. “Okay just, don’t do it on me,” I instruct and he nods dutifully.

I winnow us back onto the lawn of our house, Azriel’s knees buckling and his hands coming down onto them, leaning over as if he was about to hurl. “You okay?” I press a hand to his back and he nods eagerly, trying to convince himself. I comb his hair back, shadows swirling around the both of us until he’s fully recovered.

Slowly, he stands back up to his full height and drags his feet as we walk up the porch to our house, his arm around my shoulders yet again as he leans most of his weight onto me, wings just barely hovering above the floor as I open the door to our home, pulling him in with me.

“Let’s get you some water,” I say, leading him over to the kitchen and settling him down on a barstool. He sits unstably, staring at me with a stony look. I cautiously back away, afraid he’d tip over without my support, then walk into the kitchen. His eyes follow me with every step I take, shadows swirling around my legs and through my hair.

“Have you always been this pretty?” He asks unprompted, I flush, flicking my eyes up to him as I pour him a tall glass of water. “You’re like, ultra-beautiful—” His words are cut off as he topples over off his chair and crashes down onto the floor.

I pale and set the glass down, rushing towards him and falling to my knees beside his body. He chuckled as he stared up at the ceiling, making me more worried than I should have been. “Are you hurt?” My hand comes to his cheek, scanning for injuries. “From when I fell from heaven?” He raises a brow at me curiously. “From when you fell off your chair.” I correct and he blinks slowly. “Uh,” He mumbles like he has to think about it. “I don’t think so.” He uttered and I giggled, now that I know he was okay. I help him sit up, grabbing the water from the counter and handing it to him.

“I didn’t take you for a clumsy drunk,” I look at him quizzically. “The spymaster is a very quiet, very precise male.” He speaks in the third person. “And very, very, very sneaky.” He adds with a hiccup and I shake my head, making sure he drinks every last drop of the water I gave him.

Once he’s finished I take the glass and help him up. Placing the glass in the sink, he drapes his arms over my shoulders, my hands coming to his forearms as most of his weight now relies on me. “C’mon, you big baby,” I grunt as I haul him towards our bedroom. “Not a baby.” He reminds me like I’ve forgotten. “Sure,” I mumble, pulling him into our room and shutting the door behind us.

He makes the rest of the journey to the bed himself, flopping down onto it. “No sleeping yet,” I grab him by the collar and pull him back upright, beginning to undo the ties of his clothes. He helps me with the undressing, shucking off his leathers as I walk over to the armoire and find a pair of lounge pants, tossing them at him.

He hums a soft tune to help him focus as he pulls the pants up. I wander into the bathroom, open the cabinet, and find a tonic to help with headaches, issued by Madja. I walk back into the room to find him beneath the covers, already half asleep.

“Az,” I call, and his humming halts, head raising to look at me. “This is for the morning okay?” I hold up the small vial and he nods with a soft smile. “You take such good care of me,” He sighs as I climb into the large bed beside him, his arm immediately snaking around my waist and pulling me into him. “I have to return the favor somehow.” I smile up at him, brushing his dark hair from his forehead. “Thank you.” He mutters. I can only nod in reply. He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, then he pulls me upward and nuzzles his nose into my shoulder, pressing soft kisses there as well.

I comb my hands through his hair with a nurturing intent. Shadows settle around us, disappearing into the floorboards and corners of the room. Azriel releases a soft sigh of contentment at the feeling of his arms wrapped around me, my warmth consuming him. “Love you.” He murmurs tiredly. “Love you too,” I whisper back, and then his breathing steadies out as if that’s all he needs to hear in order to fall asleep.

Sleep swallowed him entirely, and once I know he’s cared for and safe, only then do I allow myself to fall into a slumber of my own.

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finalgirllx · 2 months

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bartender mattheo riddle

i'm a slut for AUs and this one quickly shot up to being one of my favorites for mattheo.

for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge, the prompt i went off of was 'firewhiskey/butterbeer'

As you tread the once-familiar cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade, the rhythmic click of your shoes provides a temporary distraction from the storm swelling inside your thoughts. For such a lively village, the action around you feels distant, too far in the past to offer any respite similar to the steady cadence beneath your feet.

To outside viewers, you appear as any young person donning a modest party dress and looking for a casual spot to unwind for the evening. They wouldn't know this was your first visit to Hogsmeade in over five years since you finished your schooling at Hogwarts. You had left the highlands, your small hamlet, for bigger, better things—or so you had thought.

Reality didn't guarantee such promises you had dreamed of in those few years. Currently barely making ends meet and running on a general sense of uncertainty, you decided it was as good a time as any to revisit your hometown and the magical communities surrounding it, including this cheerful wizarding town you had frequented throughout your adolescence.

You first tried your luck with the Three Broomsticks, but the bustling atmosphere proved too overwhelming for the discreet return you aimed for. With the decision between the rundown Hog's Head inn and a newer, more upscale establishment called 'Celestial Sips,' you opted to see what this new 'fancy-schmancy' spot was all about.

You stealthily step through the polished entry doors to scan the venue, which is dimly lit beside faint golden lights. It is adorned with oddly shaped furniture more suited for artistic expression rather than usability. It appears far more modernized than the traditional charm most common with Hogsmeade’s businesses, young wizarding folk undoubtedly curated it with heavy inspiration coming from muggle cocktail lounges.

The existence of the bar itself in a place such as Hogsmeade wasn't the most earth-shattering part of this night out. It was when your eyes met with the lead bartender, and a flood of memories filled your senses as you realized it was none other than Mattheo Riddle.

His dark curls were unruly as ever but fell in such a way that made him irresistible. His piercing dark gaze caught yours, sparking with recognition. The scar across the bridge of his nose was just as prominent as it was six years ago, as vivid as the day you had dragged him to the hospital wing to get his split nose mended after a particularly grueling fistfight.

That memory also reminds you just how close you and him once were. While you had never officially dated, you did everything a couple would and then some. You shared countless fun late nights, as well as having been there for each other during the more trying ones. And although sexual intimacy didn't come until after graduation, the passion of those post-school days also remains etched in your memory. It was your decision to pursue "bigger things" that had cut that short, leaving you with a lingering sense of what might have been.

Despite the distance between you as you reeled from the shock of encountering him here, you couldn't help but notice the changes in Mattheo over the past five years. Mattheo exuded a confidence far from the troubled boy you once knew at school. He had grown taller, broader, and even more handsome than before. He was also now littered with tattoos that only added to his allure, tempting you to bridge the distance separating you further.

Your knee-jerk reaction would have been to flee the scene, but since you had already met eyes and he was actively beckoning you forward to the bar as you battled with your thoughts, you had no choice but to participate in the unexpected reunion.

You sat at a bar stool, and Mattheo quickly welcomed you with a warm but distinctively husky tone. It was clear that Mattheo was struggling to mask his excitement over seeing you as he tried to maintain some professionalism while behind the bar.

"The greatest stroke of luck I've encountered since taking the job at this fancy joint," Mattheo started with genuine delight, "I can't believe it's you. You look fantastic," his quick work of sweet-talking you did the trick as your cheeks flushed, though still totally sober. Mattheo was also swift in amending that, sliding a vodka cranberry before you with a nod, "On the house. Let me know if you want something more 'refined' for the setting; I just went with an old favorite."

You let out a soft giggle, drawing the straw to your lips to sip the drink. The sweetness of the juice masks the burn, perfectly balanced to not overwhelm from either end.

With Mattheo's excellent job of putting you at ease, you finally replied. "Indeed, you always teased me for not being a whiskey drinker. Old habits die hard," you quipped, taking another sip before continuing. "But, look at you! A bartender? Mattheo, I must say, I'm thrilled to see you here and not, well.." your words lingered away at the implication, realizing it might not sound as encouraging as intended. There were all sorts of rumors of him headed to a life of dark wizardry, so seeing him here was a relief. But he didn't have to hear about any of that, not now. Quickly shifting your approach, you perked up to suggest, "And at this luxurious place? While I appreciate the old favorite, I would love to see what magic you could conjure up in a cocktail glass."

Mattheo laughed and shook his head momentarily before piping up again. "Seems your confidence has skyrocketed. I'm glad to see that, princess," he teased with a cheeky smirk, earning an eye roll from you that only amused him further. You again feel a little heated at the nickname, opting not to question it. You could see that the mischievous glint in his eyes was alive and well as he began meticulously combining various expensive-looking drinks and mixers just for you. Simultaneously, Mattheo tended to other existing patrons, expertly traversing the sprawling bar to ensure everyone's needs were met and drinks stayed filled.

Observing how Mattheo carried himself with such assuredness only heightened your attraction. Each movement he made to speak with patrons and craft drinks allowed you to appreciate his muscled physique. You were no better than a groupie ogling his toned, tattooed arms, his hands still bearing faint scars from his past. The sight of his veins flexing with every motion ignited a fire in your stomach that you hoped wouldn't consume you entirely.

His broad shoulders and slim waist were accentuated by his dark button-up dress shirt. That caught your attention, as did when your gaze moved downward and drifted over his perfectly sculpted behind. You were abruptly snapped from your desirous stupor when the object of your admiration set a much fancier cocktail before you.

"Like what you see?" Mattheo asked with a smug, teasing tone, causing you to want to disappear into the ground beneath your stool. You must have been less-than-subtle about checking him out, but he didn't seem to mind as he continued without further ribbing. "Try that. It's the Mattheo special," he said, watching you intently to see how you reacted to the first sip.

You smirked at the oh-so-creative name and then inspected the drink itself. It was rather extravagant, a lavender purple hue with swirls of gold shimmering with every swish of the glass.

Without hesitation, you lifted the glass and took a small sip. A delightful combination of blueberry and lemon overtook your tastebuds, almost completely shielding the strength of the alcohol in the drink. Hell, you were prepared to question if it was mixed at all had you not watched him pour at least a shot's worth of vodka into it.

You gave him a smile of approval, to which Mattheo grinned widely, clearly pleased to see you liked it. With the other patrons momentarily tended to, Mattheo rested his elbows on the counter, surprising you with his sudden proximity as he leaned forward, suggesting he had something enticing to say.

"I hope this isn't too forward, but I'd really like to catch up," Mattheo spoke in a hushed tone. It sounded innocent enough, but the question, paired with his gaze lingering on your figure, told you he meant anything but. "Would you consider sticking around till close?"

Yes, yes, yes! Your internal monologue screamed. On the outside, you locked eyes with him and smirked, your expression conveying you understood his intentions well. "I don't have anywhere else I want to go; I can stick around."

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

You were cautious with your drinking to avoid getting too intoxicated for your later plans with Mattheo. As the closing time for Celestial Sips approached, you remained near the counter, bantering with other patrons. Mattheo delegated cleaning duties to other employees while he called for final rounds and closed tabs. Each time your eyes met, a shared twinge of excitement passed between you.

After another hour or so, Mattheo finally shut down the lit 'open' sign, leaving you two together alone. While this is what you wanted, your nerves welled up upon the realization that it was just the two of you here. A hint of insecurity came over you. He had grown to be such an attractive, confident man, and you could only hope he found you equally appealing. That line of thought was interrupted when Mattheo began approaching you. His expression, filled with hunger, was directed at you. His captivating eyes combined with the deep-brown locks drooping over his forehead implored you to swoon from where you sat.

"Merlin, princess, you have no idea how much I've missed you," Mattheo murmured, his voice brimming with seduction as he closed the distance, his hands finding their place on the curve of your waist. “Please let me know if you want me to slow down at any time." His words echoed in your ears, bringing you comfort even though you felt wholly prepared to surrender to all of his desires.

Mattheo advanced until your back pressed against the front of the counter. His lips found the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with a trail of wet kisses in their wake. A moan escaped your lips as his actions ignited your longing for more; everything you had wished his hands on you would feel like coming true. However, the heat was cut short far too soon when Mattheo suddenly took a pause from all of the heavy petting.

"You seem tense," Mattheo remarked with a hint of concern. You promptly reassured him with affectionate pecks to his cheek before admitting, "I just hope I'm good for you." His eyes briefly darkened as if displeased by your hesitancy. Suddenly, both of his hands moved to cup your cheeks, and he gazed deeply into your eyes.

"You are the most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on. I meant every word when I said I fantasized about a moment like this with you for years," he confessed. The sincerity in his voice compelled you to trust him, leaving you with no doubt about whether he wanted this.

Seeing you take his words to heart, Mattheo's expression then lit up, clearly having a lightbulb moment. "If you're ready, this place is chock full of drinks to help us both loosen up a bit," As soon as he mentioned it, you felt almost silly having overlooked the idea, realizing that some liquid confidence was the answer to easing your nerves. You nodded, and Mattheo took his hand in yours and gently guided you behind the bar counter.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, and you instantly replied, "I do."

In one swift motion, one hand made its way to the back of your head and the other to the small of your back so he could pull you into a passionate kiss. Your tongues found each other in a dance, his dominant side quickly winning over as his tongue protruded into your mouth. When you briefly pulled away to catch your breath, your cheeky side showed itself when you gently tugged on his bottom lip with your teeth. He moaned slightly, to your satisfaction, and you took advantage of the moment to run your hand over his chest, feeling the muscles underneath that dress shirt. You finally had Mattheo Riddle all to yourself, and you wanted all of him.

Without warning, he grabbed you by the hips, pulled you close, and spun you around to bend you over the counter. One hand curled around your hair to create a makeshift ponytail, the other wasting no time grabbing a bottle of fire whiskey within arm's reach and placing it beside you.

"I'm sorry, doll. I know you love vodka, but whiskey is perfect for tonight."

You looked up at him with doe-like pleading eyes as he gripped your hair, nodding as much as you could though restricted by his hold. He grinned wickedly over your enthusiastic consent before looming over you with a dominating presence. "Open up that mouth, princess."

Your lips slightly parted as Mattheo brought the open bottle of whiskey to your mouth. He poured a shot's worth down your throat, the intense heat burning on your tongue without anything to chase it down. Yet, as Mattheo force-fed you the drink and whispered praises in your ear about how you 'take it so well,' the burn of the whiskey transformed into a divine sensation, exhilarating in the best way. The bar counter was the only thing stopping you from melting to the floor as you became weak in the knees, your aroused state especially susceptible to his praise.

Mattheo lifted the bottle away from you to take a swig, holding you to the counter with a heavy palm against your back. He sighed, satisfied by the burn.

After a moment, he turned his attention back on you and pulled your hair to the side, hastily marking your neck with suctioned kisses and nibbles. At the same time, Mattheo's fingers ghosted down your back, caressing your ass and jolting you with a swift spank, finally reaching underneath your dress to stroke your cunt through your slick panties.

"Merlin, princess, after seeing the way your lips wrapped around that bottle, I wanted to fuck that pretty mouth so bad. But feeling how goddamn wet you are for me, I'm not sure either of us can wait for my cock to be inside your perfect, tight pussy."

His long fingers moved away from your aching core, reaching up and now brushing against your lips. "Will you wet my fingers a little more for me?" he asked in a voice too enticing for such an indecent request. You immediately allowed him to intrude your mouth, his fingers already covered in your taste though he had just barely begun to touch you. "We have to prepare that pussy don't we?" he groaned into your ear. You were distracted as his hardened cock ground into your ass between the fabric of your dress and his trousers.

You could tell he was beginning to lose himself as he seemed enamored by the way your mouth slipped over his fingers, swirling your tongue around them in a show of desperation to please.

Once content with your wetting of his fingers, he pulled them from your mouth and went back to exploring your panties, pushing them aside to tease your folds before slipping the first of his fingers in. It was seamless, not surprising for you, having lusted over him the entire night.

"Fuck, you're still so tight, doll. I have to stretch you out, so this feels as good for you as it will for me."

After a few moments, he introduced a second finger to your soaked cunt. He didn't move at first but gradually began pumping them inside. He could have cum on the spot witnessing your frenetic response to just two fingers.

"Careful, princess. If you want to come on my fingers, you need to beg for it." The words sent a shudder of desperation through your entire body, legs threatening to give out from underneath you as the artful use of his fingers in tandem with his dirty talk brought you toward your first orgasm, unable to resist it even if you tried. Mattheo kept his movements steady as your eyes rolled back and your walls clenched around him, a deep voice leaving the back of his throat to growl, "that's it, ride my fingers, you little slut," His tone this time was demanding, you knew he was displeased by your disobedience. His untamed, hungry expression evolved into something more conniving as he contemplated how to punish you for cumming without permission.

"You like that, huh? A slut who couldn't wait to beg? I should put my cock inside you and make you cum until you can't stand it anymore, then, hm? Do you want that? Cry for it, princess, or you're not getting it."

You quickly fulfill this command with desperate pleas, "Please, Mattheo, please, fill me with your cock."

"Fucking hell, princess--if I wasn't about to bust, I'd have you begging more. Desperation sounds fucking delicious rolling off your tongue," Mattheo growled against your ear as one of his hands haphazardly moved back to his trousers, hastily unbuttoning them to allow his needy length to spring free and press against you. The relief of finally freeing himself caused a deep groan to slip past his lips which only seemed to increase his urgency as his hands quickly found their place on your body again, yanking your dress up over your ass and delivering a forceful slap to your exposed flesh. You yelped and squirmed reflexively from the sting, much to his delight. "That's my fucking ass, don't forget it," he groaned with a certain smugness at the sight of his handprint forming on your skin.

"Please, Matty, please fuck me," you pleaded with a nearly pathetic level of desire. With that, Mattheo decided not to waste another second before indulging you. He took hold of your hips, guiding his cock to your slick folds, and slowly started to ease himself inside of you.

You gasped at the intrusion, reveling in the stretch, but Mattheo cooed praises to relax you enough so there was little discomfort as you adjusted to his size. "Fuck, you fit around me so well. perfect pussy, perfect girl." he groaned as he could feel your wet warmth surround him. “is this okay?"

"Yes, please keep going."

Mattheo used the makeshift ponytail of your hair to lift your head and press his full weight against you onto the counter. His hips began to move, thrusting slowly to start until he was absolutely sure you could take him. With you now sandwiched between his body and the cold surface, he worked up to fucking you at a relentless pace, the base of his cock clashing against your ass as he bottomed out inside of your cunt. The hand steadying you by the hip reached up to wrap around your throat, squeezing at the sides enough for you to feel his strength but not enough to cause pain. It seemed almost to be a reminder for himself not to completely lose to the animalistic urges as he continued to increase the intensity. Your pelvis clanging against the bar didn't matter; you always like it rough, and he knew it.

"Princess, oh gods, I don't know if I'll last." He moaned into your ear paired with short, hot breaths. "You feel so fucking good; I wanted this for so..fucking...long." he sang his praises between each punctuated thrust that hit just the right spot inside of you again and again. The repeated stimulation triggers your second orgasm, your walls clenching around his cock as a choked moan barely escapes your lips- the sound being caught by his firm hold on your neck.

"We're fucking meant for each other, babe," Mattheo grunted as you rode through your wave of pleasure. All you could do in your cockdrunk state was mewl in response, which fueled his ego. "Perfect dumb slut for me, you love taking my cock, don't you? Tell me how much you love my cock," his dirty talk turned more degrading as your most depraved desires inched closer to showing themselves on the surface.

"Love your cock Matty.. mhm so good..."

"Good slut. Now, say you're mine," he commanded, completely frenzied with his pacing.

"I'm yours." you babbled with complete devotion. Mattheo groaned as you so willingly gave into his possessiveness, the very idea of owning every part of you being the tipping point to let his release out inside of you. His rutting became erratic and slowed as he rode through his orgasm, the last few pumps matching your third orgasm in stride.

He then laid limp on top of you, letting out heaving exhales to regain his composure. For the moment, he left his cock to twitch inside of you, relishing in the warm feeling. Once convinced he could get up properly, he pulled out, leaving your pussy dripping with his cum as his entire body lurched over you.

"That was perfect, you were perfect. Best stroke of luck in ages," he mused with a throaty chuckle, recalling his first words when you locked eyes at the beginning of the night. "Can you walk?" he asked, mostly teasingly because the shaking of your legs answered that question without a doubt.

"No," you spoke softly, the giggles you had at the beginning of the night starting to return even if your mind wasn't still fully there from the back-to-back stimulation.

With this, Mattheo decided to hold you for a while longer. You had a lot of catching up to do and piecing together both of your stories to find out how, after so many years, you still ended up right here. But for now, the shared presence was enough.

------------------ huge thankies to @slytherinslut0 for coaching me through this. i was very spooked to share. love y'all <3

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle au #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #slytherin #slytherin boys #hogmarch challenge

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ellecdc · 3 months

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Come Back, Be Here (finale)

Sirius Black x fem!reader - First Wizarding War Order of the Phoenix - 5.7k

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8

CW: mentions of past abuse/torture, amnesia, hurt/comfort, fluff, use of Y/N

A/N: Holy. Friggen. Crap. WHAT A RIDE! Thank you all so much for enjoying this story with me - it has truly felt like the most niche book club and I have had so much fun chatting with you all. Feel free to send in requests for these lovely characters in the CBBH universe - I'd love to continue playing with them! xx

Lily and James Potter returned to 12 Grimmauld place on the 3rd of November – Sirius’ birthday. There were long hugs, a lot of tears and soft dinner conversation, but there would be no gifts or raucous celebrating.

Regulus Black was arrested at Malfoy Manor as a marked Death Eater, but with the backing of James, Sirius and Dumbledore, the Ministry allowed Regulus to be placed on house arrest, confiscating his wand whilst he awaited trial. Dumbledore assured the group that because of Regulus’ defection, his support of the Order, and the memories that Dumbledore, you, and those who were present on October 31st provided the Ministry, Regulus would likely be acquitted of his charges, or at the very least receive a lighter sentence.

Tom Riddle was quickly charged with treason, tyranny, countless charges of the use of unforgiveables, countless charges of leading or causing the death of wizards, witches, and muggles, countless charges of torture and brutality, eliciting fear and chaos, and illegal use of Dark Magic. He was sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss and the act was carried out on the 5th of November.

Peter Pettigrew did indeed receive a fair trial for his role in the Wizarding War. He was questioned under Veritaserum, and it was found that he was guilty of treason, using unforgiveables, contributing to the fear and chaos of a treasonous leader, the use of Dark Magic, and sexual assault and brutality. He was sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Lucius Malfoy came looking for his son and was thus arrested by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on the charge of being a marked Death Eater. He was questioned under Veritaserum which proved Lucius was guilty of harboring dangerous criminals, using unforgiveables, contributing to the fear and chaos of a treasonous leader, and the use of Dark Magic. He was sentenced to life in Azkaban. His property and vault at Gringott’s were seized by the Ministry and, after taking what was owed for reparations, was placed into his son’s name.

The Ministry respected Narcissa Malfoy’s dying wish and placed Draco Malfoy in the care of Sirius Black and Y/N L/N. The Ministry offered the couple access to the Malfoy vault to support Draco’s upbringing, but they opted to leave it aside for the child to choose what to do with the fortune when he was of age.

Narcissa Malfoy’s funeral took place on the 7th of November. The blustery November air accosted the patrons which mostly consisted of Order members and a few of Narcissa’s friends who were able to dodge persecution for their roles or complacency in the war. She was awarded an Order of Merlin posthumously for her role - a title she now shared with you, Sirius, James, Lily, Remus, and later Regulus along with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. Draco left his mother a beautiful bouquet of narcissus, baby’s breath, lavender, and pink camelia’s. You and Sirius gave her a bouquet of edelweiss, fern, and gladioli. Blue hydrangeas and hyssops came from Regulus who was unable to attend due to the nature of his house arrest but were placed at Narcissa’s headstone by Lily and Harry in the family plot of Malfoy Manor. Andromeda, Ted and Nymphadora Tonks stood by you, Sirius, and Draco at the headstone during the funeral service as Dumbledore spoke of the bravery, loyalty, and dedication Narcissa showed not only to her son and her family, but to the greater wizarding world on the 31st of October.

“There is not one witch or wizard amongst us today that does not owe Narcissa Black Malfoy a considerable debt. Without her bravery and cunningness, evil could very well have prospered, dooming us all to life of immense pain and suffering. She dreamed of a legacy - of a better future - for her own son as well as for every child of wizard kind. Narcissa was a beyond bright student during her time at Hogwarts, a strong leader in her social circle, a skilled healer during the war, and an incredibly brave soldier. Though, possibly her favourite and certainly her greatest role was that of a loving mother; for she died to ensure that her son would live to see a better tomorrow. Narcissa Black Malfoy is the type of person, friend, partner, and parent that each of us should aspire to be. May her legacy of love and loyalty live eternally.” He said as he raised his wand.

One by one, every person present raised their wand to the heavens in honour of Narcissa Malfoy and her sacrifice to the wizarding world. Draco, Harry and Nymphadora, along with the Weasley children and Neville Longbottom who did not yet have their own wands raised a narcissus flower in solidarity.

The remaining marauders, you, Lily, and Regulus did indeed stay at 12 Grimmauld place for some time. The house was unrecognizable from the time Regulus and Sirius spent growing up there; it was bright, it was colourful, it was full of children’s laughter and squealing, it was a place people liked to come to visit, and it was chock full of love.

The problem with the new and improved Grimmauld Place?

Your tribe quickly outgrew it.

As time went on, your memories seemed to return to you basically in full, and the full extent of your trauma reared its ugly head. For years you became hyper-focused on knowing where each member of your family was at any given moment, and a panic attack threatened any moment you didn’t have everyone important to you within your periphery. The Third Worst Day™ of Sirius’ life (in chronological order, the first being the day he almost ruined things between you two, the next being the day you ‘died’) was the day Lily and James suggested to you, him, Remus, and Regulus that they should perhaps fix up Potter Manor and move their ever-growing family there. It was partly the worst day because of how the idea of James and Lily moving away made him feel, but it was mostly because of the mental breakdown you had at the news.

“You can’t! You can’t do this! I just got you back, we just got each other back. You can’t do this!” You shouted as everyone tried to get you to breathe. The numerous hands approaching you placatingly was in fact not what you needed at the moment, and you fell into a manic state.

Needless to say, the suggestion was not met well by you, and ended with you being admitted to the psychiatric ward at St. Mungo’s. Sirius sat at your bedside with your hand in his, Lily and James in chairs across from him whilst Regulus and Remus stayed home and watched the children.

“I cannot live without any of you anymore. I’m sorry, but I refuse. I can’t do it.” Sirius admitted quietly to his friends as he rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

You had been dosed heavily with calming draught and dreamless sleep in order to prevent any seizure activity, which you became plagued with due to the trauma of the brain from memory retention and prevention throughout the war.

“I can’t either.” James admitted, causing Lily to turn and face him.

“I’m sorry Lil’s, I know-” he cut himself off to take a steadying breath. “I know when we got married, you probably imagined us living at the Manor or maybe in another place as independent adults. After we lost mum and dad, I’m sure you imagined us taking that over in their place, and I think I wanted that too, but now, knowing what we know, I would have done things differently. I wish we had moved in with mum and dad and been there to enjoy their last few years with them. We had our own flat at the time and Moony, Pads, and Vix had theirs and I was so lucky that I got to spend as much time with Vixen as I did, being her order partner and all, but then she was gone, and I regretted ever spending a single moment away from her. Now...now I’m afraid that every second I don’t spend with you – all of you, any of you, my family – is a second wasted and I don’t want to waste another precious second. Not anymore. Not ever again.”

Lily looked imploringly at her husband.

“You really are a bell-end.” She muttered fondly.

“Pardon me?”

“Do you really think I imagined us living alone in that big ass manor just us and our kids? What part of that do you think appeals to me? I love you, James, but a girl needs backup to deal with the likes of you.”

Sirius and James exchanged a bemused glance before Lily continued.

“I want to live the rest of my life with my family. That’s you, James, and our kids, but it’s also Sirius and Y/N, it’s Remus and Regulus and Draco. Hell, if Alice and Frank or Marlene and Dorcas told me they wanted to move in I’d happily help them pack the boxes.” She laughed as she looked at you and Sirius’ intertwined hands.

“I think we’re all going to be stuck with one another until the end of time.” James said as he pulled his wife into his side.

Sirius smiled greatly at them. “Until all the mischief is managed.”

After that, the friends all agreed that none of them were willing to part from the group, and if for whatever reason anyone felt the need for more privacy, they would opt to build an outbuilding on the property.

“Oi! You’ve gotta knock, Prongs! Fuckin’ wanker.” Sirius had shouted as he hastily pulled the sheets up around the two of you.

“Uhm, maybe you’ve gotta lock the door, Pads.” James muttered with a mouthful of muffin as he came in to sit on the edge of the bed, completely unperturbed by the fact that the two of you were still naked and very recently involved in unmentionable deeds.

Nevertheless, no one ever felt the need to build their own place on the property.

And Sirius made sure James got a taste of his own medicine a time or two after that incident.

Lily Evans Potter did indeed contact Healer Grundke at the end of the war and was brought on to work under her as an intern whilst she worked toward getting her Healer license. She spent many years in general medicine before moving fulltime to labour and delivery. Sirius often teased her that between the number of days she has spent in labour & delivery as a patient and as a doctor, he was surprised any of their other friends ever saw her.

His nose was charmed green for a week.

Regulus Black was eventually acquitted of his crimes. He was placed on a sort of life-long probation in the form of a tracking spell on his wand that would alert the Ministry of him ever practicing Dark Magic. He opted to stay with his brother and his friends though he pretended to hate every minute of it. In truth, Regulus found great joy in being an uncle to Sirius’ and James’ children and Godfather to his best friend’s daughter Luna Lovegood. He declined the opportunity to join the Wizengamot, stating that as the rightful heir to the Black name, Sirius should be the one to take the Black’s seat.

Sirius Black, in Sirius Black fashion, dramatically refuted this idea. He did not want to pick up the mantle that was laid for him by the generations of Black’s before him; he refused to sit in the nearly still warm seat that his father had left. It took Regulus, Remus, and Lily all to tell him how much good he could do by not only bringing in a younger generation’s perspective to the Wizengamot, but as a wealthy heir to a pureblood line, a war hero, and an advocate for werewolf and muggleborn rights, he could bridge the gap between the left and right-wing members of the court.

It also helped that you had told him he’d be the only one capable of making the robes look punk rock.

James Potter opted to be a stay-at-home dad and uncle to care for the children living at Potter Manor. The Potter vaults had enough money in them to last his family multiple lifetimes without every making a dent, and with the money Lily was making as a healer, there was no need to be worried financially. Also, being a kid at heart made him the absolute best friend of any child who met him. As the children grew older, he and Mrs. Weasley worked together to homeschool the children of the Order until they were old enough to attend Hogwarts.

Remus Lupin, never one willing to ride on his friend’s coat tails, spent the first few months following the war applying to various jobs through out Wizarding London. He had hoped that between his stellar academic record, his time spent as a prefect and tutor, his Order of Merlin, and his dedication to the winning side of the Wizarding War, that he would be able to secure a job within wizarding society. Unfortunately, it seemed the wizarding world still had a long way to go with the prejudice it held for werewolves. Walking through Diagon Alley feeling sorry for himself, Remus spotted a “for lease” sign in the window of what used to be a pet store. He immediately sent an owl to the landlord and asked for a meeting.

Though Remus tried to refuse, Sirius and James insisted on investing in Remus’ planned bookstore.

“I’m not borrowing money, Prongs.” Remus muttered defiantly.

“It’s not borrowing, Moons! It’s an investment! If anything, you’ll be making me more money.” He exclaimed excitedly.

“Moony, please,” Sirius added...well, seriously, “think of how pissed off my ancestors would be to know I’m investing their money in a half-blood werewolf’s business which happens to stock muggle literature?”

With a mischievous smirk, the deal was settled, and the lease was signed.

Remus wasted no time to get started at the bookstore. He walked into the small storefront and conjured a broom, deciding to start by sweeping up the hay and owl droppings.

No sooner had he started did he hear the door chime.

“Oh! My apologies, we’re not quite open yet.” Remus offered as he made his way to the door. He stopped in his tracks when he saw you and Regulus standing in the entry.

“I should hope not. This place looks awful.” Regulus commented with a wrinkled nose.

You elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Looks like you could use some help.” You said cheerily as you held out a stack of papers. Remus took them gently to find your CV and cover letter. Before Remus could even look up, Regulus dropped his on top of yours in Remus’ hand.

“All my references are either dead or in prison so.” He offered with a shrug.

“I’ll vouch for him.” You said.

You were smiling at him so kindly and so sweetly, Remus wanted to cry. You had always been his biggest supporter; championing him through every milestone in Remus’ life. He was certain he didn’t deserve even half of the love you gave him, but he was eternally grateful for every drop of it.

“Thank you, guys.” Remus said wetly as he pulled the two of you in for a hug. Regulus groaned the entire time but when Remus finally pulled away, he had a slight blush.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, what is family for?” He muttered which elicited a sharp gasp from you and a bark of laugh from Remus.

“Don’t be going soft on us now, Black!” Remus said with a laugh and ruffled his hair.

“Fuck you guys, clean this barn up on your own.” He grumbled as he turned to leave, but the two of you wouldn’t let him.

He was grateful that you didn’t.

Sirius eventually proposed to you – though beg was likely a more appropriate definition.

“We should get married.” He had said to you late one night as he came back to the bedroom after putting Draco down.

You lowered your book into your lap as you considered him. “I beg your pardon?”

“We should get married.” He repeated plainly.

Your lip threatened to quirk into a smirk, but you kept your face blank. “And why should we get married?”

Sirius guffawed at you. “Uhm, maybe because we’re in love? And I’m the best and would be the best husband?”

You continued to stare at him.

“Why shouldn’t we get married?” He asked, now beginning to panic.

“I never said we shouldn’t.”

“Then why won’t you marry me?” He shrilled as he moved to kneel at the end of the bed.

“You’re the first thought in my mind when I wake up in the morning and my last thought at night before I fall asleep. Fuck, you make up the majority of my dreams too. Did you know that? Did you know that I go to the Ministry and count down the minutes until I get to see you again? Did you know that when you’re at work, I spend my time thinking about what you’re doing, who you’re talking to, what they’re saying to you and you to them? And not in a stalkery way, I swear. But I just think you’re the coolest fucking person ever and I’m jealous of everyone who gets to listen to you speak when I’m stuck at home or at work. And I watch you with Draco -our sweet boy - and our Godson and the other children and I get fucking giddy thinking that I get to spend the rest of my days with a woman so lovely. So, marry me. Marry me, damnit!”

It was a battle to keep your face straight but by the absolute grace of God you did before saying “Siri, babe, you’re coming off a little desperate.”

There was a brief pause before you got a “you cheeky little minx” and 45 seconds of tickling which turned into kissing which turned into touching which turned into so much more.

You were sticky and satisfied as you both caught your breath, still intertwined with one another when you said, “I will.”

“Hm?”

“I will.” You repeated as you leaned onto your elbow so you could look him in the eyes. “I’ll marry you. Marry me.”

Sirius stared at you in awe before pulling you down into his embrace for a searing kiss which once again turned into so much more.

And you guys did. Marry each other, that is. It was a beautiful spring day on the grounds of Potter Manor with only your closest family and friends. It was perhaps a touch smaller than what either you or Sirius grew up picturing your wedding to be, but it was so much better than either of you could have ever imagined.

“...I thank my lucky stars every day that I get to love such a wonderful woman. There’s not one person in this world who deserves to know the likes of you, me least of all, but will do everything I can to ensure I get to keep what little light you’re willing to share with me forever. I have already loved you in sickness and in health, for rich or for poor, and in life and in death. There is not one planet in any universe, nor a timeline that exists where my love for you does not. I vow to you that you will never spend a day in this life not being loved by me. Wherever you go, I go; in this life and the next.” Sirius said through his tears.

With a smile you began your own vows. “Sirius, I have had the absolute pleasure of getting to witness you become the man you are today. It wasn’t always easy or pretty, but I have seen you through it all; the good, the bad, the really bad, and the ugly. And I have loved you through all of it. As I laid dying, I told James that I didn’t regret a single moment of this life with you, and that is still true today. Every moment, all the blood, sweat, and tears, brought us here today - and I would still do all of it again if it meant getting to stand here today by your side. I made a vow that I would find you in our next life and I would love you there too. Well, here I am. I found you. I will always find you.”

Lily, Marlene, and Alice stood by your side, and James, Remus, and Regulus stood by Sirius’ as your magic was bound together, and you were pronounced husband and wife.

Sirius hung the framed parchment that Remus had found in the wooded area where he first met Regulus in his office. The note symbolized your dedication to him, to your friends and family, and your unyielding perseverance. The parchment was later joined by your wedding pictures, drawings that he and Harry had painted back in Grimmauld place as well as pictures Harry and Draco had given him since, and the first ever check he received for his investment in A Marauder’s Map to Books.

You loved working at Moony’s bookstore; everyday felt like getting to hang out with your best friends even though you pretty much lived with them as well. It was nice to see Remus and Regulus in a setting outside of the parental/guardian role you’d all taken on following the war. You were surprised at first (though you supposed you should have known better) that Remus and Regulus worked really well together – Regulus’ uptight and serious façade was well balanced with Remus’ laidback and jovial personality. Regulus would handle the more difficult customers whilst Remus made sure every customer who came in felt welcome. Things often fell by the wayside or got overlooked when Remus was away due to the moons, and Regulus was quick to pick up the slack. Regulus would often get too caught up in work and forget to stay fed or hydrated, which Remus counteracted by briskly walking past Regulus and placing biscuits and cups of tea brewed exactly to Regulus’ liking before he could refuse. If you noticed Regulus’ cheeks tinge peak and a shy smile grace his lips – you didn’t mention it.

Draco grew to be a very happy child; you and Sirius couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride every time that boy giggled or laughed. You kept your word and left the Malfoy vaults untouched save twice a year when Narcissa would purchase a gift for Draco on June 5th and December 25th.

He was such a good son and an even better big brother.

Draco was the most jealous of Harry when Harry became a big brother to his sister Jasmine Potter. It was hard not to chuckle at how proud the four-and-a-half-year-old was as he bragged about being the ‘bestest big brother’ and watching Draco skulk around the house.

“I could be a big brother! Really, I could. I’d be so nice and gentle, and I would share all my toys!” He told you and Sirius solemnly as you tucked him in to bed. You assured him he would indeed be a wonderful big brother, but not to worry about it too much as you were sure Lily and James could use two big brothers for their newest addition.

You both gave him kisses goodnight and closed the door behind you. You’d hardly made it two steps from the door before your husband had you pushed up against the wall.

“I could be a really good daddy too, you know?” He whispered into your neck before starting to suck on your pulse point.

You couldn’t stifle the moan that escaped your lips. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Sirius kissed his way back up your jaw before slotting his lips against yours. “Perhaps we should give the kid what he wants.” He managed between kisses.

You chuckled.

“He gets everything he wants already, Siri.” You whispered back as you pulled his body flush with yours.

“What about me, hm?”

You pulled your head back to search his face. “Do you want another baby, Sirius?”

Sirius’ pupils seemed to blow wide at the sentiment. “I don’t so much want a baby as I want your baby, my love.” He whispered reverently.

Your restraint snapped and you launched yourself at him. He caught you as your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck, carrying you down the hall to your bedroom.

Approximately ten months later you gave birth to your daughter Aurora Black.

September 1st, Kings Cross Station

“Merlin’s saggy balls, how do you – for fuck sa– oh, got it!” Sirius could be heard behind you as he fought with the pram.

“Would you watch your mouth?” Lily muttered.

“Yeah Pads, watch your fuckin’ mouth!” James loudly announced causing other parents to look over at the absolute freak show that was the Potter & Black family’s stepping onto Platform 9 ¾.

“Sorry.” You offered with a quiet smile to a particularly perturbed looking couple as they grabbed their smarmy looking child and ushered him away from the likes of you. “Wankers.” You muttered as they hobbled off.

“Who’s a wanker, mum?” Draco asked as he slid up beside you. The rotten child knew he wasn’t supposed to use such language but couldn’t pass the chance at getting to repeat your nasty comment.

“Presently, it’s you.” You commented while teasingly narrowing your eyes at him.

“Oi, leave your poor mum alone! You’re buggering off to Hogwarts and leaving her with the likes of me for the next ten months.” Sirius said as he (finally) made his way to you with the pram in tow. The three-year-old twins seemed none the wiser that they just nearly got folded into the damned thing and thrown onto the tracks in a fit of rage.

“My deepest condolences during this trying time.” Draco offered you severely.

Sirius scoffed and you laughed as you pulled him into an embrace. You were waiting for the day he pushed you away because hugging your mom goodbye in front of your friends was embarrassing. But today, you relished in the feeling of your first child letting you hold him tight.

“I’m so proud of you, Draco.” You murmured into his platinum hair.

“Thank you, mum.” He responded quietly.

“Draco! Harry! Over here!” The sound of Hermione Granger interrupted your hug as Draco turned to wave at his friends.

“Be good kid, okay? Look out for your sister?” Sirius asked as he pulled Draco into his own embrace.

“’Course, dad. I’m not new here.” He teased as he ruffled Aurora’s hair.

“Draaaccoooo...” She whined in response.

“Go see ‘Mione.” You ordered Draco with one last side hug. Harry and Draco swapped parents and siblings to give their respective goodbyes before heading off to catch up with their friends.

“Are you ready, Rory?” Jasmine Potter asked your daughter kindly. She was a year above Aurora and was very excited to get the chance to show her younger cousin around the castle.

Your daughter looked between her cousin and her parents before Sirius spoke up. “Jazz, do you mind giving us a minute?” He asked his Goddaughter.

Jasmine turned to talk to James and Lily who were busy entertaining Posie and Lyra as you and Sirius bent down to talk to Aurora.

“What’s on your mind, love?” You asked your daughter gently.

Your heart welled as Aurora’s eyes turned glassy.

“I’m not ready.”

Sirius made a cooing sound as he wiped the tears from under her lash line. “What are you most worried about, my little star?”

Aurora sniffled miserably. “What if I’m sorted into the wrong house?”

You and Sirius couldn’t help but rear your head at the comment. Out of all the things you thought would be worrying your daughter on her first day of boarding school, which house she got sorted into was not it.

“Rory, that’s the exciting part baby.” You tried as you rubbed her arm consolingly.

“I get it, Ro, I was worried about which house I was going to be sorted into as well.” Sirius commented.

Aurora rubbed a fist against her eye as she turned to consider her father. “Really?”

Sirius nodded solemnly. “Really. You see, I came from a long line of proud Slytherins. I was supposed to get sorted into that house too, because I was supposed to be just like them. But I couldn’t be like them, I could only be like me. So, I was sorted in Gryffindor, even though my family didn’t like it.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

Sirius nodded sadly. “I did.”

“But Ro, you know that no matter what house you get sorted into, me and daddy are going to be so, so, so proud of you. And we’ll be proud of you because you’re you, not because you were sorted into Ravenclaw or Gryffindor or Hufflepuff or Slytherin.” You added with a soft smile.

Aurora seemed to consider this. “Well, Harry and Jazzy are in Gryffindor, and Draco is in Slytherin. I’d like to be in one of those I think.”

You nodded at her, but it was Sirius who answered.

“That’d be pretty cool, huh? But listen, I met the most fantastic people in my house even though I knew no one in it when I first got sorted. Uncle Prongs and Uncle Moony were my dormmates for seven years and look at us now! Completely co-dependent and still living together.”

“What is co-dependent?” Aurora asked with furrowed brows.

“Not important. What I’m trying to say is, Rory, you are going to give that hat a run for its money, you know why?” Sirius asked.

Aurora shook her head.

“Because you are your mother’s daughter. And she is the the most loyal, the most cunning, the bravest and the smartest person I know. You’ve been raised by the most spectacular person, and any one of those houses will be lucky to have you. Got it?”

You watched as Rory took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before offering her dad a solid nod.

“Atta girl!” He said as he enveloped her in a hug and kissed her head. “You show that sorting hat who’s boss.”

Aurora chuckled as she moved to hug you.

“I’m so proud of you, my love.” You said into her hair. She tightened her hold on you before letting go and stepping back.

“I think we’re ready for you, Jazzy.” You called, and the older girl came and took Aurora’s hand as they headed towards Draco and Harry to board the train.

James and Sirius wolf whistled and hollered, waving frantically as they watched the kids walk away. Hermione, Harry and Draco chuckled while Neville and Ron turned beat red at the attention.

You propped Lyra on your hip and the two of you continued to wave as the train pulled away. None of you stopped waving until you couldn’t see your babies anymore.

A sob tore its way through James, and you looked over to see Lily making alarmed eye contact with you as she awkwardly patted his arm and he and Sirius leaned into each other.

“First time?” An older woman asked as she went to walk past you.

“No” was yours and Lily’s chorused response as you peeled your husband away from his best mate and moved him toward the pram where your youngest two sat forgotten.

“Lord, is it going to be this bad every time we send one of the kids off the first time?”

“It’ll be worse!” Sirius cried emphatically as he fell into your arms, basically crushing poor Lyra who was still sat on your hip. You looked over to Lily hoping for help only to see her in a similar predicament.

“Sirius Black, at this rate our youngest three won’t ever want to come back to Kings Cross Station.” You muttered as you moved Lyra to your other hip so you could support your husband’s weight.

“Good! Then they’ll never leave me!”

Your heart twinged as you patted Sirius’ back.

“Siri, look at me.”

For a moment you thought he might refuse, but he unfolded himself slowly and stood to look at you.

“This is what we fought for, my love.” You said as you caressed his cheek. “So that our babies could go to Hogwarts and learn and be children and be free and be safe.”

“I still hate it.”

You laughed at his petulance. “Me too, actually. Do you think Hogwarts is hiring? What if we all just move there?”

“Great idea, Vix!” James cheered from beside you, eyes rimmed and cheeks glistening. “Lily flower could work in the infirmary, Padfoot could teach astronomy, you could teach muggle studies, I could teach flying, Moony could teach defence against the dark arts and Regulus could teach potions! It’s perfect!”

Though you had to admit this plan of James’ actually sounded pretty perfect, your attention turned to little Posie falling asleep in Lily’s arms.

“Why don’t we discuss this more once we get these kiddos down for a nap, hm?”

Sirius found you later sitting in the sunroom with a book in hand. He thought you made the prettiest picture sitting in the soft sun filtering through the leaves of the trees outside, plants surrounding you with your nose buried in a book. So, he took a picture.

“I wasn’t ready!” You whined with a smile on your face.

“You’re always ready.” He said as he pressed a kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry I was such a mess at the train station today.” He said as he lifted your legs off the loveseat to sit down and replace them atop his lap.

“You don’t have to apologize, Siri.” You said as you tapped him with your book.

“I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.” He commented, his gaze seemed far away as he watched the branches dance in the September breeze.

“You can do that tomorrow.” You whispered back.

A smile graced his face before he turned to look at you. “I love you; did you know? I don’t think I say it enough, but I do; I love you.”

He punctuated his sentence with three loving squeezes of the fat of your thigh.

“Sirius. Every breath I take means ‘I love you’.” You responded and sealed it with a kiss.

You got an owl from Draco and Aurora later that night.

Aurora was a hat stall.

She was also sorted into the same house as her mum.

Thank you so much for reading! Can't get enough? Check out these CBBH themed one shots, or, feel free to request a one-shot from your faves in this universe!

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fic #marauders x reader #first wizarding war #first wizarding war fanfic #reader insert #escapism #self insert #canon divergence #hurt/comfort #sirius black hurt/comfort #sirius black one shot #sirius black blurb #sirius black ficlet

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skzdarlings · 2 months

Text

bodyguard: the first guard | part two | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh's daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. the previously established story dyanmics: explicit violence, mentions of torture, death. chapter word count: 12,000 words.

B E F O R E

Felix is wearing itchy civilian clothes, the jeans distractingly stiff. Regardless of how many field missions he is assigned, he never gets used to undercover disguises.

“Look what I found,” Chris says, dropping into the seat beside him.

Chris looks marginally more at ease in his baggy basketball shorts and baseball cap, passing for a teenage boy on an afternoon train with his friend. They are in the passenger car outside the first class cabin, a compartment that should contain their mark but presently sits empty.

“Uh, the target?" Felix asks. “You know, the thing you just went to find?”

Chris giggles like the whole situation is funny. Felix is far less amused. This should have been an easy job: get in, kill the mark, steal back the data he took from Miroh, and get out. But so far it has been tedious.

Felix can’t even blame Chris this time. For some reason, Chris has been more accommodating lately. Chris is fifteen, almost sixteen, and Felix is twelve. They have both been active in the field for a couple years. Felix is not sure why Chris has opted for sudden compliance. He does not necessarily volunteer for jobs but he accepts them without much grudging reluctance. He will occasionally voice his worser grievances but for the most part he is keeping his head down.

Maybe it is the result of all those punishing sentences in the Cell. More than once he has been shoved down there, sometimes alone and sometimes with Miroh’s daughter. Felix would not want to spend any isolated time with her. But maybe she is intimidating enough to get through to Chris.

Whatever it is, it is working. Excluding moments like this when Chris is giggling and distracted and doesn’t seem to care about the job at all.

“Relax, Felix,” Chris says. “It’s a train. There’s only so many places he can be, yeah?”

“Well, there’s one place he’s supposed to be but he isn’t there, is he?” Felix says.

“Lighten up, mate,” Chris says. “We’re supposed to look normal. Normal kids have fun.”

Chris dumps a candy bag in Felix’s lap. Felix looks at it like it’s a bomb.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Felix asks.

Chris opens his own bag and starts eating the candy.

“That,” he says. He tosses a piece in the air and catches it in his mouth. When he tries to do it again, Felix snatches it mid-air and throws it on the floor. This makes Chris laugh.

“He was in the dining car,” Chris relents. “Four security officers. Ex-military. Piece of cake.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Felix asks, annoyed. He starts to stand but Chris yanks him back into his seat.

“The hell, man?” Chris says. “You gonna go ventilate the guy while a bunch of civilians are having afternoon tea? Ya think that might blow our cover? Just a bit?”

Felix frowns but he knows Chris is right. Miroh does not like a public mess. They will have to wait until the mark returns to the privacy of his cabin.

Felix does not like waiting. It is a part of a soldier’s training, but his least favourite part by far. He prefers action. With the quiet stillness comes fear, doubt.

The latter makes him sweat. He tries not to think about it. His life is his mission. Through Miroh, Felix has contributed good things to the world. Lately, it just seems like no matter what he does, the world does not stay good.

The Enemy has been dead for two years. The new enemy, his idiot heir, has holed up like a dragon guarding his hoard. He has built defences so high that not even an army like Miroh’s can breach it. There has been no retaliation, no offensive strike like the old enemy, but these deep roots are almost more sinister. Felix is starting to think this might be hopeless. That maybe Miroh is wrong. That maybe some things cannot be saved.

Felix crinkles the candy bag in his lap. He gathers himself and exhales.

“Fine,” he says. “How long do you think he will be distracted? Enough time to get the data?”

“If it’s in there, yeah,” Chris says. “Might as well check. He just started eating so we should have some time.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Chris frowns like Felix is inconveniencing him with the job they were sent here to do.

Felix is not in the mood to argue. He shoves his candy bag in his back pocket and pushes past Chris. They make their way down the aisle. No one lifts their head, the two boys disappearing in their inconspicuous disguises.

They pick the lock to the first class cabin. Felix opens the door and looks around the room, for a moment a little stupefied by the luxury. It is all deep mahogany and gold trim. Their target is an engineer who stole designs from Miroh to sell to the enemy. The wealth of this cabin exemplifies that corruption, surely.

Felix tells himself that as he rifles through the luggage. He finds a laptop and tells Chris to stand guard while he collects the data. Chris is the better fighter but Felix is better with technology.

The laptop loads. The home screen is the mark with his family, three smiling, sunny-faced children, all younger than Felix. It gives him a queasy, uneasy feeling, a feeling that should be long scrubbed out of him by now.

He blames it on the rocking of the train carriage. Physical sensations can manipulate mental energy.

He searches through the computer storage for the stolen designs. Both Miroh and the enemy are chasing government building contracts, tying their businesses irrevocably to political power and pursing relationships therein. These plans will cinch the deal for whichever party has them. The engineer who betrayed Miroh masqueraded as a potential recruit before stealing the plans.

There is only one problem; Felix knows how to read metadata and he cannot find anything that was once on Miroh’s servers. In fact, some of these designs go back years, well before Miroh even considered pursuing these contracts.

“What’s taking so long?” Chris asks, poking his head in the room. “You’re usually a computer whiz. Is something wrong?”

“The files aren’t here,” Felix says. For the fifth or sixth time, he opens what looks like the plans. Everything except the metadata matches the description. But that metadata does not lie.

These files do not belong to Miroh.

Chris double checks the corridor before joining Felix. They look at the files together.

“Isn’t that it?” Chris asks. “It looks like the right thing.”

“Yeah, but it’s not,” Felix says, his eyes darting frantically all over the screen. “Or it should be. But these, uh, these files aren’t Miroh’s.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this guy stole the plans from Miroh. But all these files are original. They were never on Miroh’s servers.”

There is a moment of quiet. Chris is not famous for reservation so Felix looks at him. He is embarrassed to find a pitying look on Chris’s face.

“Felix,” Chris says. “Come on, man.”

It is not exactly a condescending tone, rife with too much sympathy to be so cruel, but It sounds like Chris is saying, don’t be stupid.

Felix swallows. He looks down at the plans. The realization hits him and the words come to his mouth, rising like bile.

“We’re not stealing back the plans,” Felix says. “We’re just stealing them. Aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah,” Chris says. “You didn’t know that?”

“How did you know that?” Felix snaps back, embarrassed and upset and very, deeply confused.

“It wasn’t exactly a stretch,” Chris says. “It’s what Miroh does. It’s what they all do. You haven’t figured that out yet? You?”

Felix, who has done the most assignments. Felix, who is the most successful agent in the special-ops program. Felix, who is the best only because the real best refuses to be.

He studies Chris, this older boy who seems so confident he has all the answers. Felix does not even know all the questions. He feels that weakness and vulnerability he so hates, the entirely world suddenly unfamiliar enemy terrain.

“Look, it’s fine,” Chris says. “Just take the data and we’ll leave. We’ll tell Miroh the mark got away. He cares more about the plans anyway.”

“Lie,” Felix says. “You want us to lie to Miroh?”

“It’s not a lie,” Chris says. “It’s just protecting the truth.”

Felix stares at him. Chris, on steadier feet than Felix, sighs and pushes Felix out of the way. He loads the data onto the external hard drive himself. He then makes a show of ejecting it and putting it in his pocket.

“Let’s go,” Chris says.

Felix does not get a chance to protest because the door opens. They have no time to react. In seconds, they are joined by the mark’s security team.

Felix knows how to fight. It is second nature to him. He should not need to think.

But he does. He overthinks. He gets a look at the mark before a bodyguard whisks him away. Felix thinks of the smiling faces on those children. He thinks how he is not much older than them.

There is a growing pit of anxiety inside him. It swallows him whole.

Felix and Chris fight to get away. Chris could take all these guards on his own but he is trying to avoid severely hurting them. That distracts Felix too. Suddenly, Chris’s refusal to fight does not seem like cowardice but instead it is something Felix cannot name. Something he once saw in Miroh but doesn’t anymore.

Distracted, Felix does not fight like he usually does.

The first class cabin is a private attachment at the back of the train. The fight lead onto the outside landing at the end of the car. A guard dislocates Felix’s shoulder. The next thing Felix knows, he is tumbling over the railing. He manages to grip with his good arm, holding all of his body weight to avoid getting snagged and ripped along the train tracks.

But it won’t save him. He’s going to die. The realization hits him like any other calculation in a fight, when he measures his odds and deduces his best move.

He has none. The train is moving too fast and he is at a bad angle to jump. He has one good arm keeping him alive and no way to fight the approaching guard. Chris has taken out his own adversaries and should be retreating with the data. That is what they are trained to do. The job is more important than the soldier. In a crisis, you leave the weak behind.

Felix braces himself to let go, hoping the above-average strength in his body can also withstand slamming into railroad tracks at high speeds. He suspects even if he does survive, he will be severely injured, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, and dead to the only place he has ever known.

But the guard falls back. Chris knocks him out with sharp efficiency. He then lays the unconscious man down with almost comical gentleness.

Chris runs up to Felix. Felix wants to shout at him – everything from go away and finish the job to my shoulder hurts and I need you to save me.

Chris gives no opportunity for argument or acquiescence. He shouts, “Hold on!” Then he swings himself over the railing. He wraps an arm around Felix and hauls him into his side. Once secure, he carries them back over the rail and onto the landing.

“What are you doing?” Felix asks. He cannot slow the race of his heart, seemingly tethered to the thunder of the train car against the tracks. He is not sure it will ever slow again. He thinks he might remember this moment forever.

“What am I doing?” Chris asks. He laughs for some forsaken reason. “Just doing this, mate,” he says.

He seizes Felix by his injured shoulder. Felix winces, having only seconds to brace himself before Chris shoves his dislocated shoulder back into place. Agony washes over Felix, hot and sharp, the pain rattling him worse than the actual dislocation.

“Sorry,” Chris says. “Sometimes getting better hurts more for a bit.”

The rest of the mission is a blur to Felix, lost to the throbbing ache in his shoulder and a similar pain taking root inside him.

They make it back to Miroh’s facility. Chris hands the hard drive off to an upper level agent while Felix sees a medic. The bag of candy is still in his back pocket. He sits in the infirmary a long time, just crinkling it between his fingers. He feels like his world is crashing around him.

It is days before Felix has an opportunity to see Chris again. They are in different barracks because of their age difference, the soldiers grouped by year. When Felix finds Chris in the corridor, Chris is talking to Miroh’s daughter who lives in the barracks too. They are on their way to their bunks.

Felix taps Chris on the shoulder. Chris looks at him, his laughing expression faltering when he sees Felix. He must see something in him that Felix cannot even recognize in himself.

Chris turns to Miroh’s daughter and says, “I’ll catch up, yeah?”

She spares Felix a glance and Felix feels an unusually panicked skip in his blood. It feels like she can see his mental turbulation the way Chris can. But unlike the rest of them, she has a direct line to Miroh. She might live and act like a soldier but she is more and always will be. Felix balks under her scrutiny, worried she will see his doubt and report it right back to Miroh.

Felix is grateful when she leaves. But when Chris looks at him so expectantly, Felix no longer knows what to say.

It takes a moment.

“I wouldn’t have done the same for you,” Felix finally says. It comes out as instinctively as a punch. “I wouldn’t have saved your life. I would have just finished the job.”

Chris blinks at him. He exhales on a laugh. Then he claps Felix’s good shoulder, a touch of clear camaraderie.

“I know, Felix,” he says. “I didn’t do it so you would pay me back. I didn’t do it because I thought you would do the same. I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

Felix thought he was speechless before but now he is truly at a loss. Even his long engrained instincts fail. He is out of punches.

Chris just smiles at his confusion. With one final nod, he turns and retreats to his bunk.

Felix stands in the corridor, wounded but bandaged. He stares at the place where Chris stood, like if he looks long enough then Felix will understand what Chris understands. That maybe there is a right and wrong outside of what they have been taught. Maybe things exist outside of this place.

Maybe some things can be saved.

P R E S E N T D A Y

“Ah, it’s the classic story,” Changbin says with a sigh. “A boy and a girl, forced to share a bed. He is her bodyguard. She is an heiress. Should we kiss on the lips?”

You whack him in the gut with a pillow and he erupts with giggles.

Changbin has been your so-called bodyguard for a few weeks now. It has changed little in your daily routine as your father had assigned Changbin to your department sometime before that. The special-ops program was written off as an experiment with potential for future development, though that development has long sat arrested. Bang Chan is in your father’s direct employ while Changbin has been on different teams fulfilling different missions. When you started taking the lead on projects, he served under your direction.

It is why your father is not happy. The bodyguard arrangement was meant to assert his control over you, using an agent as his eyes and hands. Miroh is not good at relinquishing power, not even to someone like him, or maybe especially to someone like him. You have always been a good, loyal, obedient soldier and daughter. Taking over projects and assuming command was inevitable. Somehow you have wronged him by doing everything right.

Lately, your work has been meagre clean-up duty. Miroh has been accruing assets and terrorizing his way into the mess left behind by his late enemy. It is making Miroh’s paranoia even worse. He has seen for himself how this powerful house fell apart just because its patriarch died. The business was left in shambles, underlings squabbling like helpless children. It was ripe for picking.

You have been cleaning whatever mess is left behind. This week you have been cleaning out some old office buildings, primarily sifting through abandoned storage for anything useful that might have been sequestered. You are spending the night at a nearby safe house, sharing a room with Changbin. The rest of your team is scattered around the house.

Seeing as your father has relegated you with menial tasks, you have taken it upon yourself to conduct your own investigations. Your findings have been on your mind all day. It is why you do not respond to Changbin’s joking with your usual wit.

“You’re quiet, murder princess,” Changbin says. “Should I be worried?”

He drops his mask on the nearby desk then unholsters his gun. He places it beside yours. It is a testament to your dynamic that you feel comfortable disarming around each other. You would certainly never do it around your father. But Changbin is different. You are not someone who seeks true friendship but you acknowledge the necessity of teamwork especially in times of crisis. You do not fully trust Changbin as you do not fully trust anyone, but he is loyal and you reciprocate that dependability.

It is why you beckon him forward. You are sitting on the bed, feet on the floor. Changbin pulls up a chair to sit in front of you.

“The enemy had a multi-level security system,” you say. “Physical in some capacities, digital in others. My father has always been more preoccupied with offense than defense, so in that regard they were always a step ahead of us. That is the part my father is interested in. That is all he sees.”

“And what do you see?” Changbin asks. His disposition changes with the severity of your words, joviality replaced with equal seriousness.

“I don’t see anything,” you say. “That’s the problem.”

He lifts an eyebrow, curious. You show him the image on your tablet, then swipe to the next one.

“The security log is missing information,” you say. “There is no trace of anything unusual transpiring the day they were all killed. No breach, no shutdown. Everything is normal until everything is gone. Someone scrubbed every last second of data from the digital system. Someone who knew the system well enough to not just delete the surface files but to clean the server entirely.”

“So what are you saying?” Changbin asks. “You think it was an inside job?”

“I know it wasn’t us,” you reply. “I know it wasn’t any of the usual players. This family had enemies in every market. If it was one of them, you’d think they would have stepped forward to assert themselves by now. Whoever it was had no interest in taking over company assets. No interest in even sticking around. Someone went to great lengths to make the entire thing look ambiguous, to leave everyone asking more questions, to turn our heads in one direction while they disappear in the other. Someone professional. Someone technologically capable. Someone whose only motivation was escape.”

His jaw is clenched as he stares at the images, but you can see the gears turning in his mind. When he meets your gaze, you sit forward.

“Changbin,” you say. “What happened on that mission?”

He does not need specification. Changbin is usually like you, pragmatic and realistic. He does not dwell in his emotions and never for so long. It has been well over a month now but he is still rankled by that warehouse confrontation with Lee Felix.

“Ah, Yongbok,” Changbin says wistfully. His eyes are downturned but his thoughts are somewhere else. “You remember him. He always needed a fairy tale to believe in.”

That much is true. You and Changbin have always been simple soldiers manoeuvring through the morally complicated world around you. You never had any delusions that Miroh was better than his enemies, simply that one or the other was inevitable. You knew you could make a bigger impact in the fight than watching from the sidelines.

Felix was competent but naïve. He believed in Miroh unequivocally which is why he blind-sided them all with his betrayal. To this day, you do not know why he joined the enemy, nor why he stayed.

It makes sense he might have naively devoted himself to a different cause.

“What fairy tale was that?” you ask. “The enemy?”

“Chris.” Changbin looks at you beneath the sweep of his dark bangs. His smile is wry. “He asked me about Chris.”

You blink back at him, surprised by the answer. After stumbling over any number of replies, you say, “That wasn’t in your initial report.”

“It didn’t seem important,” Changbin says with a shrug.

“You have a responsibility to report back everything—”

“Yes, commander,” he says dryly. He slumps in his seat and crosses his arms. “Does it matter now? I told him Chris was dead.”

Not a lie, in a way. Bang Chan was a rebellious subject in his youth, nothing like the merciless soldier he is now. The inhuman machine was wrought through inhumane treatment. You were not privy to the grittier details nor have you ever felt an inclination to investigate. You do not need knowledge of the gruesome torture that was administered. The results are the same: the rebellious boy died. He has been gone ever since he was dragged into a basement room for correction.

“Chris,” you say. The name sits heavy on your tongue. “Why would he want to know about Chris?”

“The better question is, why didn’t he want to know about me?” Changbin retorts. It sounds like a joke, his tone jumping back into comically exaggerated hysterics. But there is a tension in his shoulders that was not there before. “You know he didn’t even recognize me? Ah! The little brat! I knew him too! I wasn’t Bang Chan, no one was … But I was there. Forgetting me… We’re all that’s left!”

You tilt your head and study Changbin, as if there are more answers in his face than in his words. Your gaze drifts to the scar by his eye. He got hit today, taking a swipe meant for you. Other adversaries have sent agents to scour the late enemy’s business remains, but they are no match for soldiers of Miroh.

Changbin joked he was being a good bodyguard. In truth, he is a good bodyguard. Your security team is competent but nothing compared to him. It has made a difference, having someone so reliable at your back, even though it has painted a target on his. Your father is not happy Changbin outsmarted him. Changbin jokes about it, as he is wont to do, claiming he can’t wait for a pummelling of his own. He is probably right. Miroh has been quiet about the bodyguard assignment but that does not mean he has surrendered. He is a strategist. He is patient if it means results.

Raising children into soldiers is a testament to that patience. You look at Changbin, arguably the last true survivor other than yourself.

We’re all that’s left.

You find yourself reaching for him. It is not like you, but lately everything seems out of character. You touch his face, drawn to that scar, a scar that should be yours. You touch it very lightly.

When you meet his eyes, he is looking at you strangely. You are not a famously affectionate character, not even with him. You rip your hand back and shake your head.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, more curious than accusatory.

“Nothing,” you say. “I mean – well.” You scrub a hand over your face. The weeks have healed the worst of your injuries, but it is still littered with scars, including the ones Changbin gave you.

His eyes linger there before he sighs and drops his head. He rubs his face too.

“We’ll talk later,” you say, suddenly feeling the weight of today, not to mention the accumulative exhaustion of the days before. “It’s been a long day.” An understatement.

Changbin doesn’t argue. You separate to use the facilities and dress down for rest. You sleep in sweatpants and a t-shirt, your weapons and shoes not far. The one bed has plenty of space. You lay down first, certain that your mind is running too fast to rest, but all that exhaustion catches up to you.

You wake some time in the middle of the night. When Changbin gets out of bed, the dip and rise of the mattress stirs you. You blink awake, watching him amble over to the window. There is a cushioned seat and he plops down, his arms crossed and his eyes on the stars.

You wonder if you look that young out of combat clothes. His hair is ruffled and the black t-shirt and pants are comfortably fitted. His face looks vulnerable and open as he stares into the night.

“You’re awake too,” he says, not looking at you.

“Obviously,” you reply. You push yourself upright. “You woke me.”

“Sorry,” he says, trying to flash you one of his jovial grins but barely managing.

“You look tired,” you say.

“Thanks,” he replies with a laugh.

“You should go back to sleep.”

“I’m on bodyguard duty,” he jokes, gesturing to you. “I need to make sure no one murders the murder princess.”

You give him a dry look that makes him giggle. Naturally his humour returns at your expense. He really is the little brother you never had.

You slide off the bed and join him at the window seat. You shove and kick like bickering children until you are comfortably settled. You sit with your legs curled up to your chest, mirror images of each other. He looks out the window and you look at him.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says, an automatic response. Then he shakes his head and sighs. “I don’t know, princess,” he says. “I don’t think you’ll understand.”

“What makes you say that?” You cannot help but feel offended even if he is probably right. You do not have heart-to-hearts, which is what this feels like, a quiet moment carved out of chaos. If everything was different, you would just be two friends talking about your normal lives.

Your life is anything but normal.

“I know you,” he answers, simple and confident. “I know who you are. Even when – well, no matter what happens, I guess.”

“Well,” the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, “that makes one of us.”

You swallow your thoughts quickly. Your innermost turmoil cannot be entrusted with anyone. It is dangerous to even think such weakness, never mind vocalize it.

Changbin looks at you with a pinch in his brow. You look away, up at the sky. You wonder about the vantage from the stars, seeing the bigger picture of your life. Your pain and sacrifices have to be worth something. Miroh always said the world was full of shadows, dark spots no regular person could clean. He was right about that. He is definitely one of them, but sometimes only darkness can fight darkness. Or so you thought. All this business with the enemy has changed things. That darkness collapsed in on itself like a black hole, taking everything with it.

“It used to be easier, didn’t it?” Changbin asks. “Just doing what you’re told… You can tell yourself it’s not your fault, that it would have happened anyway… Maybe I was believing in fairy tales too.”

You look at each other. He just sighs.

“A part of me feels like I never grew up,” he says. “I’ve always been what I am. Maybe it’s time to stop.”

“That sounds a lot like treason,” you say, realizing how dramatic it sounds after the fact. Miroh is a businessman and this company is not a country. And yet treasonous is what it feels like, a deep betrayal to the place that raised and shaped you into what you are. It feels like treachery to even think about abandoning it after everything.

“Maybe it does,” he says. He gives you another wry smile, flicking his bangs out of his face. “Does it matter? He already wants my beautiful head off its beautiful shoulders.”

“You shouldn’t be saying this to me,” you say. You’re Miroh’s daughter. Your relationship with your father might be fraught, but your loyalty is to this house and always has been. It is the only constant in this tumultuous, violent world.

“Are you gonna tell on me?” Changbin teases, so unserious on such a deathly serious matter. He just laughs at your silent but intense stare. He shakes his head as he looks out the window. “I don’t worry about that.”

“About what?”

“You telling on me.”

That stops your heart faster than the treason.

“Why not?” you ask slowly, as if you are wary of a trap about to spring.

Changbin puts a hand in his hair, shaking out his ruffled bangs. He looks normal but also not, his strong body so clearly built for violence. It is why you are shocked when he reaches out, when he touches you like you touched him, an undemanding press of his fingers along a scar.

Your startled eyes find his. It splits your focus. You see Changbin right now, older, stronger. You also see him younger, thinner, looking at you with concerned eyes as he wipes blood off your brow.

You blink again and it is just him as he is now.

He drops his hand.

“You don’t trust anyone,” he says. “I know. Ha! I really know.” He swings around, planting his feet on the ground. He reaches into his pocket then flicks open a pocketknife.

It should make your heart palpitate, a soldier with a weapon in your proximity, especially when you are unarmed. But there is no rush of blood, no fear, no worry. You just look at him, seeing all of him, young and old. You realize there has been more than one constant in your life.

The knife catches a glint of starlight, a flash of light in the darkness.

“You and I are the same, aren’t we, murder princess?” he says. “But also not. You were raised in the pen with us but it was never the same. We’re just animals to him. Raised to the slaughter, ha! But not you. One way or another, you’re going to be someone.”

You watch as he lifts his hand. He curls and uncurls a fist. He looks down at his palm.

“When it happens,” Changbin says, “Because it will happen, tomorrow or in a month or a year or whenever Miroh decides… But when I go like the rest of them… When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be… When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…”

He draws a slow slice across his hand, not so deep to be detrimental to his grip, but enough to draw blood in a long, thin line. You look at this small scar as if it the deepest wound you have ever encountered.

“Just… remember me,” he says. “I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh. I’m your soldier, not his.”

You are at a loss for words. You do not think there are any words, none that you were raised to know. You can only stare at the little trickle of blood as it runs down his wrist and drips onto the floor.

You have always felt very alone. You learned to thrive in that solitude. Even clinging to the hope of your father’s approval proved exhausting and useless. You accepted your high promontory was a lonely one.

Not even that solitude compares to the idea of Changbin gone. Even if you go weeks without seeing him, he is out there somewhere. You both keep your heads down, get the job done. Not the best soldiers, not the worst, but the ones still here.

You let instinct override your senses for the second time that night. When he makes to stand, your reflexes snap into action. You grab him by the arm and snatch the knife. He has no time to respond, watching as you slice a similar scar on your own palm.

Your eyes meet. You are unflinching, more resolute than ever. You clasp his hand and the blood smears in a signifying pact that needs no other words.

Only when the moment settles do you say, “You’re not a half-bad bodyguard.”

His laughter comes to him slowly, none of that empty joviality but a genuine burst of it. His eyes crinkle and his smiles widens and the laughter bubbles out of him.

“I’m the best bodyguard,” he says. “And don’t you ever fucking forget it.”

In the light of day, last night’s whirlwind of dramatic emotions feel tempered. You and Changbin are able to conduct yourselves with a proper degree of soldiership. Though his words and your promise are in the back of your mind, you put it away for now.

You dress in combat gear and pack your bags for another day of infiltration, investigation, and clean-up. It is hard to say how easy or difficult the day will be. If you encounter other agents, the confrontation could complicate things, but sometimes that is better than a long day with no interesting discoveries at all.

The enemy had properties scattered all over town, some active and some not. This particular office building is a very old one, seemingly long since abandoned and turned into company storage. Some of these boxes have not been touched in decades, perhaps remnants of the business as run by the previous generation.

A thick layer of dust coats the desks and boxes. At least your masks are put to work, filtering the dusty air as you trail through the building.

“Yahhh,” Changbin whines, flicking some papers off a desk. “Today’s going to be boring.”

“Yup,” you say in accord. There is no way anyone else will be here. You doubt there is anything of value to be discovered, but Miroh will harass you if you do not complete his missions as outlined. With so much tension between you already, it is better to keep your head down and complete the menial tasks, even if it is blatant busy work.

A few of your officers are sent ahead to sweep the building. It is not a towering skyscraper but several tall floors nonetheless. Your subordinates take different floors while you and Changbin take an upper level. You begin the tedious task of rifling through the abandoned documentation.

“I’m a supersoldier, not a secretary,” Changbin gripes, moving boxes with more force than necessary.

“You’re not a supersoldier,” you say without looking up from your work. “There’s no such thing.”

“I’m pretty close,” he says, flexing and kissing his bicep.

“When you start flying, maybe I’ll consider it,” you retort, dryly.

“All right, I’m not a supersoldier,” he says. He takes off his mask to grin at you. “But I am super good looking.”

You take off your own mask to throw at him like a projectile. He squeals and ducks, then proceeds to cuss you out for the next few minutes while you smile.

Eventually he takes a seat. He props his booted feet up on a desk while sorting through some papers with absent-minded perusal.

“So tell me again about the security log,” Changbin says, evidently growing bored within minutes.

You can hardly blame him. It is why you are about to reply, but your thoughts are quickly obliterated. Gunfire reverberates in the nearby stairwell, followed by shouting and thumping. Seconds later, your warning pagers are vibrating. Your officers’ voices come through the communications software.

“Hostile enemy agents breached ground zero,” they say. “Be ready for confrontation.”

You and Changbin spring into action. Your masks are unfortunately abandoned, too far to grab in a rush thanks to your shenanigans, but your bags and weapons are within reach. You swing them on and arm yourselves, racing into the corridor to join the rest of your team.

It happens very fast. One moment, this ancient building is nothing more than a dilapidated office from a bygone era, brimming with useless nothings that no one would want. The next moment, it is overflowing with enemy agents, pouring in one after the other.

You and Changbin join the other officers in the stairwell. None of you are prepared for the sight that greets you, the sheer number of adversaries that come streaming into the building at rapid speed.

“What the fuck,” you say, realizing far too late you cannot take this many agents. You have not had anything near this problem before.

You look at Changbin, both of you shooting uselessly to stop the encroach of hostiles.

“We need to retreat,” you say in unison. You nod at each other.

The message gets passed along the communicators. There is no way to escape through the ground floor, the enemy agents chasing you up the stairwell. You take out your phone to call for back-up, relaying the message directly to Miroh’s team leaders.

“Can you at all identify the hostiles?” the man asks.

“Do we know who they are?” you shout at Changbin over the gunfire and chaos.

“Ah, well they’re not friends!” he replies.

You pause in your ascent to squint down at the approaching horde. The uniform colours are familiar at a glance, but the dog tags confirm your suspicions. It locks you in place with shock and confusion, because there is no way that makes any sense.

These agents belong to the enemy. The enemy. It explains the numbers, as only that house could rival Miroh in terms of size and numbers. But it is not possible he is conducting an offensive attack because he’s dead and his business is in shambles. There is no one to conduct an operation on his behalf. It makes no sense.

Changbin grabs you by the back of the neck, hauling you up the stairs with him.

“Not the time to stop and smell the flowers, murder princess,” he says.

“It’s the enemy,” you say. “I don’t know how or why, but it’s them.”

“We’re sending a back-up team straight to you right now,” Miroh’s leader says.

You end the call to focus on your surroundings, confusing and chaotic as they are.

You watch as several of your officers are taken down. You wince at each reverberation of a gunshot that kills them. A dozen more faces flash in front of your eyes, every child in that program with you, every enemy you have killed on Miroh’s behalf. Chris. Felix. Changbin, young, small, looking at you with concern.

The reign of fire follows you. You think you will be hearing gunshots for days.

“Get her out,” one of your officer’s says into the comms, directed at Changbin. “Leave through the roof. We’ll hold them off.”

You trip running up the stairs.

You never trip, far more coordinated than the average soldier. But you hear your officer say that and your mind’s eye is overwhelmed with the image of them dying. Because that is what will happen. You should not be bothered by it. You can train a new security team. They exist for this exact reason.

But all their faces are flashing in front of your mind. Your team, the program soldiers, the First Guard. A thunderous pain rattles down your spine, a cry leaving your lips as you are inundated with visions of death that you suddenly cannot shake.

“Up, up!” Changbin shouts, hoisting you onto your feet. “You’re better than this!”

He’s right. You are a soldier. You trained for this. You were made to fight.

You push through the pain and thunder. You get your feet back under you. You race with Changbin to the roof and trust your team to do what is best.

You slam and bolt the door behind you. You look around for something to barricade it but there is nothing. Changbin meanwhile opens his pack and takes out the rappel line and harness. You have had little use for it on most of the assignments, but it is standard tactical gear when assigned any investigation or clean-up work, as it can require getting into locked areas through sky access. You almost left them behind today, knowing the building was abandoned and you would have no difficulty getting in. You are glad you decided against that.

“Here,” Changbin says, handing you the harness. “Put this on.” He ducks back down to finish securing the line on the edge of the roof.

“They’re not gonna be able to hold them,” you say, fitting the harness around yourself. It is second-nature. You hardly need to think, fastening every buckle as you stare at that closed door. “They’ll be on us in seconds,” you say. “They’ll just follow us over the roof on the line.” You grant your odds are better on the street, that you can endeavour an escape, but that is only if you get that far. Those enemy agents are going to blast down that door like it’s made of cardboard, then they will be on you.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your adrenaline propelling every breath. You do not have time to think twice. It is why it takes you so long to notice that Changbin has not put on a harness.

“What are you doing?” you ask when he stands, completely unprepared to rappel down the building. “We have to go! Put your harness on, idiot!”

He takes the hook and locks it onto your harness, fastening it with a few skilled flicks of his fingers. You grab his hand, stopping him.

He takes a breath and finally meets your eye. The wind blows his dark bangs across his face, opening up his expression to you. You can feel the furious scrunch of your own features go lax. Just like that, your adrenaline dwindles, all that heat turning to an ice cold block in your chest. It drops to your gut.

“Changbin,” you start.

“You’re going to go down that line,” he says. “When you’re at the bottom, I’m going to cut it so they can’t follow you. It will buy you time to get to the vehicles and get away.”

“Absolutely not,” you say. “What the fuck are you thinking? You—”

“I’m your bodyguard,” he says with that wry smile. “This is my job. Let me do it.”

“No,” you say, struggling against him. You try to unhook the rappel line but he fights back, not your usual play-fighting but deadly serious. “You can’t be serious!” you shout. “We’re the same thing! If you’re staying and fighting then I’m joining you!”

“We’re not the same thing!” he shouts back. “You’re a Miroh! You need to get out of here!”

“You’re right, I am a Miroh!” you say. “It’s me they want anyway! You put on the harness! You can still get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving here without you!”

You want to reply. The words are right on your lips: I’m not leaving here without you either.

But before you can say them, all that thunderous pain fractures your vision again. Your focus splits. You see Changbin in front of you, dressed in his combat gear with the wind in his hair.

Then everything changes.

The sunny sky darkens and the rooftop disappears. You see the colour grey. It is all around you, halfway blinding you, filling your lungs so you can hardly breathe. You blink rapidly, as if that will clear your vision, but it is just more grey and the sound of faraway voices.

Then you see Changbin again, in his combat gear but years younger. Just a teenager, all skinny cheeks and sharp angles. There is no wind in his hair. There is no wind anywhere. He is bleeding profusely from a head wound, a stark slash of red in the middle of so much grey. He says your name. You hear your own voice but it is a foggy, faraway thing. You cannot make out what you are saying. When you look down, you cannot see your body. You can only see him. You can only hear him.

“I’m not leaving here without you,” he says.

Then you are abruptly yanked out of that grey. You are back on the rooftop in the sunshine. Changbin has his hand planted on your chest, securing the last piece of the harness. You hear the thud of someone kicking at the bolted door. You look there frantically. Changbin does too. Then you look at each other.

“I told you I was the best bodyguard ever,” he says, smiling.

He whips off his glove, revealing his freshly scarred hand. He grabs your bare hand, the one with the still-tender scar. He clasps your hands together and looks at you with a desperation you have never seen before, like he is trying to tell you a thousand things with just a glance.

Then he slowly lets go of your hand.

“Sorry I can’t fly,” he says.

He shoves the middle of your chest, hard. You go tumbling over the edge of the roof just as the enemy agents break the door down.

There is nothing you can do mid-air. You can only shout his name, terrified and furious and desperate all at once. You scream your emotions out until the line comes to an end, a few feet from the ground. You unclip your harness and drop to the ground smoothly.

“Can anyone copy?” you speak into your comm, looking up at the roof helplessly. You watch as an enemy agent swings over and starts to climb down the rope. You draw your gun and brace yourself.

Then Changbin’s head pops over the edge. “Copy,” he says, then cuts the line.

You jump out of the way. Seconds later, the enemy agent comes careening into the ground. The pile of rope lands on top of him.

“Fuck,” you say. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Changbin!” you shout hysterically into your comms. “Changbin, can you copy?”

He doesn’t answer. You run over to the body, searching for something. You don’t even know what, you just know that this whole situation is wrong.

It does not take you long. You roll the body over. Though his neck is now twisted at a fatal angle, you recognize the agent. He was standing in your father’s office just a few weeks ago. His name was Agent Slump. You shot him through the shoulder.

These are not enemy agents attacking the house of Miroh, they are your father’s men attacking you.

You push away from the body, looking frantically up at the roof for any sign of further commotion. You see nothing from this vantage.

You run back into the building. You let adrenaline and instinct carry you up the stairs, taking a few at a time and ignoring the burn in your thighs. This is Miroh, you keep repeating to yourself. Your father has done this. Sending fake enemies after you. Teaching you yet another lesson. You said you could handle yourself. You said your security team could protect you. Now you are running past their dead bodies, your chest heaving from exertion and emotion. You find yourself blinking back tears. You cannot remember the last time you cried.

“Changbin,” you say into your comm, tripping on another step. Your voice comes out of the comms on your dead officers. It echoes in the empty stairwell. “Changbin, answer me, please,” you say. “It’s not the enemy. It’s my father. It’s Miroh. Changbin. Changbin.”

You are halfway up the building when you hear voices below. You stop to listen. Your vibrating phone makes you jump.

“Miss Miroh?” comes a voice, then you see one of your father’s officers at the bottom of the winding stairwell. This one is not playing a part. He is in the standard uniform. There are more officers behind him. The back-up you called like an idiot.

You do not go back down. You drop your phone and race to the roof.

“Get her,” you hear the officer say, then the stairwell is thundering with footsteps as they chase you.

You no longer know what you are doing. You do not know where you are going or what you will find. A part of you is unsurprised when the rooftop is empty, that they got away, that now your father’s men can come in and play hero.

You look around for Changbin but you cannot find him anywhere. You try to tell yourself that is a good thing, that it could be worse, that he could be as dead as your security team, just a body on this roof. You try to tell yourself that he is safe. It was just Miroh. They are probably taking Changbin back to the main facilities right now. Everything will be fine.

Deep down, you know nothing will be fine. Everything has changed.

You hear the officers behind you. You look around. The building next door is too far for a regular person to jump, potentially too far for you to jump. It will be cutting it close, but it is all you have. At this point, you halfway hope you’ll fall and your father’s men will be forced to report they let you die.

You shed the top layer of your combat shirt, getting down to the tank top underneath. You are not sure it will make a difference, but every bit counts. You back up and count a few seconds, then you take a running leap off the roof. You get a grip on the next one, though not without a lot of pain. You grit your teeth and hoist yourself up, ignoring your scraped arms as you take off running. You open a skylight and drop into the building. Another empty corridor stretches in front of you.

You decide your objective it to escape. You can confront your father after, but right now you need to prove you can handle yourself. You can get out of here.

You are certain your father’s men will have the vehicles locked in. Once you escape this building, you will have to find another—

A window behind you shatters. You duck and cover your head as glass explodes around you. You roll to get away, though your limbs are shaky from everything. When you get to your feet, it is more unsteady than usual.

You turn around. You feel that sinking feeling in your gut again.

“Oh my god,” you say. “Of fucking course it’s you.”

Bang Chan stands there, cold and ungiving like the living shadow he has become. Your father likes an agent that can both disappear and intimidate, so Chan somehow feels like a terrifyingly huge figure, looming over you, despite the fact he is not much bigger or taller. His presence is hulking, as deadly and awful as you remember. He stares at you with those dark eyes over the half-mask. He is not breathing especially hard despite the fact he just took a running leap from the opposite building and smashed through a window. His body is as steady and ungiving as his gaze.

You do not waste any more breath cursing. You turn and run.

You know it is useless but you have to try. In your head, if you get away, that is a bargaining chip. You can talk to Miroh, you can show him that you were right, you can have Changbin back, and Changbin will be fine and—

You let out an aggravated cry when Chan grabs you. You manage to rip away after a few good kicks. It is amazing what hidden strength lies in adrenaline. Your heart is pumping even faster than your last fight with him.

You duck into a stairwell and jump over the railing, landing a couple floors below. You keep doing that, ignoring the fact you can hear him copying you. If you look back, it will slow you down. You keep jumping until you hit the bottom floor.

You make it a few steps before he grabs you again. This time he is relentless, a big gloved around wrapped around your throat.

That adrenaline betrays you. It is like all your training abandons you as your terror and fury rips through you. You struggle against him, your motions jerky and frantic and poorly strategized. He pins you to the wall, using his whole body to lock you in place so you stop kicking him.

“Let me go,” you say, barely above a whisper. It makes him tighten his grip on your throat. You twitch helplessly, gripping his arm uselessly, your face pinched with anger.

You are swiftly joined by the other officers. You glare at them, still digging your nails into Chan’s arm. He does not soften his grip until he is ordered, then he puts you on your feet. You stumble, your vision covered in black spots as you suck in deep, gasping breaths. It was not even just the choking, as he did not squeeze hard enough to fully incapacitate you, but as your adrenaline dwindles, your strength does too.

You trip for the third time. Someone grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you back up. You are not sure if you are more surprised or terrified to find it is Chan, looking at you with calculating eyes. You stare back at him, this manifestation of your father’s worst, most inhumane actions. You are torn between apologizing to him and kicking him again.

Then another officer grabs you. You watch with alarm as he puts you in handcuffs.

“What the fuck?” you ask. “Who’s fucking side are you on?”

“Miroh always, of course,” the officer says. “This is for your own good. You are behaving erratically. Don’t be scared. We will inform your father that you tried to flee from your own protective officers. I am certain he will do everything in his power to ensure you cannot put yourself in harm’s way again.”

You have no more words. An animalistic cry escapes from your chest, ripping through you. Even with your hands cuffed behind your back, you dive at the officer and take him down. You bite down on his ear until you taste the metallic tang of blood. He screams under you until someone rips you off him. They hold you by the back of the neck like a poorly behaved puppy.

The officer gets to his feet. Blood is pouring down the side of his neck, part of his ear torn. You spit blood at him.

He raises his hand as if to strike you. You stand there, chin jutted forward, ready to take it.

Then you realize it is Chan holding you. When the officer brings his hand down, Chan moves you. He steps in between you and catches the officer’s wrist.

Chan says nothing. He does not need to say anything. He looks at the officer and the officer swallows.

The officer snatches his hand back and straightens his clothes.

“We’re leaving,” he says. “Guard, take your charge.”

You are looking smugly at the officer. That cockiness dissipates when Chan turns around and looks at you. It has you immediately shrinking away, then flinching when he grabs your arm.

They take you to a truck. It is one of the holding trucks, the kind they use for transporting undesirables. It is obvious they always intended to lock you in chains. You have been in metaphorical chains your whole life, and it is only taking this to realize it.

You try and slow your frantic breathing. You cannot have a breakdown right now. It will only make it harder for you when you confront your father. You are already at a disadvantage, being dragged to him in literal chains. You will be completely at his mercy, and Miroh does not have mercy.

You sit on the bench in the back of the prison truck. You expect to be alone with an officer, giving you time to strategize and think, but then it is Chan climbing into the van and sitting on the bench across from you. All the hairs on your body stand up. You cannot concentrate on anything with Bang Chan in close proximity. He moves like a wild animal, something predatory and swift about him. When they close and lock the door, your heart skips beats.

Chan says nothing. He never says anything. On the rare occasion you have been in contact, you have not heard a word out of him. You seldom have anything to do with the missions he runs. They are above even your paygrade, the worst of Miroh’s work.

You swallow. He is not speaking but he is staring. He does not remove the mask. You have not seen him without it in years. He is nothing but a soldier. An army unto himself.

Your heart skips another beat. An idea slowly forms in your mind.

You are better than average. Chan is better than you. You cannot take all these agents on your own, but you could definitely take them with his help. Of course, that is an entirely hypothetical thought. It would be absolutely, completely, severely ridiculous to even try. You are certain the best reaction you will get out of Chan is nothing, just a penetrating stare and silence. The worst would probably be a snapped neck.

You curl your hands behind your back. The scar on your palm stings. You clench your jaw.

You have nothing else to lose.

“You’re not a soldier, you know,” you say.

Just like you suspected, he says nothing. He just stares at you. The truck rattles along, jostling you so your handcuffs jingle. He moves with the sway of the vehicle, hardly affected.

Your fear turns to frustration. You heave a breath.

“Did you hear me?” you ask. “You’re not a soldier. You’re a prisoner. You’re not who you think you are. Miroh has you under his control, but it’s not real. The real you is in there somewhere. And the real you—” The words come rushing up, slamming into your furiously clenched teeth, “The real you hates Miroh almost as much as me.”

Chan stares at you. That is expected.

What is unexpected is the slow tilt of his head. It makes you shiver, instinctively cowering as he studies you. His brow slowly quirks, a questioning expression. You did not know he could make such an expression.

“Are you… listening to me?” you ask.

He straightens, but he still looks questioning. It is enough for all your desperation to rush to the surface. You fall forward, slamming on your knees in front of him. You are so scarred and bruised, it hardly matters. More important is the fact he looks down, as if he is more concerned by it, though you cannot read any more expressions on his stoic face.

“Chan,” you say. “Chris. Whatever you want to be called. If you’re in there, then listen to me, please. I know you don’t know me. We hardly knew each other at all growing up. But we did grow up together. Miroh is controlling both of us. He is going to use us to do things. He—” You curl your fist behind you, needing to feel the sting on your palm. It brings a tear to your eye.

Chan is looking at you, expressionless again, but it doesn’t matter. You have to try.

“It’s not just us,” you say. “This is bigger than you and me. I have a—I have a friend—my friend, you understand, and I—”

The van comes to a stop. Chan grabs you by the shoulders and puts you back on your bench. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head. You want to scream.

When you open your eyes, you pour all your anger in your glare. It is not directed at Chan, though he is the one to catch your gaze and hold it.

You are still looking at each other when the door is unlocked. There was only a small window providing light in the cabin of the truck. A bigger slash of golden light has you wincing.

Chan is unaffected, still staring at you. An officer opens the door wider and nods to him.

“Let’s go, guard,” he says.

Chan gets up. You watch as he struts past. He jumps out of the van and lands smoothly on his feet.

Then he reels back and punches the officer. It is quick as a snap, the unconscious body hitting the tarmac in a flash. It makes you jump, the bench rattling underneath you.

You sit, petrified, confused. Chan slowly turns. You blink at him.

He holds out his hand.

“What?” you say. It comes out a rasp. You cannot manage more words. There is no way your frantic, barely coherent pleading got through to him. This man has been tortured into compliance. There is no humanity left in him, no memories, no emotions, no hopes. He does not feel anything. He does not understand anything. He is a weapon.

He is still holding out his hand.

There is nowhere to go but forward. You get to your feet and shuffle towards him. He still does not speak, nor does he look at you with any particular expression. He just holds out his arms and lifts you out of the van. When you are on your feet, you stare at each other.

He spins you around. A gust of breath whooshes out of you. You panic for half a second, then you realize he is unlocking your handcuffs.

Never mind. He is breaking them with his bare hands. You watch as they hit the ground in a mangled heap. You turn around slowly, your knees still shaking.

Chan is calm as the other officers approach. Someone asks why you are out of your handcuffs.

Chan looks at you. You do not know why or how, but he nods.

You nod back.

You are a soldier. You trained for this. You were made to fight. It is time to remind them of that.

Your father is in his rooftop garden. Miroh has a few soft hobbies like that, gardening among his favourite. He sees himself as a cultivator as much as a green thumb, bringing more life into the world despite what life he takes. It balances for him. The ends always justifies the means.

You walk into his garden. It is obvious he is not expecting anyone, much less you. He does not have time to hide his surprise. You just fought your way through all of his security measures, battered and bruised and beaten. You have not seen yourself, but you are certain your body is a canvas of violence right now.

“Hello, father,” you say.

“Go to my office,” he replies without hesitation. “We will talk there.”

“No,” you say calmly. “We’ll talk right here. Right now.”

He is holding a watering can. He puts it down without looking and it tips over, splashing everywhere. Neither of you look at it. Your eyes are locked on each other. You both know what he did today. He is smart enough to work that out.

“Where are my men?” he asks.

“Detained,” you answer. Chan is holding them off somewhere. You still do not know why or how, but there will be time for that later. You have to solve one problem at a time.

You have no real plan. You are making it up as you. All you know is that scar on your hand is throbbing.

I’m not leaving here without you.

You touch your palm, running your finger over the scar. You do not look away from Miroh as you approach him. Your legs are weak, your knees shaking, your body in agony, but you take one step after the other. Given the stricken look on his face, you think this might be more disturbing than if you were healthy.

Your injuries might have made you equal fighters, but his arm is still in a cast, weakening him too. He will not win in a one-on-one fight. He is smart enough to know that too. It is why he takes a careful, calculating step back.

“You’re injured,” he says. “Go to the infirmary. We can talk after.”

“We can talk now,” you reply, taking another step forward.

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” he says.

“Where is he?” you ask.

You are both speaking calmly, moving slowly. The watering can is slowly leaking water, gurgling in the background. Wind moves through the flowers. You hear birdsong in the sunshine. Still, in the background, it feels like the world is screaming, the high-pitched whistle of that pot at a boiling point.

“Who?” your father asks.

“I’m not playing any more games,” you say. “I’m not playing dress-up with any little secret agents. I’m not getting in any rings and playing made-up fights with your silly toy soldiers. No more lies. No more games. No more secrets. Seo Changbin is my best officer. I want him back. Tell me where he is.”

“His time as a soldier has run its course,” Miroh says. “His body is more useful than him. The initial special-ops experiment was a failure. His genetics might unlock the key to replicating the medicant. We can try again. You should want to help me. You would know better than anyone what worked and what did not.”

Your exhaustion and emotion nearly gets the better of you. You almost hurl right in front of him, imagining all the horrifying implications of genetics and keys. You imagine them taking Changbin apart, piece by piece, experimenting on him like a slab of meat.

You keep your disgust and horror down. You take another step forward.

“Give him back to me,” you say. “Right now. I told you already. I’m not playing any games.”

“You are deeply unwell,” your father says, his tone changing as he looks at you with more scrutiny. His whole face seems to darken with the furrow of his brow. “This is not like you. Go to the infirmary.”

“I’m not asking again,” you say. “Give him back to me.”

“Why?”

Because you’re my father, should be a good enough answer. You know it will not work. You know he does not care. Miroh hates you because you are his daughter. Miroh is not scared of anyone because he knows he is the best. He is scared of himself in you. You never stood a chance.

“Because he’s my friend,” you say, because that is the only truth that matters anymore.

It makes your father laugh unexpectedly. You do not break.

“Your friend?” he asks. “Oh, well, my dear, if he’s your friend, then of course I’ll suspend all my plans and operations!” He continues to laugh.

“I already told you,” you say. “I’m not asking again.”

You fly at him without further warning. He has a half-second to react, his eyes widening as he side-steps clumsily. With your mutual injuries, it is not much of a fight. After a short scuffle, Miroh kicks at your legs, your weakest point, and you double over. He swings his knee up into your stomach and it makes you fall, curled protectively over yourself. You plant your forehead on the ground, arms around you, breathing hard.

“That is how a daughter should be before her father,” he says, looking down at you in your broken little bow.

You look up as he reaches into the lapel of his coat. He has kept his gun in the same place for years. In the same place you always keep yours when you wear a long coat.

He puts his hand there and finds nothing.

You uncurl, showing the gun in your hand. You point it, cock it, and place your finger on the trigger as you stand.

“If the next words you speak are not his exact location, I’m killing you,” you say.

“Then kill me,” he says.

He must know you are running on fumes and a half-baked plan that you did not believe would work. He is calling your bluff, knowing you like he knows himself. You will drop the gun and concede. Miroh wins. Miroh always wins.

But you are gripping that gun with your scarred hand. It sends a twinge of pain shooting up your arm. You hear Changbin’s voice in your head.

You pull the trigger.

You are not sure who is more surprised. You can feel it on your own face, dripping with your sweat and blood. You lower the gun and watch as Miroh stumbles backwards, frantically patting his chest. You wonder if he is wearing any protective layers.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. You spent the last few minutes walking him backwards. If you couldn’t get the gun, you were going to grab him and threaten him with the edge of the roof.

When you shoot him, he stumbles. He falls back. He goes right over the edge.

You stand there for a long minute. The watering can has emptied. The wind has gone still. The whole world seems to stop. When you drop the gun, it hits the concrete with a clatter. It feels very strange that the sun is still shining.

You walk to the edge of the roof. You look down. Your father has loomed over the world from this perch for years, looking over the things he has so meticulously grown.

He is laying in a broken heap at the bottom of it now.

You do not know how long you stand there. The wind begins to blow again. You feel it on your face.

Then you hear a voice. It nearly makes you jump.

“What now?” it asks.

You turn around. Bang Chan is standing there in his dark combat gear, that half-mask still fastened in place. He has finally broken a sweat, his hairline damp, and his chest is moving a little faster with breath. He is human somewhere under there. Deep, deep down. You have no idea what to do with that human anymore than the soldier.

One problem at a time.

A few more officers appear on the rooftop. Chan turns. You approach him.

“What now?” you repeat. You scoop up the discarded gun and point it at the officers. Chan draws his own and does the same. You stand side-by-side, arm-to-arm, eyes on your adversaries. “Right now,” you say, “we fight.”

You pull the trigger.

The fight begins.

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan x you #chan x you #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanficiton #bang chan fanfiction #skz x you #stray kids x you

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charles-leclerizz · 3 months

Text

🏎️ ๋࣭ ⭑ peaches

🏁 Pairings : Lando Norris X fem! Reader

🏁 Warnings : none! just fluffy times

🏁 Word Count : 4.0k words (4070 words)

🏁 Author's note : This is probably the most chaotic thing i have ever written, so I hope you can make sense of it (hope being the key word) Make sure to lilke and reblog (anything is appreciated, but comments and reblogs fuel this sad little writer). The word dividers this time are also from @plum98!

🏁 Music player : This will be by Natalie Cole

“God he’s hopeless.” Oscar observed his entranced teammate stumble over his words from beneath the shade of the umbrella set up to the side of the filming area. Having finished his own media duties, he was now watching, unimpressed, as his friend attempted to use his remaining two braincells to blubber at you, like a fish out of water.

To be fair, you were also blubbering, your cheeks were red and hands shaking as you sorted through the white, glossy cue cards that had the signature McLaren logo printed on the back. You shuffled the cards mindlessly, humming under your breath after the third question was answered and Lando had maintained eye-contact with you for a minute too long, staring into the depths of your irises when the last syllable had left his lips causing your heart to stutter at a pace that had to be confirmed as medically concerning.

“U-um, right, okay so.” You attempted for the sixth time, your fingers finally finding purchase on a new piece of cardstock that contained the fourth question printed on one side in large, sans-serif font.

“Ehm-“ You cleared your throat, flipping a piece of hair over your shoulder as you looked back up at the driver who sat in front of you, enthralled by the minute movements you made. Like the arch of your brow, the dip of your lip and the curve of your collarbone that lay exposed, thanks to the strapless, silk corset you had opted to wear.

“Right, the fans want to know Lando. Who’s your favourite thing to eat?” You said with. Pseudo-confidence, oblivious to your mistake.

Lando’s eyes widened as a few chuckles bristled around the small crowd of camera technicians and other personnel that filled the McLaren media pen “Excuse me?”

“Huh-“ You blink a few times, “Oh shit- no.” You begin to wave your hands in front of your burning face, “I meant, what. What is your favourite snack, or meal to eat before a race?” You blurt out the correction.

“Oh- oh thank God. I don’t think I would have been able to say that.” Lando chuckles, despite the rogue blush that had spread from his neck to his ears, “Normally, I like to have snickers?” He offers, “Especially before a race, it’s a tradition. My dad used to buy them for me, during my karting days” Lando smiles at you, bracing his elbows on the arm rests of his seat whilst tilting his head boyishly.

You go silent for a few minutes, staring at him as your mouth opens and closes uselessly, your mind was fuzzy, and you could swear that you could hear the blood rushing past your ears.

With a heart beating wildly you plaster on a dazzling smile, “Watch the stock prices shoot up.” You joke, focusing on his shirt instead of his face, to protect yourself from his irresistible gaze, “Well Lando, I wish you the best for the race, here in Singapore later in the week.” You lift your eyes from the very interesting speck of dust on the front of his McLaren jersey to meet his hazel eyes, “On behalf of the entire Sky sports team, of course, not just me, that would be weird-“

He cocks his head at your rambling, huffing out an amused laugh, “Thank you,” he returns, as if your well-wishes were probably the only thing that made him want to participate in the race.

But that’s ridiculous, right?

The media segment had finally ended, having collected enough material for the next week in Singapore and you were thankful for it.

The few hours that you had been interacting with the driving duo was excruciating, not only from the sweltering afternoon that you found yourselves in, but also the fact that Lando was always in your line of sight, laughing at something that Oscar had said or screeching hysterically over the periscope goggles that he was struggling with. He was always there.

Some may say that it was “your job” but frankly you found it insulting. Because he wouldn’t let you do your job, you were either blushing too hard, sweating too much or your heart was about to end your existence with its erratic beating.

“I’m just glad it’s over” You pout to May, your producer. She was sweet and imaginative, always carrying around a leatherbound, flowery notepad to scribble new and creative ideas for interview styles to attempt with the 5-year-old men that you were tasked with interacting with.

“It wasn’t that bad” She comforted you, handing over a chilled water bottle whilst an on-set assistant dabbed at your forehead with a damp towel, “I honestly thought that you were having a heart attack, couldn’t even tell that you liked him.”

“She’s right y’know” A third voice burst into the conversation suddenly, which caused you to jump and clamp your hand down on the half open water bottle, sending the cool jet of water straight up the man’s nose.

“Oscar!” May shouted, holding a hand over her daisy detailed blouse with shock as she signalled to another assistant to grab a towel for the driver, who was currently holding his nostrils and attempting to plunge out the of water that had lodged itself up his nose.

“I’m fine,” He snorted whilst dripping onto the sizzling concrete and dabbing the cloth on his face, “For the record, I was worried for your health halfway through that painting task. But that was before I noticed you drooling over Lando.”

You groaned, running both hands up your face to your hairline before threading your fingers through your scalp and pressing the strands away from your forehead, “It’s not fair,” you whined, “He was distracting me throughout the whole thing. I probably look like a mess on camera,” You press the pads of your fingers against your temples.

The whole ordeal made you want to cry, or vomit perhaps both? It was hellish having to endure him staring into your soul the entire interview segment and endearingly answer all your questions with unnecessary detail.

What a jerk.

“Nah, you looked good.” A fourth voice popped in. And much like Oscar’s intrusion, it made you jump, but instead of squeezing your bottle and waterboarding the person, you shrieked and swung, as hard as you could towards the source. Making impact with the side of their face.

A very familiar face which had whipped around like a grape on a toothpick. A face that emitted a groan whilst a hand came up to soothe the quickly forming bruise.

“Fuck me” You groaned, bending over to help Lando who was still checking for any blood that may be leaking from the side of his face.

“Well, I would be honoured, but I think you did permanent damage,” He joked, standing to his full height whilst you brought your hand up to tap the purple-ish skin with a light, albeit panicked hand.

“Oh Lando,” you hissed when he clenched his teeth as you pressed against his cheek, “I’m so sorry.” You whispered on instinct, continuing to stroke the skin whilst May came up to the two of you, having recovered from the shock of you assaulting Lando and rushed to procure a bruising ointment.

You turned around quickly, thanking your friend as she handed of the white tube into your palm, not noticing that half of your hair had slapped the man in front of you in the face, “Oh come on,” you heard him garble through the clumps of hair that had made its way into his mouth.

“Shit, sorry,” You apologise for the umpteenth time in the few hours that you had spent in the close vicinity of him, “I can’t get it together for some reason.” You offer the dull explanation whilst stepping closer with a thick strip of the ointment spread between your fingers.

“Yeah” He murmured, eyes more focussed on your concentrated expression that was barely millimetres away from him, “I can tell.” His breath tickled your ear as you stood on your tiptoes and rubbed the ointment onto his face, it made you blush and realise how close your faces were. How easily you could turn your neck and graze your lips against his, or bump your noses together like a sweet, long-term couple who were used to your clumsiness.

Fat chance

You stepped back, taking one of the discarded towels from the table to the left of the pair of you, “I’m so sorry again,” you apologised, wiping away the remaining cream from your hand and moved to pick up your purse from the surface next to you.

“You could make it up to me?” He offered, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet.

You cock your head, removing the hand that was rooting around in your purse- searching for your phone and let it hand limp “How?”

“What are you doing today?”

“Nothing much,” you offered, shrugging, “Not my first time in Singapore, I’ve been working with F1 for a year. Just wanted to hit some stores that I didn’t get to last time.”

It was true, last year was your first year and like the dedicated rookie you were, you holed yourself up in your room doing pre-liminary research for the upcoming days on all things related to the Singapore track along with the prestigious millionaire drivers that came attached. This was despite the long list of high-end stores, cute cafes and boutiques that you had made in your apartment back home, before the season began.

Luckily, you had managed to hit one or two of them up before the next race. But there were many remaining which you were desperate to visit.

“Let me take you out then,” His eyes glittered with enthusiasm as he unpocketed one of his hands and reached towards yours, brushing against your soft knuckles and running down the divots of your hand before dropping to his side, “Anywhere you want.” He promised.

“I have a long list Lando, and you have a race, or have you forgotten?” You tease him despite your barely inflated lungs and dry, anticipatory throat.

“Haven’t forgotten,” He argues, “I don’t have to-“ His breathe hitched as he watched you reach out to intertwine your fingers with his, gently as if your movements were a fleeting butterfly and could easily be lost as such, “Don’t have to be training the whole day- just give me your number and text me the places you want to go?”

“Okay,” You settled, keeping your pinkie fingers locked together as you stepped impossibly closer to him and handed him your card, a small glossy cardstock with the sky sports logo printed on one side whilst on the other had your name, number and “Formula 1 presenter and interviewer” centre-aligned in black font.

“Cute,” He flipped the card over in his free hand before looking up from the paper and into your eyes, bouncing his pupils over your entire face as though he was memorising each feature up close and personal, “I’ll see you later.”

You nod, biting your lip as your stand on your toes again and press your glossy lips against the scruff of his cheek, “I hope so.”

You had handed off your contact details to Lando on Tuesday. Throughout the passing days, you both had texted each other constantly, any free treasured minutes in your schedule would be spent chatting with the other. It was now Thursday and still he had not brought up the date.

The “not-date”

Thankfully, you had managed to check off nearly half of your destinations on your list and the bags in your hotel room were evidence of such. Odd, thick shopping bags that were brightly coloured and bent in ways that could merely hint at their high-fashion origins, had taken over the bedroom, slowly pilling up by the dozen.

You stumbled out of the sleek, metallic elevator and winced with each step you took through the 20th floor foyer and down the corridor, each light-wood slab of the miscellaneous rooms had been allotted a cluster of numbers that morphed together in your tired eyes. It had been nearly four hours of running around, collecting information and small video snippets from all the teams as the entire PR team was rushing to put out the last round of pre-race content.

Your stiletto heels clicked to a stop when you finally reached your door, the electronic card reader waiting patiently for you to tap the key on its matte black surface. You rooted around in your purse, holding it open with one hand as you searched for the damn card, fearing that you may need to bother the sweet receptionist for another duplicate key.

Whilst looking around in your seemingly endless bag, your phone vibrated once...twice...thrice.

You unsheathed the device and clicked on the notification that popped up on your lock screen. Lando. He had left a small string of messages that made your heart flutter as though cupid had just struck you.

You looked pretty today.

Not that I was stalking you- I saw you when you came to garage.

I’m free for the rest of the day, can I take you out?

On a date. If you want.

You smiled to yourself, reading the messages repeatedly, imprinting them in your mind as you felt your blood swim through your arteries and blossom a deep red blush across your cheeks.

“Is it possible for someone to be this beautiful?” A familiar British accent sneaked up behind you, caressing the skin behind your ears as a minty fresh breath followed suit.

“I don’t know, maybe you should ask yourself.” You teased, turning on your heel to rest your back against the door, to face the handsome man that was currently grinning down at you. You clutched your phone to your chest, soothing the fluttering butterflies that escaped your stomach to scuttle throughout your body, suddenly, you weren’t very tired anymore.

“I would rather ask you,” He smirked, reaching to tuck away a rogue piece of hair that had escaped from your ponytail, his finger lingered on your nape, allowing his entire hand to cup the back of your neck and ghost the pads of his fingers across the expanse of your skin.

“Hi Lando,” You smile at him, leaning into his touch.

“Hey.” He whispered, more focused on analysing the tantalising swoop of your eyelashes and sleek slant of your nose. As one does.

“You ready to go?” he tilted his head at you.

“Well, I have an idea about where I want to go with you, I just need to change and re-do my makeup.”

“Okay, you want me to wait out here?” He offered, watching you as you brought your purse between your bodies, flitting through the mess within to finally, triumphantly present the room key. He giggled at the victorious squeal that escaped your lips as you brushed the card against the reader and skipped into the room.

“No, it’s fine. You can come in, just don’t judge the amount of shopping.” You warned him, already cautiously stepping over the French boutique bags that greeted you.

“It would be hard to fit my judgement into the room, there’s so much stuff,” He commented beginning to pick up various bags and place them onto any free surface as an attempt to clear the walkway.

“Ha Ha,” You laughed sarcastically, twisting your neck to stick your tongue out at him, “Let me find something to wear,” You bent down, searching through the few bags that sat on the bay window sofa.

“Do you have the directions to the place?” Lando inquired, watching you with interest as you held a small, teal bag over your head and went over to the other side of the room to search for shoes.

“Yeah, it’s a frozen yoghurt cafe, 0 sugar and vegan, I figured it will be good for you. Since you’re on a strict diet.” You shrugged, unaware of his touched expression. He was enamoured with you from the first time that you had sat down in front of him, stuttering over your questions despite your once cool, calm demeanour with his teammate. But the fact that you had considered his diet requirements was like the cherry on top.

“Oh- you didn’t have to. I could always break away from the diet.” He half expected you to jump at the opportunity to go someplace else.

“No no, it’s fine. I heard such great things about this cafe. I’m excited. Plus, I would’ve gone with or without you,” You snickered, walking towards his place, perched on the edge of your freshly made bed. Apparently, room service had conveniently avoided your shopping but had happily tackled the other features of the area.

“If you say so,” He relented bundling the soft comforter in his fists to stop himself from looping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. Luckily, you rested your arms on his shoulders and intertwined your fingers together at the start of his spine, burying them in his hair and twisting the curly strands with one digit.

“I do say so,” You nodded your head sharply, before retracting your arms and began to walk towards the bathroom, “Be right back,” you promised, slinking through the washroom door.

You pushed the sliding slab shut and flicked on the warm yellow light before pulling out the compact package of tissue paper, held together with a white, cream silk bow.

The paper crinkled loudly as you undid the ribbon to reveal the milky white dress that lay nestled within the packaging. A long, floor length number that contained embroidered butterflies on the final organza layer, layered on top of a chiffon slip with a middle veneer of muslin. The empress waist had folded over fabric that sinched in the silhouette along with emphasising the carmen neckline that sat sultry with the help of thin, pearly straps.

You slipped on the elegant dress, smoothing over the divoted attire whilst pulling and pushing at the material until you were satisfied. Your hair flowed freely along your back as you leaned forward towards the mirror, touching up your concealer and swiping generous amounts of your glossy, lip balm before slipping on a pair of black, matte kitten heels.

Finally, you were ready.

The door squeaked open as you stepped out, short heels clicking on the marble floor as you stopped around the bend of the wall, calling out for him, “Lando?”

He turns towards your voice curiously, floppy brown hair bouncing with his movements, “Yeah?” He answers, standing up and pocketing his phone.

“I’m ready,” You reveal yourself to his gaze, smiling happily when his mouth pops open and eyes widen substantially.

“Wow, you look amazing.” His eyebrows furrow as he takes in your outfit, biting his lip whilst walking towards you, “Glad I asked you out when I did, otherwise I would be in trouble.”

“Yes, you are quite lucky,” You agree, patting his chest as you adjust the collar of his shirt, “Let’s go?” You offer, hooking your arm with his by the elbow.

He looks down momentarily before smiling toothily, “Let’s” He nods and opens the door.

Lando held the large cup of frozen yogurt in his palm, itching to dig the small plastic spoon into the tall peak of cold, white cream that was covered in melted dark chocolate, “You got the photo?”

“Yes, sorry,“ You tuck your phone back into the inefficiently small purse that hung from your shoulder, “You taste it first, I feel like you’ll burst if you don’t” you chuckle at his expression as he fills the spoon with the cold dessert and places it in his mouth, he groans pleasurably as his eyes roll back.

“Holy shit that’s good.” He compliments, holding out the paper cup to you.

“I would hope so, looks like you just orgasmed,” You take your own plastic spoon and taste the treat, “Never mind, your reaction is valid, it’s so good.” You hum.

“I know right?” He continues to eat, keeping his right hand steady as he shuffles around you from your left to the other side, so that his free hand could intertwine with yours.

“I could’ve just moved?” You giggle, swinging your hands up and down as you lean to take another bite.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” He shrugged, licking his spoon free of the remaining frozen yogurt as you continued down the street and across the street towards Pearl Hill Park.

You both continued to chat animatedly, taking bites of the sweet yogurt between the two of you as you enter the park and walk down the foot path, admiring the large canopying trees and delicate flower’s that littered the shrubbery which lined the walkway.

“You’ve never had a boyfriend?” Lando clarifies, his eyes bugging out with shock.

“I mean, guys have liked me, and I’ve had crushes. But boyfriend? Never had anyone that serious,” You confirm, unbothered with his reaction.

“How?”

“I don’t know! I never asked and I never have got asked,” You defend your single status.

Lando nods, squeezing your hand in his as he kicks a small pebble beneath his feet, “But you’re so beautiful.” He murmurs penultimately beneath his breath.

“What?”

“What?” He looks at you, surprised that you heard him.

“Nothing,” You dismiss, your chest warming with the compliment, the sensation made you giggle to yourself and press your lips together.

The skin of your lips seemed dry against one another, causing you to stop walking, pausing the lazy travel around the man-made lake that you both were taking and remove a tube of flavoured lip balm from your purse. Lando pauses, watching you press the tube of the glossy moisturiser and lay a generous amount on your lips before twisting the top back on and dropping it back in your bag.

“What flavour is that? It’s so bright.” He snorts at the light pink coating that covers your mouth.

“Oh, is it too much?” You go to remove your compact mirror before you feel Lando hold your wrists gently, stopping you.

“No, you look perfect,” He assures you, softly laying his thumb beneath the swell of your lip and pulling the skin down slowly, “I was just curious of the flavour.” He muses, supressing a grin at your dazed expression as you fight away the feeling of your eyelashes fluttering closed in anticipation for his lips on yours.

“Um..I think it’s peach?” You offer.

“Really?” He snorts, moving his face closer to yours, analysing your face for inhibitions towards his actions, only to be met with your rouge ears and innocent doe eyes looking at him, “Let me try,” He whispers, finally bringing his face closer to yours, allowing his breath to fan over your slightly parted lips. You finally connect your mouth together, one of your hands loops around his neck whilst the other hold his wrist as you savour the sweet taste of his lips against yours.

It was as though the blossoms that surrounded the two of you had begun to bloom within your mind, bursting with new life and innocence as the water rippled in the summer sun, casting glowing streaks against your faces like crystalline diamonds shimmering beneath a spotlight. This moment seemed to paint itself on the canvas of your mind, permanently memorised to never be forgotten.

Lando pulls away all too soon, resting his forehead against yours, “I can agree-“ He pants, “That it tastes like peach” he pulls away minutely to grin at you.

You grin back, licking your lips slowly, “Yeah, I guess it does.” You agree, pressing your mouths together again, desperate for the sacred dopamine that he filled you with. He smiled against your lips before you became conscience of your surrounds and broke apart. His eyebrows furrowed but nevertheless he caressed your cheek, enjoying the feeling of your soft skin beneath his finger.

Lando stepped back, taking your hand in his again to resume the slow, lazy steps around the lake, “You’ll watch that race then? From the garage?” He asked hopefully, looking down at you from your position on his shoulder.

“Peach?” He called out.

Your heart grew three times bigger at the nickname as you lifted your head from his body and looked at him earnestly, “Of course, I’ll be there in the orange.”

📻 Kcccchh.... come in.... come in...translatiion unavailable...over

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highladyandromeda · 2 months

Text

Shadows of the Heart

Prologue

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions.

Y/n’s powers are inspired by Scarlet Witch from Marvel. She is a sorceress living in Vallahan, with her family hailing from the night court.

Word count: 1k-ish

Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, but nothing particularly graphic

Azriel stood off to the side, quietly observing the cozy scene in the House of Wind's living room. There was Feyre, nestled comfortably on Rhys's lap, her giggles echoing softly as she leaned in to catch his whispered words. In the corner, Amren made an art out of lounging, a smirk playing on her lips as she peered over her wine glass. Cassian had wrapped an arm around Nesta, her head bent together with Gwen and Emerie, engrossed in a lively discussion about their latest read. The ambient buzz of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses filled with Rhys's impressive wine, created a backdrop of contented harmony.

Azriel tried his best to shove aside the twinge of jealousy that crept up on him, watching his brothers and their bliss. He didn't want to feel like just an onlooker, basking in the warmth of their happiness, yet here he was. His mind wandered to Elain, who had opted for an early night. Would her presence have allowed him to drift away from this feeling, to find solace in her gentle smiles and tender gazes? It seemed chasing fae after fae with hearts as bright as the sun was his lot in life. Yearning for a sliver of light in his shadowed existence, a beacon like Elain, or Mor, someone to take him out—that's when he noticed it—his shadows, usually so still, began to stir anxiously around him.

In danger, in danger, they whispered, urgency threading through their murmurs.

In pain. Falling, falling, the ones closest murmured, their voices escalating into a desperate shout.

Springing to his feet, Azriel scanned the room, brushing off the puzzled glances thrown his way. Then, a sharp thud echoed, quickly followed by a cry that cut through the relaxed chatter. In a heartbeat, he was dashing towards the balcony, with Rhys and Cassian hot on his heels, all three propelled by the sudden urgency to uncover the source of the disturbance that had just intruded upon their peaceful evening.

Bursting through the balcony doors, Azriel was met with a scene that defied all expectations. Chaotic runes smeared across the floor in hasty, overlapping strokes forming an intricate magical circle. At its heart lay two figures: a faerie kneeling, her skin so pale it shimmered with almost ethereal light, ebony locks sprawling untidily about her. Her eyes, aglow with an intense crimson, matching the runes surrounding her, pierced through the night. Dark stains marred her robes—wounds, he realized, still seeping blood from her arm and leg. She cradled Mor’s head in her lap, their gazes locking in a moment so profound, that Azriel felt the world around him come to a standstill. He swore he felt his heart stutter, a memory long forgotten trying to urge its way out. Mor, his attention snapped to, was equally pale, her lips tinged a sickly shade of blue.

“What did you do to–” Just as Azriel began, he saw the female look behind him, exclaiming, “Rhys!

“Y/n?” Rhys ran to her, his hands frantic, unsure of whether to hold her or lean for Mor.

“Rhys” She began again, her breaths coming out in spurts. She grabbed his hand as he leaned down to hold her, “Poison…she’s been poisoned, needs tonic–”

Barely finishing her sentence, her eyes rolled back and she collapsed, Rhys’s hands halting her from hitting the floor.

“Call for Madja” Rhy yelled. “Mor’s been poisoned and perhaps Y/n as well.”

Before Azriel could react, Cassian stepped up, carefully lifting Mor, while Rhys carried Y/n, both moving swiftly back into the sanctuary of the house.

They found a bedroom with two twin beds, laying one on each.

Madja, a whirlwind of expertise, raced around both, focusing her skills on stabilizing Mor's precarious state. Meanwhile, Rhys was tasked with a grim duty, pressing down on Y/n's wounds, which despite the salves and a plethora of cloths, continued bleeding relentlessly.

"It's the runes," Amren interjected, her voice slicing through the turmoil like a blade. All eyes, save for Madja's, who momentarily lessened the fervor of her tonic mixing, turned to her.

"She utilized ancient magic," Amren stated, her declaration hanging in the air, dense with implications, yet devoid of further explanation, prompting Rhys to press for clarity.

"And that means?"

The urgency lacing Rhys's voice caught Azriel off-guard. Who was this female, who seemed so familiar and why was she so important to Rhys? He felt a spark of anger at the way Rhys held her, despite knowing Rhys's heart belonged to Feyre.

"It means she offered her blood as a sacrifice. Likely to transport herself and Mor here. Inspect Mor for runes," Amren directed without pause.

Before Amren's words could fully settle, Madja cut through the sleeves of Mor’s dress, revealing an arm ensnared by crimson runes, mirroring those that marred the balcony.

It was then that Azriel's senses sharpened, recognizing the scent that pervaded the air—a metallic tang he had initially overlooked in the chaos. Blood. Those runes, those symbols, all wrought from blood. Recollections of the massive circles they had traversed to enter this scene played back in his mind, causing his stomach to churn. It was reflected in Feyre's gasp as she rushed to aid Y/n, while Rhys was overtaken by a wave of nausea.

The room, already tense with fear and uncertainty, was engulfed in a silent horror as Madja's voice, though trembling, broke through the silence. "She's correct. The blood serves as an anchor for Morrigan's soul. The runes must bind Morrigan to..."

"Y/n's," Rhys provided, his voice steady in the thick silence.

"Yes, to Y/n's very essence," Madja concluded. "This means Y/n will continue to suffer, to bleed, until Morrigan shows signs of recovery. In exchange.”

A heavy silence settled over them, punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of Madja grinding her herbs, as the gravity of their situation unfolded.

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

Author's note: Hi everyone! I’ve been a lurker in the acotar fandom for ages, this is my first time writing, so do let me know what you think. I'm not totally sure how far I want to take this series, but I do have longer chapters planned ahead.

#azriel au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar series #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel x oc #rhysand #morrigan #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar

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dxstopiaa · 1 year

Note

hey! i just read the puppy hybrid reader with albedo, haitham and dottore. can i request a tighnari, childe and ayato version?

characters: dom! tighnari, childe and ayato x gn! hybrid! reader.

warnings: nsfw! degradation, breeding, marking, exhibitionism [ohmygosh 700 followers already !?! i love you all sm <3]

tighnari

❥ He’s sure you’re not this stupid, nor are you doing this accidentally. Your answers are ridiculously incorrect, even the simplest questions regarding topics he’s certain you already learnt are left clumsily forgotten.

❥ “Wrong.” Each erroneous reply that fell from your swollen lips granted such feedback— a harsh tug on your stimulated nipples or even grazing his teeth over your overly alert ears. How you wish you could tell your tutor that you’re simply too concentrated on him instead of the content you’re studying.

❥ Pitiful, really. You’re his honoured student yet Tighnari finds himself doubting your abilities when you’re reduced to a sobbing bitch on his cock, fully hilted but stationary. You’re begging him to move except Tighnari insists you stay quiet unless you can answer his questions.

❥ “Correct.” Every right response warranted a passionate kiss on your lips and a succession of thrusts with the snapping of his hips up. He just felt so heavenly inside you, both his tongue and his dick. You’re grasping onto his shoulders with the urge to cum but he’ll never let you finish so soon.

❥ Tighnari has to bite back his own grunts when you surround your warmth back around him, enveloping his erection with your soft, tight walls. His own ears twitching from sheer excitement the further he thrusts into you.

❥ Your tail swings back and forth with ecstasy and the pursuit of pure pleasure, your hands crave for Tighnari’s own grasp surrounding them. Unlucky for you, he opts to continue this twisted torture of teasing until your legs grow weak and your brain can only process the consequences of low grades.

❥ “Pathetic, you can attempt to woo me with your body yet your mind can’t seem to catch up fast enough.”

childe

❥ What were you thinking, talking to another man when you should be in the arms of your boyfriend? Don’t try reassuring Childe that he’s only a co-worker, for he’s already keeping you face down against the bed, tightly grasping your hips with his bruise-inflicting fingers.

❥ Cries which were a melody of pleasure and desperation flowed past your lips, your tail bouncing from how hard he was plunging his cock into your sore hole. Would of been cute if Tartaglia wasn’t so focused on disciplining your crude self.

❥”You’re…” Interrupted by the string of vulgar comments which left his mouth, that now was sloppily kissing and leaving bites surrounding your neck. Everyone needs to know who this little pet belongs to, by any means. Childe feels himself twitch at the thought of the revealing clothes he’ll dress you in to show his newly formed affection off.

❥”…Mine.” With an ultimate thrust, the young harbinger fills you with his seed, using his fingers to push every last drop back inside. He won’t have you wasting his precious cum, consider yourself lucky he’s giving it to you.

❥ Dirty animals like you deserve to be fucked until you’re chanting his name like a spell— until you’re certain Tartaglia is the only name you know of. Dumbed down to a feeble house pet to serve his pleasures exclusively. You’re just too incompetent to be used for anything else.

❥ You’d lost count of your orgasms, Childe’s stamina was animalistic and ferocious, recovering in a mere minute before returning to the mess he has underneath him. Your eyes gleamed with something akin to forgiveness, lust or even yearning.

❥ “Is this what dogs like you do during mating season? Go around prostituting yourself to other men? You know i’m the only one for you, sweetheart.”

ayato

❥ Pretty, little youkai like you need a lesson on etiquette. It’s most certainly scandalous to be moaning your master’s name as you pleasured yourself ‘alone’. Ayato was always observing your sessions, wandering how long a stupid thing like you would realise his presence.

❥ Pistoning your fingers in and out of your tight hole, whimpering and shaking from the feeling you’ve been fantasising of. Oh, how you wished the Yashiro Comissioner would tug on your tail and you’d milk him dry of his cum, it was so so hard to resist calling his title out aloud.

❥ Ayato, who sees his maid so worked up all because of him, he feels a sense of sympathy flourishing within his chest and groin, he couldn’t help but introduce himself onto the bed you laid on.

❥ “Dream come true, hm?” He coos when you take in his cock fully, violet eyes flickering to your ass as he pounded into it, gloved hands gripping the headboard to provide a different angle. He has you secured in every position he knows— pulling your thighs open with your soft tail rubbing against his bare chest, or lying flat as he stimulated your crotch with the friction of a slender finger’s rubbing.

❥ Don’t keep him for too long, Ayato is a busy man who craves your body every second without his dick sheathed feel within you. He’ll let you cock warm him, only if you’re polite enough though! Serve him all you have to offer and he’ll repay your deeds with a feeling so unique to him.

❥ Lowly little maid which has the Commissioner spending thousands of mora to accessorise your cute face, waist and nipples. He’s secretive as always, leaving the little gifts where you’ll only ever find them. The only debt he’s wrapped you in is the profitable image of your shy smile, your ears drooped under that unchanging cynical smirk.

❥ “Do you want me to drag you by a leash around the estate? To show how obedient and determined you are for my love? I promise a reward after, pet.”

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kumkissed · 10 months

Note

Your writing>>> I love the way you write slightly subby aot men, can I pretty please get some for Ony and Connie?

Tysm baby! Ask n u shall receive, I'm writing this before I sleep so it won't be the best sorry! 🫂

Adventures w Ony n Connie!

c/w: creampie, slight sub ony, slight sub connie, slight dom reader, ain't proof read, made w my love n affection,, consumption of aphrodisiac, PRAISE HEAVY

Ony!

Ony's been beating your shit in from behind the past 20 minutes, your face being flush to the sheets muffles the moans you're letting out. "Ma, lemme hear you please" you roll your eyes biting your lip to further silence your moans making him frown and whine. He reaches down pulling you to his chest, hoping it gives him more access to hear how's pleasuring you.

In return he only receives light grunts and slight moans here and there “Fuck…you feel so good.” He moans in your ear, your pussy tightening at the sound making you no longer able to keep your moans to yourself. “You’re making me f-feel so good pa keep going.” Ony bites his lip at your praise, eyes almost rolling back at the sound of your voice “Only I can do this ma, O-only me.”

He hugs you even closer, going deeper than before and it has you seeing straight stars. He’s leaving you a babbling mess, and he can’t help but grunt and moan at the sounds you’re making. “You’re soooo good for me Ony” you practically scream out (neighbors will b at ur door in the AM), it’s then Ony stills letting out a feral growl as he cums deep inside you. He continues to thrust until he’s too overstimulated, opting to stay deep inside.

"Ima be good just for you Ma I swear."

Connie!

You can recall how many times you and Connie have came now, after eating that aphrodisiac chocolate your homegirl gave you, you just wanna eat Connie (and his cum)all up. And that's exactly what you do. Riding him like never before, both you and him are overstimulated but you can't get enough. "That's e-ennghough mamita m'k?" He practically begs you, tattooed hands attempting to move you off of him get slapped away. You tilt your head with a frown sticking your bottom lip out "But Con... you said you would fill me until m' satisfied!"

He's nothing but flustered at your reaction. Even when he tries to stop himself he finds himself thrusting up into you, knocking the air out of you and filling you up with his warm speed once more. "I'll give you whatever, j-just take it all." Brown eyes interlock with silver ones before you lean down, sucking a mark onto his neck causing his eyes to roll back; indirectly causing a particularly harsh thrust.

You moan in sync with your lover, feeling your walls get painted once more has you in a frenzy "fuucckk con you're the best" you moan into his neck as you cum on his dick. In a daze, you've stopped riding him but he hasn't stopped thrusting. Slowly, you push yourself off of him; seeing those silver eyes look like they're begging for your appreciation, your admiration. But he's so deep it's leaving you breathless, your only option being to rub your body against his own. Your boyfriend is a sucker for physical attention, the action has him thrusting even faster, cumming in you again. By the look on his face y'all gone be here a minute.

"Am I satisfying you mamita?"

#aot x black reader #black reader #black y/n #smut #connie x y/n #connie x black y/n #connie x you #connie x black reader #aot x y/n #aot x poc!reader #aot smut #onyankopon smut #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x black reader

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ilovepedro · 5 months

Text

mistletoe kisses | joel miller x f!reader

Main masterlist

Rating: M - 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2.6k

Summary: You decorate the Christmas tree with some help from Joel and Ellie.

Warnings: established relationship, post-outbreak, Jackson era, canon divergent bc nothing bad ever happens to them ever 😁, sickening fluff, pet names (honey, darlin’, baby, babydoll, etc), allusions to smut, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: surprise!!! i know i said this would be up on the 22nd, but i’ve got something else that will be up on saturday 🤭 and i just couldn’t stop thinking about giving this man a happy ending, including healing and starting new traditions with his family 😔 i wish joel was real 💔 anyway, i hope y’all enjoy! not beta’d, all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @/saradika

Grumbling, he treks behind you, snow crunching beneath his work boots as he cautiously lugs the saw in his hands.

You’re rambling about finding the perfect tree in front of him, Ellie asking a million questions about the tradition.

He hadn’t expected, intended, to find a partner in Jackson. That is until he saw you, lugging a heavy crate of harvested crops across the town, your wagon having been broken. Tommy had told him about you, how you were single.

“She’s sweet as pie, brother. She might be good for you. Real pretty too.” Joel recalls the conversation he had with Tommy before he stormed off to the barn.

His Southern hospitality lay dormant until he saw you struggling. The urge to help creeped up on him. His typical quite observant demeanor tossed out the window as he approached you.

“Need some help?” He asks.

You wipe your brow, huffing before laying your eyes on the broad, handsomely rugged man in front of you - it’s Tommy’s brother. His name escaping you briefly.

You beam. “Oh. Sure. Thank you…” you trail off, slightly off guard by his kind gesture. His large gloved hand extends out towards you.

“Joel,” he finishes your sentence. “Thank you, Joel,” your hand shaking his, giving him your name. It rolls off his tongue with a certain sweetness, sending a flurry of butterflies to swirl in your belly. You knew of him, but knew he was also not a man of many words. You had yet to make acquaintances with him and who you assume is his daughter.

“You’re Tommy’s brother right?” You curiously ask, attempting to make small talk as Joel grunts while picking up the crate.

“Yes ma’am.”

Smiling at his Southern drawl, you run to help him carry one side of the heavy crate, feeling bad letting him do all the work.

“Uh uh, what do you think you’re doin’?” He asks, brow raised as you both stop in your tracks. “Helping you,” you state. He chuckles, shaking his head as he begins to walk.

“I asked if you needed help, darlin’. ‘Sides, what kinda man would I be letting a pretty girl like you carry all this shit by herself? My momma would have me by the head, ‘s for damn sure.”

You open your mouth to detest the notion that women need any assistance from men, but he stops you before you can.

“‘N I know ya don’t need any help from any man. You women are tough as shit, met a lota you over the years. Jus’ wanna help, ‘s all.” He kindly explains. You don’t understand why he wants to help, why he’s approached you specifically.

You’re aware that he’s typically very reserved, not leaving his house if he doesn’t have to. You’ve heard things about his past, and Tommy having confided in you at times, but the world has gone to shit. Who are you to judge? Everyone’s done some horrible stuff to stay alive.

He’s also painfully handsome. Opting to not object to his help and company, you sigh.

“Well, at least let me take some of the vegetables,” you protest, grabbing bunches of carrots. He chuckles quietly.

“Sure thing, darlin’,” he mutters. The nickname catching you both by surprise as a sort of tension falls over you two.

Flashing him a grateful toothy grin, you gather the vegetables in your arms. He gives you a small smirk in return.

“So how are you liking Jackson? I don’t see you ‘round much,” you ask as you begin the trek to the dining hall.

“‘S good. Big change, learnin’ the ropes of patrol. Makin’ sure Ellie’s settlin’ in,” he states. “And Ellie’s…”

“My family,” he says firmly. You nod, internally assuming she’s not his biological daughter.

“Well, I hope you both settle in nicely.” He feels his heart soften at your kindness.

He thought you’d have shied away from him, that you’d have listened to what people are saying about him around town.

But you didn’t. You took to him kindly, warmly.

He’ll be damned if he told Tommy he was right about you, He’d never hear the end of it… but shit, was he right. You were so kind and open-minded, and so beautiful.

The both of you making small talk as you trek to the dining hall, Joel lugging the crate into the kitchen for prep as you follow behind. He places the crate on the floor with a grunt. You drop the carrots in the box afterwards.

Rising to his feet, he sighs as he wipes his hands on his jeans, you copying his actions.

“Thank you again, Joel. I really appreciate it,” you tell him again. “Ain’t no problem, darlin’.”

Silence fills the air, save for the clanging and clattering of utensils in the kitchen.

“Would you… would you like to have a drink sometime? As a, uh, form of repayment for helping me today,” you timidly ask. A small smile breaks out onto Joel’s face.

“You ain’t gotta repay me, darlin’. But I’d love to grab a drink with ya,” he says.

Smiling from ear to ear, you nod happily. “It’s a date,” you say, before slapping a hand over your mouth as your eyes go wide. “I-I’m sorry. It’s not a date, it doesn't have to be. I mean, u-unless you want-,” you nervously ramble before Joel cuts you off.

“‘S a date,” he rasps. A soft smile on both your faces. The rest is history.

He wouldn’t trade that moment for the world, as he’s got you by his side now. He just didn’t expect that drink to lead him to trudging through the woods in the freezing early morning to cut down a tree.

He’d much rather be sleeping right now on his day off, but he can never say no to his girls.

Making your way through the woods, you and Ellie wind through the path while Joel stands and watches. There aren’t many trees, but just enough to scour from.

Not seeing any you like, you continue to walk down the path. “What about this one?” Ellie asks, standing next to a fir no taller than Joel.

Your eyes light up, a sparkly smile illuminating your face.

“It’s perfect. Great find, Ellie!” You yelp, high fiving the girl who’s equally excited.

“Hey, Joel!” Ellie shouts through her hands, her cheeks rosy and nose frosted. He clambers through the trees, saw in hand with his signature scowl. “Find one?”

“Mhmm,” Ellie says while beaming, you nodding in agreement. Joel sighs as he begins to saw down the tree. The trunk’s not very thick, the branches skinny, but still full enough to mimick the times before.

It falls to the snow covered ground, you and Ellie taking a few steps back. Joel stomps over to it, hoisting it up over his shoulder.

“Thank you, honey,” you whisper against his ear before placing a kiss on his patchy beard. His body flushing hot red from heat despite the cold air.

“Sure thing, baby,” he says bashfully, smiling a smile only reserved for you. Lacing his fingers with yours, you walk hand-in-hand back to the house with Ellie rambling ahead of you, vibrating with excitement.

“Joel, could you move it a little to the left?” You ask, hands clasped together over your lips. Joel grunts, red in the face as he shoves the fir to the left.

“A little more, please?”

Another grunt.

“A liiiitttllleee more.”

With a sigh, he shoves it once more.

“Perfect!” You clap. Joel rises to his full height, groaning as his bones crack and ache. You stride to him, leaning in for a kiss.

He could never stay annoyed at you.

“Thank you, honey,” you mutter with a dopey grin. Joel mirrors your expression, wrapping his hands around your waist and pressing his lips against yours. A saccharine kiss, your fingers curling in his grays.

His heart flutters as you sigh into him, your contentment radiating through your chest and into his soul.

When the fuck did his heart ever flutter?

“You guys gonna do that all fucking day or what?!” Ellie shouts, cutting ribbon and twine for the decorations.

You both startle at the sound of her voice, jumping in Joel’s arms. Joel glares at Ellie as laughter bubbles over your lips.

“Sorry, Ellie,” you call out. “Seriously, thank you, honey,” you tell Joel with a pat on his broad chest.

“No problem, darlin’,” he says softly with a swift kiss to your forehead before releasing you from his grasp. Joel strides into the kitchen to heat up some milk, with you rushing over to Ellie who sits at the dining table with an array of supplies.

You’re so good with Ellie, so patient with her while gently explaining how to string the dried oranges on the twine. She gets the hang of it pretty easily, holding it up and beaming with pride. Your giddiness mirroring hers, praising her as you waltz into the kitchen with Joel.

Placing a chaste kiss to his cheek, you flit around him as you pop some kernels in a hot pan. Transforming them into popcorn to make more garlands, and working in comfortable silence alongside each other.

You dump the popcorn into a bowl, you place a tender kiss on his shoulder before returning to Ellie.

Joel feels warm, and it’s not from the heat of the stove.

He preps mugs of hot chocolate for all of you, the chocolate powder stale but still good - the novelty of the gesture still there and just as sweet.

Padding into the living room, the sight of you two making decorations at the table and placing them on the tree tugs at Joel’s heart strings. Remembering how he’d help Sarah decorate their tree every year. Swallowing his grief, he allows himself to enjoy this moment while remembering his daughter.

That’s something you’re teaching him - not to take moments, things, people for granted.

Despite the pain, he knows he’ll confide in you later tonight about it when you’re alone. He sets the mugs on the table, making you pop your head up to flash him a dazzling smile.

“Thank you, honey.”

“‘Course, baby,” he says with a wink. Your smile grows wider, Ellie looking up and rolling her eyes. She playfully gags, Joel smacking his lips as his smile morphs into a scowl.

“Knock it off, kid,” he scolds.

“You knock it off, old man. We’re working here, and you keep distracting my partner,” she retorts. He scoffs, rolling his eyes. You can’t help, but laugh at their banter.

“Sorry, Ellie. I promise I’m listening,” your laughter dissolving into giggles. Joel rolls his eyes before getting a fire going in the fireplace.

Standing back and taking in the scene playing out in front of him. Hot chocolate, a tree, decorations being strung upon it - how is this possible? What did he do to deserve this?

He shakes the thought from his head, not questioning the good thing – the very good thing – in front of him. Instead, he enjoys watching his girls flit around the tree.

Ellie excitedly attempts to place the makeshift star on the tree that she crafted out of some stray branches and extra paper she had in her sketch pad.

She can’t reach, being significantly shorter than the tree. Huffing in defeat, she shoots you a look - both of you thinking the same thing. She whips around, paper star in hand.

“Joel, wanna do the honors?” She asks, holding out the star. Joel swallows thickly, never having thought he’d be doing this again.

“Sure,” he softly says, taking the star from Ellie and setting it atop the tree. The three of you stand back, admiring your hard work in silence, as you tightly wrap your arms around Joel’s middle. He holds you tighter.

“Looks good,” he mumbles. You nod, soft smile on your face.

“Hell yeah, it does!” Ellie giddily yells before cutting off her next thought. “No way, is that hot chocolate?!” She shouts, rushing to the table to grab a mug.

“Yeah, careful kid, it’s still hot,” Joel warns, still wound up in your arms. Ellie blows caution to the wind as she gulps it down.

“Ellie, slow down! You’re gonna get a stomachache,” you scold lightly. “It’s hot chocolate! When the hell am I ever gonna come across this again?!”

“I’ll find some more, jus’ slow down! Gonna be all fuckin’ hopped up on sugar,” Joel begrudgingly says. Rolling her eyes, she glances at the clock. Her eyes bug out of her head.

“Shit! I told Cat I’d meet her at 6!” She shouts before gulping down the rest of her hot chocolate, slamming the mug on the table.

“Be back later!” She says, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“Be back by 9!” Joel shouts. “Mhmm,” her tone dismissive. “I mean it, Ellie,” he warns.

“Sure thing, old man!” She says before reaching for the doorknob. “Ellie, 9 o’clock, okay?” You chime in, asking.

She turns around, taking in the both of you. “Okay,” she says with another roll of her eyes and an exasperated sigh before heading out the door. It slams shut, making you and Joel wince.

Joel rolls his eyes. “Girl don’t listen,” rubbing his face as he grumbles.

“She’s just excited, can you blame her? Besides, she’s safe here, Joel,” you say, comfortingly rubbing your hands up and down his broad flannel-covered chest.

“I know. Just still getting used to all this,” he rasps. The two of you still stand in the doorway, wrapped up in one another before a grin breaks out on your face.

“Oh, could you help me with one more thing?” You beam at him. His brow quirks up in confusion. “‘Course, baby. What do ya need?”

You unravel yourself from his embrace, padding into the kitchen. He hears you clambering, his curiosity peaking. You return with something behind your back, smiling wider now.

Whipping the sprig of mistletoe from behind your back, you hold it above your head. His features softening.

Joel immediately recognizes what you’re holding, beaming at your antics.

“Could you help me hang this up please?” You ask, drawing out the last syllable, batting your lashes at him with a sly smirk.

“Y’know, if ya wanted a kiss, all ya gotta do is ask, babydoll,” he rasps as he takes it from you, not missing the chance to place a teasing kiss on your cheek. Waves of heat run through you from head to toe.

Joel hangs the mistletoe with ease on a nail that’s been conveniently placed above the kitchen entryway, right where you’re both standing.

You must’ve put it up there when he was on patrol a few days ago.

The red ribbon you tied around the plant stands out against the dark framing, the fire crackles in the background and illuminates the house.

“Well would ya look at that,” his voice low and husky as he locks his gaze with yours. A goofy grin on your face. “Huh. Guess you gotta kiss me now.”

“Don’t need mistletoe for that, babydoll,” he whispers. The two of you connect your lips with each other’s. Sighing into him, you finally have a moment alone with him today. You card your fingers through his hair, a satisfied groan escapes him.

You pull away breathlessly, both yours and Joel’s eyes heavy and glazed over.

“Ya know… Ellie won’t be back til 9. We’ve got some time left,” you teasingly whisper in his ear while he places a kiss to your neck.

“Lead the way, darlin,” he rasps, the two of you rushing upstairs.

just felt like writing some tooth rotting fluff for my Joely, i love him sm 😔

i hope y’all enjoyed! 🫶🏼 thank you for reading 🩷

tag list: @gracieheartspedro @sapphic-gardn @undrthelights @javierpena-inatacvest @nostalxgic @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @janaispunk @persephone-girl @harriedandharassed @its-nebuleuse

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou

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hotchs-big-hands · 8 months

Text

Because It's You

Aaron Hotchner x plus-size!reader|6.8k words

NSFW minors dni please

Warning(s): deep bodily insecurities, angst but with comfort, tiny argument, sex, mirror sex, body worship, daddy kink, Aaron is a very hands-on kinda guy, fem!reader, naked female/clothed male (for some of it)

Requested by anon:

if you’re feeling up to it, would you consider writing something about plus-size!reader with a b-belly and being totally insecure about aaron seeing her naked (or close to naked)? (You can read the rest of the prompt here!)

Hey Lovey 💖💖💖 I'm very happy and honoured to write this for you!! I'm sorry it took so long to do but I hope you enjoy it all the same :) I have this type of tummy as well and some days I feel bad about it. But we always gotta remember that it's just a part of us and there's no shame in that :) much love! I hope you enjoy 💖

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

Dating Aaron had been so, so dreamy. He was dreamy. You questioned how you managed to garner his attention, but he would just smile and cup your rounded cheeks to press a gentle kiss to your lips. He just knew you were the one the moment he set eyes on you. And so you'd accepted his answer, although you didn't quite understand still. His kisses, his touches, his caring nature took your breath away. Whenever he would return from his job to you you'd feel floaty, ready to rush into his arms.

Sometimes, he would stay at your place or you would stay at his, depending on your schedules and if his son was staying with his aunt or not. It was nice, imagining what it would be like to live with him, cuddling up on the couch, dining together, sleeping in yours or his bed. You'd even given one another a spare key to your homes and had some toiletries set out for each other. Even despite all that... you were holding back.

Aaron was ever the patient and kind man, never pushing you into anything you weren't ready for, which inevitably meant you'd never gone further than, well, making out. Mortifyingly, you'd freeze up if his hands began to wander, straying from holding you close to him to gliding around the front of your torso. He would stop then, and you would end up snuggling and talking instead. A part of you was frustrated with yourself for it.

Of course you wanted to go further with him. You needed him, burned for him. The many times you'd lay in bed alone whilst he was away with work just writhing in the sheets, his name a shivering breath past your lips. It was becoming harder, and harder to resist him. But you just...couldn't. You were scared of him seeing you. Not once had you ever been naked where he could see, not even partially nude. You didn't want him to see you, not wanting the beautiful bubble of your lives entwining to burst when he set his eyes on your bare body.

There was no other way of saying it; you loathed the shape of your stomach. You already struggled enough with the fact that you had a larger body than Aaron. Where a flatter stomach and a more toned structure was on him, a protruding, soft stomach and a overall rounded structure resided on you. But that wasn't the main thing that made you hide from him. An indented band stretching across your stomach in line with your belly button taunted you whenever you caught a glimpse in the mirror, or wore anything more form-fitting. You hated it. Hated sitting down and seeing it more pronounced, opting to conceal it by trying to make your clothing more baggy in that area. You never let Aaron touch your stomach, you didn't want him to feel it, to feel the squishiness of your stomach.

And that's how you found yourself standing in front of your full length mirror that stood next to your bed, still dripping water from a shower, with your towel hanging loosely around your arms after you'd pulled it from being wrapped around your body. You stared at your reflection, grimacing at the image that faced you. It made your lower lip wobble as your eyes drifted down to your stomach where the dip of your belly button was. How...how would you ever let him see? You couldn't. He would hate it, feel repulsed at the sight. Maybe he would have second thoughts about this relationship and break up with you because he wasn't attracted to you anymore. Before you knew it, your reflection blurred into an indecipherable mess and quietly, you began to cry.

"Sweetheart?" You heard from behind you, startling you with a sharp gasp and as you blinked to clear your vision you spotted him in the corner of the reflection. You spun, tugging the towel around you tightly as you sniffled.

"Aaron! You scared me!" You squeaked as you rubbed your hands over your face to try clearing the tear tracks from your cheeks. "I didn't hear you coming in!"

Aaron strode towards you and his hands came to rest on your upper arms, you flinched as you stared at those deep brown eyes.

"I wanted to surprise you, but then as I approached your room I could hear you crying." He explained softly, thumbs stroking your damp skin. "What's wrong, honey?"

Your lower lip wobbled again and you shook your head.

"It's nothing important. I'll be alright in a moment."

"It's not 'nothing' to me."

Your eyes widened a little at his statement, his gaze didn't waver though. With a sigh, you dipped your head and sniffled again.

"I... Can I get changed first? I don't wanna, y'know..."

Aaron's brow creased.

"Feel stuffy in a towel if you have it on for too long?"

"Uh, no..." You trailed off, resisting having to say it. "Don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable? You don't make me uncomfortable." He disagreed, hands moving to cup your cheeks gently. You bit your lip in an attempt to stop it from trembling once more. "Look at me."

Oh, he was so, so gentle. You dared glance at his face again and the urge to cry only hurt more. He sighed gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Sweetheart, I know you've been worried about what I think of your looks. And I know what transpired just now." He said. You tensed, jaw clenching under his hands.

"Aaron..." You wanted to pull away, to disappear from sight. But he held you so tenderly, so full of adoration.

"I know you're afraid of what I'd think of your body."

It was finally out there. Your fear, the dread of him ever being aware of it. You couldn't even look at him, pulling from his grasp and letting out a sob.

"Damnit, Aaron! Why?!" You turned from him and retreated further into your room, tears beginning to stream down your face. "Why did you have to say that?! Why couldn't you leave it alone?!" You cried as you tugged the towel tighter around you.

"(Y/n), I wanted to have a talk with you about it for a while. But finding you crying like this, we need to settle this now." Aaron said gently, not a hint of anger present in his voice. You stared across the room at him, throat feeling tight and sore as another sob bubbled out.

"Oh well, of course you've noticed! I should have been more realistic with myself about that given your career literally calls for that!" It hurt. But deep down you always feared he would have noticed the way you hid from him anyway. Aaron splayed out his hands at you defensively as he took a small step towards you.

"Sweetheart, please come back here." He said, softness oozing from the words. You scrunched your eyes shut but didn't move, your whole body was shaking now.

"You weren't supposed to know, weren't supposed to see."

"It's going to be okay. Just a step, I'll meet you in the middle, alright?"

You whimpered but slowly nodded, allowing your legs to move towards the centre of the room blindly. And then his arms were embracing you, his warmth surrounding you and soothing you.

"There you are, good girl. You're okay." He whispered to you as he stroked your back. You gripped onto him tightly as your tears began to seep into his shirt.

"I'm sorry." You sobbed.

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

He pulled away to take hold of your hand and led you to sit beside him on the edge of your bed. Instantly, you shifted the towel to drape looser around your stomach, cheeks burning with shame when you heard him exhale. You breathed in deeply, nose twitching.

"I... You're right. I am scared. I don't want you to see what I look like." You mumbled, messing with the fabric of the towel. Aaron watched you carefully.

"Why is that?"

You scoffed.

"Because when you do you-you won't want me anymore."

Aaron's thumb brushed the fresh tears away as he shook his head.

"You don't know that. Why would I not want you anymore?" He prompted you. You gritted your teeth as you tried to stay calm.

"M-my body... It's not-you won't find it attractive."

"I disagree."

Your eyes met his, startled again as he observed you intensely.

"You don't even know what I look like unclothed."

A faint hint of a smile graced his face as he glanced at your hands.

"Not fully, no."

What? You frowned.

"What do you mean?" You asked him with uncertainty.

"Sometimes, when we sleep together," he began, taking hold of your hands and cradling them. "I would wake up before you, as you know, and I'd notice your shirt had scrunched up during the night."

You froze.

"Y-you saw..."

"Your stomach, yes. It's...just nice seeing you as yourself, sleeping peacefully without a care or worry in the world. But I...picked up on the insecurity quite early on, sweetheart, so I would pull your shirt back down for you so you didn't wake up in a panic." He admitted softly.

You stared at him, mouth falling open slightly at the confession.

"Y-you still want me as well?"

Hurt flashed in his eyes and he pulled you towards him, embracing you tightly.

"Oh sweetheart, I need you in my life. I love what we have together, you make me feel like everything is going to be okay." He kissed the top of your head and before you could protest he pulled you again, helping you to sit on his lap facing him. You flushed, squeaking in surprise and embarrassment.

"A-Aaron!"

The man hummed quietly, holding you close to him as he pressed kiss after kiss to your face.

"I never want you to doubt how I feel again, sweet girl. It's my fault I never brought this to you sooner."

You trembled in his arms, overwhelmed with an array of emotions that clashed with one another. His words were so heartfelt, so sincere, that they challenged your own thoughts of yourself. You pulled back slightly, keeping your torso away from touching his as best you could. He watched you carefully with those gorgeous, dark eyes.

"I-I... I'm still scared of what you'd think if we ever got, uhm...intimate." You ducked your head again, missing the widened eyes and the bob of the adam's apple in Aaron's throat. His hands gripped you suddenly, making you jump.

"Sweetheart, if only you knew how much I've thought about making love to you." He said in a rumbling tone, one that you'd never heard him talk to you in before and it made you shiver. He tilted your head up to look at him with one of his hands, whilst the other spread across the expanse of your back and pushed you closer to him. You were keenly aware of how nude you were beneath your towel now, your bare slit rubbing against the neat fabric of his slacks. You whimpered.

"You have?"

He kissed the corner of your mouth sweetly, but didn't pull away when he spoke again.

"All the time, sweet girl. But I'll wait for as long as you need me to." He smiled against your lips and you shuddered.

"I...I've been thinking about it too..." You mumbled shyly. He hummed, the sound reverberating through him.

"Oh? Sweetheart, you know you do all sorts of things to me. Please, allow me to show you what you do to me. I want you to know how much I need you," he gripped onto the back of your thighs, dangerously close to your ass and the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You gasped out as he smirked against your lips. "Even if it means I have to fuck it into you until you understand."

Against your will, your hips stuttered forward, grinding your bare pussy across his now noticeably taut slacks as a little whine escaped the back of your throat. Aaron chuckled, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"Will you let me show you what you mean to me?"

You tightened your thighs around his and gripped onto his shirt tightly.

"I-I- please... Need you, Aaron.."

His lips were on yours in an instant, kissing you in the way that made your brain feel mushy and your abdomen to fill with a passionate burn. He encouraged you to roll your hips into him, feeling his taut slacks only harden further the more you moved. Then the towel slipped, falling to rest around your hips and lap and you gasped, pressing yourself flushed chest-to-chest with Aaron. He pulled from the kiss to enquire the sudden movement, only to acutely notice your towel was all but pointless at this point. With his gentle hands, he cupped your cheeks as your eyes met his.

"(Y/n). Are you okay with leaning back? Are you okay showing me your body?" He asked you oh so sweetly, a slight crease in his brow. You shuddered out a breath, wanting nothing more than to turn invisible right now. You closed your eyes for a moment as you tried to calm your racing heart.

"I-I am. Gonna lean back now." You managed to mumble out and Aaron kissed you so sweetly then pressed his forehead to yours.

"Good girl."

You whimpered.

"Hold my hands, please."

You felt his hands leave your face and carefully wrap around your scrunched up hands, holding them securely. You exhaled, then slowly pulled back, eyes still shut tight as you felt the cooler air of the room touch the bare skin of your body. You were in full view now, you knew it. You bit your lip and felt your heart racing under the burning gaze of those beautiful, brown eyes.

"Sweetheart, please open your eyes." Aaron squeezed your hands in encouragement. You drew in a deep breath, then let your eyes flutter open. The look in his eyes... Oh how loving it was. When you locked eyes a gentle smile formed on his face. "There you are. (Y/n), you're beautiful."

It took every ounce of strength not to look down at yourself and grimace, instead focusing on the man before you.

"A-Aaron... You really don't feel, y'know, grossed out by my body?" You asked meekly, earning a squeeze of your hands.

"Not in the slightest. I... I am in awe of you." He murmured as he leaned closely to press kisses to your cheek, slowly moving down to your jaw. "Your stomach is beautiful. I adore it because it's a part of you, and I completely adore you."

You whimpered as his lips trailed along your skin, dancing down your neck now as his hands began to wander to your plush hips, fingers digging into you.

"Y-you adore..."

"Yes."

Before you could say anything more, he was suddenly gripping onto you harder as he shifted you both further towards the centre of the bed and he carefully maneuvered you to lay on your back. Your eyes blew wide in surprise, a little squeak passing your slightly agape mouth as he now pinned you beneath him. The towel had slipped off completely during the move, now discarded and long forgotten elsewhere in the room.

"Aaron!" You yelped, earning yourself a rosy red mark on the skin of your neck your skin from his talented mouth. You felt him smiling against you as his thumbs stroked your plump hips.

"Mhm?"

You attempted to move your arms down to cover yourself but Aaron was faster, gripping your wrists and pinning them to your sides with a slight glare.

"No. I need to see you, sweetheart."

Your cheeks felt flushed as you trembled in his grasp, unable to look away from those beautiful brown eyes, near black with arousal, as they travelled across your bare skin hungrily. You could feel the bulge in his trousers pressing against your trembling, thick thigh as he let his hands slip from around your wrists to the expensive tie around his neck. Smoothly, he pulled it off and tossed it aside, making quick work of the buttons of his shirt now. Your eyes followed his hands, only to become distracted by the skin of his body being bared to you inch by inch.

"F-fuck Aaron- you're so fucking-" you began to sputter, only to be silenced by his lips on yours for a brief moment. He pulled away as he finished undoing the buttons and shrugged out of the shirt with a smug grin.

"Oh no, sweetheart. Tonight is about you."

He kissed you again, letting his hands wander to your shoulders and smoothing over them sensually. You whined when his clothed crotch pressed into your naked slit, feeling his thick bulge throbbing against you. This....this was because of you? You'd riled him up this much? The thought made you squeeze your thighs around him, earning a groan from Aaron. As he pulled his mouth away from yours you gripped onto his strong forearms, fingers brushing through the substantial hair.

"I-I-...." You trailed off and Aaron stroked the soft skin of your shoulders soothingly. His brow creased in concern, eyes flicking across your face as he analysed your body language.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? I hope I wasn't too...pushy. I understand if you want to stop now or-"

"-no!" Your cheeks felt flushed as you glanced away, embarrassed that you'd shouted. He didn't say anything, allowing you time to recollect your thoughts to speak. You drew in a shaky breath. "I... I'm just nervous, that's all... But I, um, didn't expect you to be so..."

Aaron raised a brow.

"So...?"

You scrunched your eyes shut and puffed your cheeks.

"You know what I mean! You're all- I mean I can feel you!" You finally blurted out, surprising him. A little grin broke across his face as he rolled his hips into you.

"Oh? You can feel how much you affect me, hm? You've caused this for a long time, (y/n)." His lips trailed along your jaw and down your neck, slowly making it towards your chest. Your breath hitched as he sucked the skin above your right breast until another rosy red mark joined the others littering your skin. "I couldn't even begin to recount the amount of times I would be away with work, or at home without you needing to fuck my fist wishing it was your pretty little pussy I was fucking instead."

Your eyes widened as his hands moved to grasp your breasts, the pad of his thumbs brushing over your erect nipples and causing you to whimper. Your slit was slowly dripping down to your ass and no doubt forming a wet patch on Aaron's trousers, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

Aaron trailed his nose over your breasts, dipping into the valley between them and humming after every breath.

"Mmm... So fucking good. Will you let me kiss your stomach, sweetheart? Please let me kiss you." He glanced up at you as his nose pressed into the centre of your chest and you swallowed thickly, urging yourself not to cower away. Kiss your stomach? He wanted to kiss it?! Your eyes stung a little. But you finally nodded your head as you gazed into his eyes.

"O-okay..."

He lifted his head just enough to smile at you, then he shuffled downwards slowly, pressing gentle kisses all over your body. You trembled, tears threatening to spill when he focused the kisses around the dip of your stomach, nuzzling against your soft body.

"So beautiful, so heavenly and divine..." Aaron murmured, his hands still making work of stimulating your nipples and causing the muscles in his back to flex with every movement. Your hands came to grab his hair, messing it up as you let out a quiet sob. Never, never had you felt so adored and loved as you did right now. He was showering your stomach with so much attention, unfazed or hesitant about touching it. No one had ever done this before, nor would you trust anyone else to. But Aaron....

The kisses paused, followed by Aaron's hands sliding down to your hips gently.

"Sweetheart? Are you okay?" He asked you, snapping you out of your thoughts. As tears rolled down the sides of your temple you smiled.

"I'm just so... No one's ever been so caring like this." You mumbled. Aaron kissed the area above your belly button.

"You deserve to feel cared for, because I care very much for you." You felt the ache of another lovebite at the cusp of your belly button, then another below it. His mouth moved around the circumference of the skin until a pretty ring of reddish pink surrounded your belly button. Your chest heaved, overwhelmed by his touch and tender kisses, resulting in your thighs trembling.

Aaron's hands smoothed down your body, carefully sliding down your stomach after you nodded at his questioning gaze, travelling down to your large thighs where he gripped onto them firmly, his fingers digging into the plush flesh. Your eyes met his, he paused. His lips were plump, slightly parted.

"Will you let me see your pretty little pussy, sweet girl?" He asked with a gentle smile. You felt yourself clenching, momentarily covering your face as a nervous giggle bubbled through you.

"Y-yes."

"You're cute."

Aaron hummed, then carefully spread your thighs for him further than they already were, until your knees were near pressed against the mattress. His eyes zeroed in on your dewy folds and the clenching of your hole.

"Oh, sweetheart. You poor thing, all neglected down here. You're soaked." He cooed softly as his hands crept close enough for his thumbs to part your folds more, revealing your twitching clit to him. You whined, hips rising from the bed until his forearms pushed them back down gently with a tut. "Now, now. Be a good girl and lay still for me."

Your hands grabbed handfuls of the bedsheets tightly as you pulled your lower lip between your teeth.

"Nngh, please!" You cried out. The corner of Aaron's mouth twitched.

"Please, what? What do you need, sweetheart?"

You pouted at him, eyes wet still and you rolled your hips.

"Please, please touch me! Want to feel you m-make me cum."

The man before you stared wide-eyed at your plea, then his gaze darkened with desire and his hands left your skin. But as your mouth opened to protest his left hand swiped from your entrance to your clit, his middle finger dragging over the sensitive bud and making you gasp out.

"Let me eat you out, pretty girl." He murmured as he shifted to lay down with his face hovering close to your slick. You shivered, never having had anyone want to eat you out before. You managed to nod, head falling back against the bed when his arms wrapped around your thighs and he dragged you to his mouth.

You cried out as his lips sealed around your clit, sucking it softly with a hum, then dragging his tongue across your hole to circle it. You could feel how wet his lower face was as his mushed into your plush mound, whimpering and writhing as his skilled mouth continued. And then he moaned around your clit as he sucked it back into his mouth, tongue flicking it back and forth.

"A-Aaron! Fuck!"

Your hands moved to grip his hair, guiding him as he let go of one of your thighs, only to startle you when you felt a finger slip inside you. You wailed as he curled it upwards, searching and searching. God, his fingers were fucking thick and long, able to reach much more deeper than you ever could.

Then you felt it, an indescribable sensation when his finger crooked into a particular area on the upper wall of your pussy. Your hips spasmed up into his touch and you moaned; fuck, he certainly knew what he was doing. Encouraged by your reaction, Aaron thrust his finger up into that spot repeatedly, sucking your clit harder and swirling his tongue around the poor little bud. The rushing burn within your lower abdomen grew stronger, your body moving in time with his finger and tongue until it overwhelmed you, crying his name as you felt slick gush out and your nerves become haywire. Aaron continued until you were keening, wailing for him to let you catch your breath.

With a wet smack of his lips, Aaron pulled his mouth off from around your now swollen clit but his finger remained inside. Your eyes widened at the wet state of his face, his lips more plump as he grinned cheekily at you.

"Good girl, you did so well for me." He kissed your shaking thigh and you let out a trembling breath.

"I-I-... Never cummed like that before." You admitted shyly, causing Aaron to hum softly and slowly slide his finger out of your twitching hole. You whimpered when slick leaked out.

"Pretty girl, you deserve to cum in any way you want."

Before you could respond, your hole was stretched around two of his long, thick fingers and you wailed out his name, still sensitive and throbbing. He cooed, pressing his lips to your stomach and gripping onto the soft, plump flesh in his large grip. He used the grip to leverage the thrusts of his fingers, foreshadowing the rest of your night. He smiled against your squishy stomach.

"Gotta stretch you out, pretty thing. Daddy doesn't wanna hurt you." He murmured and your body lurched, eyes widening as you clenched around his fingers. Aaron froze, clearly surprised the words slipped from his mouth. "(Y/n) I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that. I hope I didn't-"

"T-that was-" you blushed and bit your lip again, another shy giggle bubbling out of you as you spread your legs wider. "It was rly hot. I...wouldn't mind calling you that too." You trailed off with a nervous smile. Something switched within Aaron, his eyes narrowing slightly and darkening into pools of near obsidian, and those two fingers inside you parted, stretching you a little more and making you whine.

"Little girl, you're playing a dangerous game there." He growled, shifting to press his mouth to your neck roughly, biting and sucking the sensitive area below your right ear. You cried out, rolling your hips into the thrusts of his fingers and your hands pulled at the sheets into tight handfuls.

"D-daddy I- fuck!"

His fingers rapidly fucked into you, a wet gushing sound causing heat to spread across your chest but the sounds only urged Aaron on.

"You hear how wet you are for daddy, huh? Tell me what you want. I want to hear you say it."

Eyes rolling back, you sobbed as you felt the burn of another orgasm approach again.

"N-need daddy to fuck me! Please! Please fuck me with your cock!" You begged over and over, barely aware of a third finger slipping inside you amidst the thrusts. You heard Aaron groan, kissing down your neck and enveloping one of your nipples between his lips, rolling it between his teeth. In an instant, you tensed up and cried as your second orgasm of the night crashed through your depths and left you boneless, hips spasming with aftershocks. Carefully, Aaron pulled his fingers from your clenching hole and, while not breaking eye contact, he sucked each finger one after the other and hummed in satisfaction.

"Sweetheart, you're so beautiful. Love the way your body moves when you're writhing with pleasure." He praised softly, hands leaving you to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his slacks, of which were stained with your juices and likely his own precum. Your chest heaved with every breath, slowly calming down now and feeling shy again.

"Y-you do?"

The belt discarded elsewhere, Aaron began to pull the black fabric down, revealing the delicious 'v' line of his hips and the coarse, dark hair of his happy trail. He hissed a little when his boxers were pulled down low enough for his straining, thick cock to spring from their confines. You gulped, eyeing the substantial length and girth and the flushed red tip that glistened slightly.

"I think this may be a bit of an indication of how much I enjoy seeing you cum, is it not?" Aaron's strained voice snapped you out of your stare and you squeaked, covering your face with your hands and crossing your legs in the air. He tutted, grabbing your ankles and parting your legs and pulling you towards him until you felt his length against your slit and his balls against the base of your ass cheeks. "Don't you dare hide from daddy, little girl."

Reluctantly, you dropped your hands from your face and instead grasped hold of your breasts, squishing them together with a little pout.

"S-sorry. Just embarrassed."

He cupped your cheek with his right hand, pressing a kiss to your forehead tenderly as your eyes fluttered shut.

"You shouldn't be. I think you're fucking stunning, sweetheart." He smiled and you whimpered.

"I-I can feel you twitching against me."

Aaron raised a brow as he rolled his hips against you.

"Feels different now that it's skin-to-skin, doesn't it?"

"Yeah... I like it, daddy.."

You heard him swear under his breath, hips stuttering slightly at the title.

"Fuck, I need to be inside you, sweet girl. You ready for daddy's cock?" He murmured, kissing your head again. You wiggled your hips, spreading your legs further in eagerness.

"Please! Wanna feel you inside me!" You were so desperate, so ready to feel him inside your aching pussy. Your hips jolted when he rubbed the tip up and down your slick folds, swirling around your throbbing little clit before gathering some of your sticky juices onto his fingers to lubricate his big cock. With a few pumps of his hand he lined the tip up with your entrance, gazing down at you lovingly.

"Ready?"

Your eyes pleaded up at him.

"Uhuh, yeah."

His hand left your cheek and instead curled over your left hand, guiding it to squeeze your nipple as his cock slowly pushed inside you. Oh fuck. Your eyes widened as you stretched around him, gasping out as inch by inch he filled you up.

"O-oh god-" you managed to choke out, Aaron grunted deeply.

"Jesus- sweetheart, you're so fucking hot and wet- so fucking tight around me-"

At only halfway, he paused and let you adjust to his size, watching as you whined and moved your hand to press against your lower abdomen, already feeling stuffed with his cock.

"Aaron- s'good." You slurred, tentatively rolling your hips into him when you felt a little more comfortable. A rumbling sound vibrated through Aaron's chest and he pushed forward, filling you the rest of the way until the both of you felt the skin of his hips and your ass meet. His hands jolted to hold himself up either side of your head, a string of curses tumbling out of his parted lips at the sensation of your tight walls.

"Fucking- god, (Y/n) you're taking me so well. Such a good fucking girl." He gritted, trying desperately to hold back so you could adjust to the full length, despite his instincts urging him to claim you fully until your pussy was melded to his cock alone. Stray tears escaped your eyes at the discomfort as you fought to focus on the pleasure of being so full of him. Finally, your daydreams were no fantasy anymore.

Experimentally, you rolled your hips, biting your lip as you felt the throbbing vein which curled over the topside of Aaron's shaft brush up against the sensitive spot of your hole. Fuck, your eyes met his and he kissed you sweetly, in consequent he grinded his hips into you. You moaned against his mouth, the sensations within not unwelcome this time and you grabbed hold of his shoulders.

"P-please, daddy. You can move now." You whined, fingers digging into the strong muscles. Aaron hummed, sucking on your lip, then retreating, the warmth of his body leaving you and causing you to shiver. His hands gripped onto your plump love handles and pulled out until only the tip remained. A hint of a smile ghosted on his face.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, daddy will take care of you."

As he held on firmly, he pulled you towards him sharply in time with his hips thrusting, bottoming out whilst you let out a cry. Then he thrust again. And again. Each time increasing the pace as your breasts bounced and your soft stomach jiggled. God, he was going to ruin you in the best way, grunting roughly as he pounded into you over and over, eyes fixated on your pretty body. Your hands had fallen to the bed again, fisting the sheets into a white knuckle grip whilst a slurry of noises were forced from you. You felt hot, tingly, so fucking full. The events leading to this moment a distant memory for your mind solely fixated on Aaron. The feeling of his skin on yours, his beautiful cock inside you, the heat of his body, his noises, his scent, the manhandling grip on your body...

"You hear how wet your little pussy is? You're making a fucking mess, sweetheart. Daddy's proud of you." Aaron hissed, accompanied by the wet slaps of his thrusts into you. As embarrassed as you were of just how much your body was affected right now you couldn't deny you loved it. It was no short on erotic, sexy. You hadn't felt so desired as right now. Your eyes struggled to remain open, gazing up at the man you least expected to ever be in this position with. And yet, he was a man oozing raw need and desperation, desperation for you. The thought had your mouth gaping as cute little moans passed through them with every thrust.

"Mmmf~ feel so full, daddy-" you whimpered. Aaron leaned down, his cock deeply thrusting into you now as he pressed his lips to yours again in a sloppy kiss.

"God, you don't know how much seeing your pretty body like this makes me wanna-" he groaned, holding back from finishing his sentence. Instead, pounding quicker into you as slick stuck to him from your oozing pussy. You pouted.

"Wanna what, daddy?"

"Fuck-" Aaron stared into your pleading eyes, a slight pang of guilt coursing through his chest. "Sweetheart, don't wanna make you uncomfortable- oh god!"

You clenched around him in retaliation, watching his head throw back in pleasure as your pussy squeezed his thick cock.

"Please daddy, wanna know what you were gonna say!" You goaded playfully, only for Aaron to move one of his hands to swipe the pad of his thumb over your poor clit. He smirked when you arched into his touch, a high pitched moan echoing through the room.

"Don't be bratty, little girl. You really wanna know? Fine." Lowering his mouth to your ear he hummed. "Looking at your body makes me wanna fucking full you up with my cum, breed you and make you mine."

Your eyes rolled back, back arching and pressing your torso to his. Holy shit. You missed the way his eyes widened slightly as you moved your hips to meet his thrusts.

"Daddy- oh fuck- daddy please! Need it!" You wailed. Aaron chuckled in disbelief.

"Sweet girl, you're more naughty than I realised. You like the idea of daddy filling you up with his cum over and over, do you?" He barked out a laugh as you babbled and nodded your head clumsily, only for his gaze to drift and fixate elsewhere in the room. You tilted your head slightly, brows pulling together.

"What is it?"

Aaron groaned quietly and returned his gaze to you.

"Looking at us in the mirror, sweetheart. You look fucking gorgeous, taking my cock so well." He praised, his eyes hooded. You breathed shakily.

"O-oh..."

He cupped your cheeks.

"You should see yourself, sweetheart. Fucking beautiful, so fucking sexy."

You swallowed thickly.

"Really?" Aaron stroked your cheek as he smiled, stilling his thrusts again.

"Come, sit on daddy's lap. Gonna show you how pretty you are riding my cock." He said. Before you could speak he maneuvered you in his strong arms to pull you upright, his cock still inside you. You held onto him tightly, his cock pressing into you at a new angle which felt oh so good. You shivered.

"Nervous..." you mumbled. Aaron kissed your forehead.

"It's okay, sweetheart. If you don't wanna look you don't have to."

"No, I.... I'm curious."

With a half smile, Aaron helped you pull upwards off his twitchy, glistening girth and you closed your eyes, facing away from him and feeling his hands guide you back down on his shaft. But as his arms hooked under your knees and pulled your thighs upwards and apart, you squealed and your eyes flew open.

Then, your eyes settled on the two figures reflected in front of you.

Sprawled out on muscular thighs, messy pussy flushed red as it was speared repeatedly, you stared at your reflection. For a moment you tensed up, hands blindly gripping Aaron's hips as your eyes trailed over your appearance. Gone was the forlorn, shameful version of yourself from earlier that night. In her place was you in the now; face flushed, hair wild and messy, body littered in pretty little lovebites. Your eyes settled on the rosy ring around your belly button, feeling butterflies flutter within you. You gasped out.

"Oh fuck."

Aaron responded with a thrust, you watched as your body reacted to the sensation. Your head fell back against his chest, releasing a long drawn-out moan as he began to pound into you again. You watched your belly jiggle, your thighs wobble and breasts bounce. God, maybe you could understand why he was so enamored. Grunting and moaning roughly into your ear, Aaron bounced you up and down on his big cock.

"See? You see why daddy wants to breed his pretty girl?" He growled, eyes following your hand as it met your clit to rapidly rub it.

"Ye-ah- yeah-"

"I want to hear you say it, sweetheart."

Your eyes rolled back, flicking your poor clit as the pleasure within began to build, closer and closer.

"F-fuck! I-I see it, daddy! See why daddy wants to-to breed me!" You sobbed as you met each thrust. He rumbled deeply, his balls slapping your fingers and clit, slightly stuttering as he neared his peak.

"Fucking beautiful, say you're fucking beautiful, (Y/n)!"

You wailed, body tensing as you felt pleasure brink on washing over you.

"I'm beautiful! Aaron, please! I'm beautiful!"

His grip tightened around your legs, holding you down on his cock and with a guttural moan in your ear you felt his cock throb and twitch, only to be drowned out by your own orgasm. You were barely aware of your pussy gushing, attempting to pull your hand away from your clit, only for Aaron to let go of one of your legs and cover your messy hand with his, forcing you to continue to stimulate your poor, sensitive bud. Only when you both felt completely spent did he let you go, carefully helping you to lay on your side and spooning you. He remained within your tightened walls, twitching every so often after the last drop of his hot, thick cum spilled out inside you. He wrapped his arm over you, his hand resting on the dip of your belly gently. Slowly, you felt your heart rate level out again, just as Aaron's did, and a content smile graced your tired face. In the mirror, you gazed at your sideways reflection, Aaron propped up on his arm so he could smile at you in the glass.

"Was that.... I hope that was okay, sweetheart." He said softly, thumb rubbing a gentle circle around your belly button. You giggled sleepily.

"Aaron, you literally made me cum three times in one session. No one's ever made me cum even once, let alone three times."

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly before pressing a kiss to your head.

"I'll happily do it again, and again."

You squeaked, feeling him twitch inside you when you wiggled in his grasp and you giggled again.

"Shush! You're cheesy!"

"Only because it's you."

When the both of you were eventually cleaned up, the sheets changed and the two of you curled up together again, you pressed a light kiss to his lips.

"Thank you." You mumbled sleepily.

"Mhm? What for?"

Aaron watched you snuggle closer into his chest with a shy smile.

"You made me feel beautiful."

Returning a gentle kiss, Aaron pulled you to lay on top of him.

"Because you are beautiful, (Y/n). And I'll make sure you remember it and believe it."

And that suited you just fine.

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

I did it!! I finally finished it! I really hope you all enjoyed and I thank you all for reading!! Special shoutout to my beloved @criminalskies for cheering me on and reading some of this for me 🥰💖🥨

Taglist: @criminalskies @modern-mermaid @aaronhotchnersgirlfriend @aaronhotchswife @emptybagofchips77 @crimeshowjunkie @igotanidea @gogococopuffs @prentissesredtanktop @howabouticallyou @lalalove-56 @constantwritingblock @boredelle @powerlvr25 @aad1993 @idkbubs @mrs-ssa-hotch @jesuisbenny @nplumb22 @supercriminalbean @elijahmikaelsonbitch @wowzabowza69 @frostingway @simpingfortoomanypeople @spenciesprincess @creepysweetie @bruhhvv @regulus-black-223048 @brasspistol @0nex-is-dead0 @livingdeadmak @myescapefromthislife @sebastiansstanswhore @bumblebea-xo @hangmandruigandmav @sareim123122 @magical-spit

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