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prettyboykatsuki · 3 years

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♡ GENSHIN IMPACT + HOW LOVE FINDS THEM ♡

➳ ft. kaeya, diluc, zhongli, tartaglia

➳ tags ;; tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, alcohol as a coping mechanism, a little angst but happy endings always, extreme kaeya bias ngl, spoilers for kaeyas story, nonsexual nudity, gn!reader

➳ a/n ;; first time writing for genshin so if the characterization is funky.. my fault

➳ summary ;; genshin impact characters and how i think love finds them when they find you

ZHONG-LI

Sometimes, he admits to himself, it feels forbidden to love you.

When love finds him, it is on the stairway of a small cottage, tucked into a corner of Liyue. It is quiet and unassuming, more importantly shared. A place you’ve decided to spend hefty mora on to live in.

There’s a backyard and a space for a garden and there are sweet flowers that always seem to regrow after you pick them. On the walls are weapons and hunting gear but in the drawers are spare clothes and change. It’s got two stories but it’s not big. It’s a home, still.

You’ve invited him inside, an adopted street-cat at your feet as you make dinner. Zhong-li is a working man, but he spends his days off here. You are an adventurer, strong with a big heart and bigger dreams. Your silhouette makes up all the shadows that dance on the wall and you sway to the beat of a soundless song. A smile makes the corners of your lips twitch up and you stir the pot of whatever you're making with boundless enthusiasm.

Zhong-li would not wish godliness on anyone. He thinks about it often. Where Rex Lapis ends and where the human, the mortal Zhong-li starts is a blurred line. Humanity is a grieving thing. People live and are happy and then they pass and it is the only thing someone can guarantee. You will be born into the world tearful but you will pass silently - like a wind.

Godliness means little is forbidden to you. Reality is something you fumble with in your clumsy hands and hope you can get right and humanity is a grieving thing. Always in that order. He knows there is no such thing as love that is truly forbidden - feelings like love and sadness and joy are things that cannot be settled by contracts or understood. They simply exist as if they are their own religion.

Zhong-li watches you pick up a white furred cat and let it’s nose rest against yours for a brief moment. You hug it and sing to it like it is a child and when you’re done, you let it fondly nudge against your legs.

“Stop being bad and let me cook dinner,” you’ll say, like it knows. And maybe it does - Zhong-li thinks to himself that it might. It prances off and sleeps in the basket you’ve bought, covered in blankets and linens. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes dancing down your silhouette.

There is something remarkably human about love. Perhaps love is the one thing gods cannot truly get their hands on. This greed, this loneliness, this tender feeling - so soft it might fall apart in his hands. In all of his years of living, he likes to believe he has known love. For his companions and for his people.

But this affection that soaks his bones, greedy and aching to be cared for, must be something only a human could get their hands on. He thinks he could only love you like this with his mortal body, his beating heart and dry mouth. With golden eyes that blink at you, curious to know what you’ll do or say next. If humanity is grieving, perhaps love is acceptance. Reconciliation. Maybe the reason no human complains about a short life is because they, at least once, have loved.

He thinks he understands it briefly. If redoing everything meant he couldn’t be with you, even once, he would keep it all the same. What a sentiment. He smiles at you as you dance and the sunlight hits the bare skin of your thighs, buried in the expanse of your skin. He longs to be so close to you too.

Remembering he can choose to be so close to you. That he can act upon this insatiable desire to be loved. It feels forbidden and unreachable.

But it isn’t.

He holds out his hand to you and you pause, tilting your head before taking it. He stands and wraps his arms around your waist and stares down at you with so much affection you falter. His lips press against the crown of your head. You’re warm and real.

When love finds him, it is just like this. Under the setting sun of Teyvat, harbored in his mortal body.

TARTAGLIA

You never wrap his wounds with care.

The process is rough and not very quick. It must be comfortable for you to put your hands on him because you never seem to show him any mercy. He’ll enter your quarters with something like a wince. A wound - red and bleeding in his shoulder. He’s got his blazer dragged down his biceps, an uneasiness on his face as he drops into the room. You’re clearly busy doing something, but that’s never stopped him before.

Wordlessly, he drops himself into the chair to the left of the little table in your room. He sits in it before dropping his head back, looking at you upside down. A frown etched into your features, eyes low and exasperated. You give him a look of discontent that he returns with a shit-eating grin. His heart stutters when you stand but he says it’s blood loss. You shut your book and place it on your bedside table.

Underneath your bed is the first aid kit, which you grab - swift like ocean waves. He scoots back until he’s facing you. You stare down at him for a long while, brow furrowing. He gives you a dizzying smile.

“You’re staring,” ― he proclaims, brunette hairs sticking to sweaty skin ― “Do you like the view?”

You ignore him. Instead, you place your first aid kit with a slam onto the table and rummage through it. Nimble fingers quickly take out clear vials of alcohol, bandages, a pair of small scissors and some creams of your own making. He thinks you’re brilliant and he wants to tell you as much but the words feel too unruly, too soft spoken from his mouth. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes so forlorn by your lack of attention that you speak.

It’s a sigh first like the wave of a white flag.

“Take your shirt off,”

“Take me for dinner first at least,”

You give him an unimpressed look.

He replies by sliding his shirt off his shoulders with a little grunt. Worry plasters itself all over your face and you don’t make any attempt to hide it. He watches as you walk towards the opposite end of the room - grabbing a towel and a bowl of water. You clean the wound by pressing on it, even though it seems like the blood has dried. It’s rough - you’re rough with him. A sharp inhale of air makes its way through his teeth.

You don’t apologize, nor do you want to. He watches as you clean the blood off and then inspect the wound for a long while. Afterwards, you mumble underneath your breath, speaking mostly to yourself than to him.

“No stitches needed.. that’s good,”

You sound so relieved his heart aches. There’s a brief moment of silence where neither of you know what to say and Tartaglia stares at you with soft eyes. There is always this longing feeling. A constancy to his need for your touch that brings him to his knees, weakens his resolve until he’s stumbling to your bedroom instead of going to see a doctor or a god. He needs you before he needs forgiveness or life. For him, loving you is an act one can only describe as selfish

He knows this because he still comes to you like this, body bruised and battered. When your worry filled eyes look over his skin, he feels like a second rain has come. Your concern is it’s own addiction, intoxicated by it. It is selfish to want you to worry, even more so to make sure of it.

But how else can he hold your love if not to make you look at it? How else can he know love if it’s not in the furrow of your brow or the way you push him so hard. When you get angry for him and at him. What is love if not a violence? If not teeth in the nape of his neck or your fingers on his bruises?

You rub alcohol in his wounds to clean them before taking your fingers and dipping them into a cream. It smells like mint, making his eyes water. You do this step with care, running your hands over fierce marks and scars with heartbreak written all over your eyes.

Love must be a violence. It must be - this stinging feeling in the way you look at him like he is a dead man walking. Love must be a hurricane that rips through him. A storm, an uncentered and reckless devotion. He thinks, even if it was your hands who gave him this wound, he would ask you again to heal it.

Tears spill at your lashes. He softens, smiles.

“C’mere”

You relent, give in. Exhaustion settling in your bones you let yourself be wrapped into his arms. He holds you to him, lets you be frustrated with him. He is too, would you know?

Love finds him like this, in your room. Begging you to look at him, getting drunk off the taste of your devotion. You squeeze his heart in your palms and he lets you. He would let you a hundred times over.

KAEYA

Sobriety is a fragile thing.

It’s not that he doesn’t like being sober, but he spends most of his time around liquor. It’s comforting - the smell, the rush of heat - not scorching but warm, the dizziness. Kaeya doesn’t drink enough to have a drinking problem but more times than not, he wonders if there are answers at the bottom of a bottle. If maybe he chases the end of the pint, he can find answers on his own misery.

Sobriety is.. fragile in that way. So easily he could drink himself to sleep but he has duty and responsibility. A life to live and sins to atone for but the laundry list of them just keeps growing larger. Bigger than his dexterous hands can cover for. It’s not that he’s miserable or lonely, but there is this lingering hollowness in his chest.

On his fathers birthday, he sits on the rooftop and drinks. He takes about 3 days off, every year, just for this. He’ll sit on the rooftop of the tavern day of, legs swinging off the edge as the world becomes an array of color beneath him. His thumb is over the mouth of the wine bottle, and he moves it just to drink.

The sound of your voice doesn’t startle him, but it makes goosebumps appear on his skin. He’s clad in a thin white dress shirt and it prickles as the breezes brushes by him. His chest is warm as you drop yourself down next to him.

At first, all you do is sit silently. Leaning back on your palms, you watch the stars and constellations shimmer like they always do in Teyvat. He smells strongly of alcohol but it’s nothing to scrunch your nose at. He takes another drink. Unsure of how to handle his misery, his grief gracefully at all - he gives you a strained smile.

“Has someone come to join me in my demise,” ― his voice is raspy when he speaks but he doesn’t miss a bit ― “How apt,”

Wordlessly, you take the bottle from his hands. He’s about to argue with you to give it back but instead, he watches you take three long gulps before pouring the rest out. Shocked, he watches it drip down the tile and onto the concrete below.

“Why’re you...”

You don’t reply with words but instead, lay back and drag him down with you. He can’t help but wonder what you’re doing. He lays down anyway, back hitting the tile as he blinks.

“How long do you plan on living like this?”

There’s no hidden meaning to your words. They are straightforward and laced with nothing but honesty. It makes him choke back a sob, the way you ask. Without much left to give, he cracks a barren smile.

“What could you possibly mean?”

Normally, you’d laugh at his despair. At his attempt at nonchalance. But you don’t, turning to your side to look at him. You reach your hand out to rest on his chest and he grabs your hand, shutting his eyes. Tears pool at his lashes but he laughs anyways.

“Kaeya,” ― you say, rubbing his chest and scooting in close to him. He turns to face you, for real, for the first time ― “How long, Kaeya?”

He doesn’t sob. Doesn’t cry or let himself be hurt. He gives you a misty smile and laughs as tears falls horizontal on his cheeks. You can hear his heart rate, erratic but slow.

“When it feels like enough.. when I’m forgiven,” he tells you.

“Whose forgiveness will it take? Dilucs?”

He shakes his head, unsure. You press your hand onto his skin, golden even in the cold blue of night. His cheeks are in your palms, he shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. You sigh as you wrap an arm around his waist, loose. You bring his body to yours, letting your fingers rest in his scalp. In the nape of your neck, warm tears rolls down your shoulder. Your body is a safety like a brick house - like no wind or storm and disaster could ever take him from you. When he lets his cries turn into sobs, he mourns.

A life he doesn’t remember but atones for. The only family he ever had. For Kaeya, love finds him like this - grieving. A loneliness tearing him apart at the seams, frayed and long forgotten. Love comes to him while he is in tatters, offering itself to him.

“I forgive you, Kaeya,”― you repeat to him, over and over like an incantation ― “I forgive,”

This is how love finds him, in your arms. Forgiven

DILUC

He rests his head against your knee, body stiff after a long day. It’s a wordless evening - sky painted with a layer of pink and orange. It pours into the room in heavy waves, paints his pale skin with a warn shade of pink. His skin is warm from the heat as his shoulders slump in exhaustion.

You drag your fingers down his scalp before letting them slip beneath the hairtie that keeps his red hairs up. You drag it slowly, carefully down his back until it’s free. Red and unkempt - tangled from days out in the wilds. You give it a quick brush through, a quiet sigh leaving your lips.

There’s not a proper bathroom here - far out and away from the city. It’s an old house with an outhouse and dusty floors. After a particular difficult encounter with an Abyss Mage, you’d found refuge into the abandoned location. Without a bathroom, it would be hard to freshen up but you gave Diluc a playful half-grin.

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine,”

He thought you were kidding but now the two of you are out by the lake. And this is too intimate for two people who are really only supposed to be working together. It’s too gentle, the way your fingers comb through his red hairs and the little bottled shampoo you keep in your bag.

There’s something about the way you touch his scalp so careful that is too intimate. His shirt is somewhere inside, over the back of a chair. Pale skin that’s hot to the touch as your fingers work through each individual hair. A long, tired sigh leaves his mouth.

“So much hair,” ― your murmur under your breath. A blush turns him hot. His father was a good man.. affectionate and caring and proper. But this is different. Too much, even ― “But it looks good on you,”

You say it so easily. Just like how you touch him - unconcerned for what it means. For Diluc, the idea of romantic love is something awkward. It is clumsy and confusing. Love, has always been something that hurts, more than it has healed.

But his head is resting on your thigh and you’re touching him like he’s precious. As if he’d break if you’re too rough with him. There is an intimacy in it. A well-meaning and innocent love in the shape of your fingers and how they drag against his skull.

“...You’re so forward,” he tsks. You give him a gentle laugh, running your hands down his jaw and tilting his head back so he’s facing up at you. Your hands cradle his face with delicacy, thumb dragging across his jaw bone and admiring him. You’re being sincere, but he can’t meet your eyes.

“You don’t like it?” you ask him. He grabs your hands and puts them away, huffing under his breath. He is childish like this, with you and only you. No longer the Dark Knight or Master Diluc. Easy to jealousy and even easier to agitation, the kind of man who the world stops for seems to crumble at your feet.

“No,” he replies, unusually dishonest.

You lean forward until your arms are wrapped around his barren shoulders. He can feel your skin against his, the way your heartbeat sounds, the fanning of breath of his throat. It’s too much but he can’t move as your arms wrap around his shoulders. You know too much, see too much. There is something so all-knowing about the way you love him. How you tease him.

Love is a worship when it finds him. You are the closest thing to heaven he has ever believed in - sheer bliss in the way your eyes linger on his silhouette. Diluc is a devout lover for you, a follower in your all-knowing religion of love. Of affection. He leans his head back again to look at you as you look down at him, smiling.

“You’re troublesome to love, you know that?” he admits to you. You bend down to meet his lips in a kiss. Chaste. Holy

A smile parts your lips that Dliuc finds himself mirroring.

“Of course I do,”

Love finds him like this, in your arms - skin to skin underneath the summer sun. Alone in the fields of tall-grass and wheat. Love finds him like a religion, so much devotion and prayer for you to keep him in your heart always. He knows he would do anything for you.

#genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #writing #formal #there must be mnat errors in this but its 5am and i am sleepy.. take it or leave it <3

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hxwks-gf · 3 years

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» 𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖎𝖉𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖎 𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚒𝚜. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚑 𝚛𝚘𝚑, 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜...

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚒-𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝖆/𝖓: 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗

The crescent moon that hung in the sky cast the darkened forest in hues of silvery shadow, silently watching over the feeble cluster of tents that were nestled in a small clearing within the trees. Her glow barely illuminated the scattered scouts that were awake and keeping watch, their fingers resting on the hilts of their swords while they listened to the wind.

There had been no activity for hours. In the morning they would pack up the wagons and return to headquarters, all of their dead in tow. The journey back could’ve been possible during the night if they hadn’t taken such a heavy hit in the field, so they opted for settling in and waiting until the first morning light when they had enough energy to protect themselves.

The fires were kept low as not to draw any unwanted attention to their makeshift camp, and from your perch up high in a tree, you silently listened to the sound of the sleeping squad snoring away in their tents. A few other scouts were strategically placed along the outskirts of the camp, also keeping watch alongside you. You lifted your face to the moon’s light and inhaled the cool, midnight breeze, smelling nothing threatening on it.

The whirring sound of ODM gear caught your attention. Mikasa appeared on the thick branch beside you, kneeling in a crouch.

“Your watch is up,” she said quietly, pushing her scarf down from her chin. “Get some rest.”

You nodded and stood up, wincing at your sore muscles. She took your place and trained her eyes on the horizon, allowing you to silently launch yourself from the tree and land gracefully on the forest floor, along with the rest of the scouts who were retiring from the first watch. You made your way over to your sleeping horse to dig around in the saddlebags for something to eat.

As you searched, your eyes briefly glanced up and made contact with your squad leader from across the clearing, the firelight dancing across his sharp features and those grey eyes that were watching you intently. Your hands stilled in your bag as you were scrutinized under his gaze.

He jerked his head in the direction of the darkened trees behind him, away from prying eyes and nosy scouts. You swallowed nervously and averted your gaze, staring into the meager contents of your saddlebag instead. A strange feeling of giddiness bubbled in your stomach as you closed the flap and gave your sleeping horse an affectionate pat on the rump, keeping your footsteps quiet as you started towards the treeline to follow the silent order.

“Psst,” a hushed voice came from your left.

You came to a stop and glanced over, digging your fingernails into your palms. Armin was sticking his head out from his tent, his exhausted blue eyes doing their best to focus on you.

“What?” you whispered back, knowing a certain someone wouldn’t wait around forever.

“Are you coming back from watch?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes,” you replied, risking a nervous glance toward the trees. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” he said through a yawn, and started to slink back into his tent. “Get some sleep, Y/N.”

“I will,” you lied, and resumed your path towards the edge of the camp and slipped into the darkness. God, where had he disappeared to? You knew he wasn’t much for waiting around, but if he had left already--

Strong hands grabbed you by the waist and suddenly you were spinning around and falling against his muscled chest. Before you could say anything, Levi was crushing his lips to yours in desperation, as if he had been starved of you for months. Which was definitely not true.

You pushed the thought away and kissed him back, your hands sliding up and wrapping around his neck, feeling the soft hair of his undercut beneath your fingers. God, you had missed this. His lips tasted of salt and smoke and midnight air, drowning every tired muscle of yours in warm, delicious shadow. His fingers were still gripping your waist as he pulled you down on top of him, his back leaning up against the thick trunk of the tree he had you hidden behind.

“What took you so long?” he muttered against your mouth, his hands disappearing from your waist to fiddle with the buckles of your pants.

“Sorry,” you said, taking his bottom lip in between your teeth and biting firmly. You heard his breath catch in his throat. “Armin saw me walking by.”

Levi grunted and helped push your pants down and out of the way, the cool night air a tantalizing shock on your bared core. His fingertips trailed along your naked legs until they came to his own belt buckle, and now it was your turn to help him out of his uniform. It was only the pants with the two of you--you were always too impatient to worry about any other pieces of clothing. Just the ones that were in the way.

As his pants were shimmied down his hips, you heard the sound of his length springing free and slapping against his navel. Your nostrils flared in desire.

“Come here,” he growled, mindful to keep himself quiet as not to be discovered by the rest of the squad. Although, you were pretty sure they already knew Levi was fucking you on the regular.

It was hard to see in the dark without the light of the fires, but you could feel him pumping his cock to ready himself for you. He guided your hips up and over to rest just above the glistening tip, a bead of silver precum swiping along your entrance. You hovered over it with a devilish grin, one you knew he couldn’t see, and marveled at the feeling of his dick twitching against you with anticipation.

“Stop teasing, brat,” he said, breaking you out of your fun.

“Always so eager,” you simpered, reaching down and grasping his shaft. With ease, you guided it into your already soaking entrance and immediately bit back the sinful moan that wanted to echo through the forest as his entire length slid painfully slow along your walls. “Fuck.”

“Be quiet,” was all his reply. You could hear the struggle of keeping his own self quiet in the words, earning a satisfied sigh from you. As he bottomed out inside of you, he paused there, letting you adjust to his size, before slowly rocking his hips in tandem with yours.

This wasn’t unusual, meeting him out in the open after a particularly rough mission. You realized from the start that it was a release both of you needed. It was a way to cope, a way to make sure you got through another day. That’s all it was.

“Shit,” he quietly groaned, his hands tightening at your hips as you continued to languidly ride his cock.

“Be quiet,” you mocked, and you could feel his glare burning a hole in your face. He responded by wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you tighter against his torso, increasing the pace of his thrusting hips and hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you. “Oh, fuck, Levi--”

He said nothing, but clapped a hand over your open mouth to silence your oncoming moans as he fucked you relentlessly on the forest floor.

That warmth that had blossomed in your core was a raging bonfire now, growing hotter and hotter with every single thrust. He kept his hand against your mouth, even when you made those delicious, muffled moans against his fingers that he loved so much. His breathing turned ragged, his pace was getting sloppy. Neither of you could ever last very long with each other.

“F-fuck,” he muttered, his hand disappearing from your mouth and returning to your hip.

You did your best to keep yourself under control, but at the growing orgasm in your core, it was getting increasingly difficult not to let the whole forest know how good his cock felt inside of you. You tipped your head back in ecstasy, eyes fluttering open to look up at the moonlit canopy of leaves above you, the stars that littered the night sky peeking through.

It was almost romantic. You looked down at Levi beneath you, your eyes having been adjusted to the dark, and seeing his equally pleasured expression as he fucked you. He was so beautiful. Those grey eyes, that dark hair, the stoic and firm authority that had originally piqued your interest in him. You always wanted to look into those eyes. You wanted to swim in the expanse of his mind, learn every little detail that hid in the crevices of his brain, protect him from this cruel and fucked up world because you knew it had done enough to permanently screw him up. You hated anything and everything that had ever wronged him.

Jesus, did you love him?

Your hips faltered at the invasive thought and you stopped matching his pace altogether.

“Why did you stop?” he said, voice low. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” you whispered, your hands still splayed out across his chest and stomach. His cock twitched inside of you, silently begging for you to start moving again, but he kept his focus trained on your face.

“Stop lying.” Levi reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb over your trembling bottom lip. “We can stop, if that’s what you’d like.”

“No,” you sighed, closing your eyes. “It’s not that, I just...I just realized something. Something that could potentially screw our little arrangement up.”

He simply watched you with those grey eyes, saying nothing. Damn him.

“I know we said this was just a means of catharsis,” you started, still keeping your voice at a whisper. “A way to escape from this fucked up life, but...I want more. More from you.”

“More?”

You nodded and swallowed nervously. “I care about you, Levi.”

He was silent for a long, painful moment, until a low chuckle reverberated from his chest. His hands settled against your hips again, thumbs drawing idle circles against them. “So what does that mean?”

“It means I don’t want you to fuck me in the dirt as much anymore,” you snapped, unable to keep your voice down. “I want to spend nights with you in your tent, or your bed. I want to have morning tea with you, for fuck’s sake. I’ve spent all these nights chasing after something I didn’t know I wanted until I realized there will come a time where I won’t be able to have it anymore, and then I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“It’s you,” you whispered shakily, looking down at him. “It’s always been you.”

Levi reached up again and gently pulled your face down to his, to where he kissed you deeply, still tasting of salt and midnight. This kiss was different...different from the ones you had previously shared in secret, all tongue and teeth and urgency. This was sweeter. Slower. He held your chin in place as he kissed you, while his other hand cupped the back of your head. When he finally let you come up for air, he leaned back against the tree trunk with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“What does that mean?” you asked, a hand going to touch your swollen lips.

“For someone so smart, you sure are dense,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You know what it means, brat.”

It was enough. A small, shy smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Before you could say anything else, his hands squeezed your hips.

“Now,” he growled, tilting his chin up. “Are you going to let me fuck you, or not?”

There was nothing else to say.

#y'all im so sorry for always posting self indulgent shit #but i needed this #i love him so much man #ok bye #levi ackerman #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman imagine #captain levi #captain levi smut #captain levi fluff #captain levi imagine #attack on titan #attack on titan smut #attack on titan fluff #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin fanart #shingeki no kyoujin levi #shingeki no kyoujin imagine

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angelguk · 3 years

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this prompt: jock!jaykay and namjoon running into each other at a party or sth and namjoon being like ‘you finally grow a pair and ask oc out yet?’ and jks just like 😧 and joons like ‘seriously dude? 😑 i’ve been waiting for you to ask her out since before i even dated her’. but make it more angst!!! namjoon is kind of an asshole here. there’s smoking, drinking and jk getting a brief lapdance. oc is a LIAR. jaykay deep in his feels tbh. roughly 1.5k. listen to all i wanted by paramore

Jeongguk's crossed too many paths with people during his life to remember every face his eyes have ever seen. But there’s one he will never forget, no matter how hard he tries to scrub the memory from his brain, ignore the muted forlorn twang in his heart, the low ache that ebbs from the base of his skull. It sparks up again despite years of never seeing the individual who caused the problem. How could he forget those broad shoulders? The sharp analytic eyes. The man whom you’d attached yourself too for a good chunk of your joint high school careers. It surprises him, honestly, because Jeongguk’s got a girl grinding on his lap but his eyes are locked on Namjoon, ears trailing after the sound of his deep laugh instead of the sweet nothings Nayeon (or Naeun, or Nayoung — he can’t fucking remember) is murmuring into the hollow of his neck.

For one, he’s fucked out of his mind. Taehyung probably laced the joint; he liked doing that shit even when it messed up Jeongguk’s trip. He should have known not to take a hit, but he was already ten shots in and nothing sounded better than smoke in his lungs. Maybe not nothing. This girl feels good in his hands, responds to the lightest of his touches, moans in his ear like she wants him to fuck her.

He could. He has before. Probably. She knows exactly where to nip his neck for this to have not been a repeat hook-up. But in the haze of the low living room lights and the spinning headiness of the drinks he’d downed, he couldn’t make out her face. It’d shift and twist and turn into an image that almost makes him want to cry because, at some angles, when the shadows form right, he thinks he can see your face. It could be you in his lap, you whimpering whenever your crotches aligned just right, you clinging to him like the sun hangs onto the evening sky.

But it’s not.

And for some unfathomable reason, Jeongguk’s ruined mind recognises that sucks.

Because it should be you.

He doesn’t know how he gets that girl off. Probably some lie that he needed to pee. In reality, he needed to breathe, because those thoughts surface with malicious intent, purposefully drawing him closer to deep dangerous waters. If he’s not careful he could easily drown, suffocated by desires he can’t even string together into a comprehensible sentence.

The night air hits sharp, seeping through his loose shirt. It grounds him enough for his steps to stabilise, feet following a slow trudge to the edge of the balcony. He doesn’t even know whose house this is. Somebody he’s probably never met honestly. But he wanted you to come. Everyone was coming out tonight. Even your elusive roommate Sohee was somewhere in some bathroom with a head between her thighs. You probably are doing that too, to be far. Even the name evokes bile from his throat, bitter and violent, full of jealousy he’d never really learnt to contain.

Lee Eunwoo. A graphic design major. Slightly taller than Jeongguk (only when Jeongguk is having a bad day) and somehow he can make you giggle like he’s getting paid for it.

You’d mentioned it so softly that Jeongguk didn’t even hear it at first. But then your cheeks had heated up, that stupid sparkle melting through your gaze. You wanted to spend the night with him, take advantage of an empty apartment, perhaps watch a movie or two.

It's obvious that you were going to sleep with him. The thought itself irked something visceral inside of Jeongguk. But he’d given you an easy smile, laughed at the modesty of your demeanour and wished you well with a tight hug. The same low buzzing of frustration that he got when you were with Namjoon was already waning through his system as he completed his sets at the gym with more force than needed.

Which is why he can’t help but release a bitter laugh into the night. Ironically, Namjoon was here while you were getting your back blown out by another idiotic guy Jeongguk did not like.

“What’s so funny?”

He can’t spin around to face him, Jeongguk knows he’ll throw up if he does. But he can’t forget a timbre like that. Not when you nearly wrote a poem about how wonderful Kim Namjoon’s voice was. A poem which you recited to Jeongguk before he begged you to rip it to shreds and never talk about again.

(Subconsciously Jeongguk had adopted a deeper voice whenever he talked to you since then. It came out more when he was drunk, but it’s not like you paid any attention anyway).

“Nothing,” he returns. He hopes Namjoon gets the hint and goes away. The bastard joins him on the balcony instead.

“No, seriously, what’s funny? You look like you’ve got a lot going on in your head.” Namjoon was always so concerned in talking about emotions and putting your feelings into words. It’s one of the reasons why you loved him and probably reason one thousand why Jeongguk hated him.

“Hello to you too, Kim Namjoon. Don’t you think we should catch up on the pleasantries before you start psychoanalysing me?” He retorts, forcing his gaze onto the other man. Namjoon looks good; golden skin, broad shoulders and his hair cropped short. There’s an ease to him that Jeongguk could never replicate no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps that’s what happens when you’re born sure of yourself. Like Namjoon was.

The laugh he receives is empty. Namjoon is busy rifling through his pockets, fingers emerging with a joint and a lighter. “Nice to see you too, Jeon. Didn’t think I’d ever bump into you after high school but the universe works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?” The jay slips between his lips, followed by a swift flick of the lighter before a deep inhale that Jeongguk swears he feels in his lungs. The smoke floats out pretty, fading into wisps of nothing but grey as the breeze sweeps it away. Namjoon offers it cordially, a simple raise of his defined eyebrows and even though Jeongguk’s legs are melting through the floor he can’t say no.

“You sure?” The doubt tinting his tone makes him take it. His overestimation in his maintenance capabilities leads to a rather rough inhale, and an even worse hacking cough that he wants to be mortified at because Namjoon fucking laughs. But he can’t when the world feels like air in his fingertips, slowly slipping away. Almost like you feel at times.

“You should stop taking the shit Taehyung rolls. I don’t even know what he slips in there but last time I smoked with him I thought I was on Mars.”

“Taehyung offers, I never ask.”

“You never ask for anything to be frank.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Namjoon returns, smoke falling from his lips.

“Yeah, I fucking did. I was giving you the chance to pretend you didn’t say it.” Jeongguk’s all in his space in an instant, the itch to smash Namjoon’s face tingling beneath his skin. Namjoon doesn’t even back up, gracing Jeongguk with a quizzical look that leaves him bewildered. “You don’t fucking know me—"

“I do.” There’s a scoff that riles him up even further. Namjoon’s still incredibly unbothered as he talks. “You think being Y/N’s boyfriend I didn’t hear everything and anything about you? Jeongguk this! Jeongguk that! You know that’s the reason we broke up, right?”

That halts him, a lag in his brain as he attempts to process the words leaving Namjoon’s mouth. The older man just stares at him, the sigh that drifts in between them bordering on pity.

“She didn’t tell you that, did she? Y/N lies about a lot more things than you think, Jeon. Where is she by the way? I’ve seen all her friends but I haven’t seen her.”

“Why would you know her friends?” It’s a stupid question but in the jumble of his thoughts it’s the only thing his mind is capable of plucking out. A question that doesn’t leave him bare and vulnerable like the other one’s racing through his head.

“We don’t have each other blocked on everything. Sometimes we talk,” Namjoon supplies easily. And just like that Jeongguk crumbles. He’s not even aware of it but the first crack spears deep enough to leave the rest of him unstable, wavering as he falters away from Namjoon. You never told him any of this. As far as Jeongguk knew you ended the relationship hating him (a thought that briefly consoled Jeongguk if he’s being truthful). But apparently, you felt comfortable enough to share your life with the person Jeongguk thought hurt you the most.

“Man, fuck you.” It’s a release, to say it. Because honestly fuck Kim Namjoon. In the span of a few short sentences he’s tipped everything he’s ever been sure of upside-down, stomped on Jeongguk’s heart like it was bendable and ducked his head right into the ocean he was afraid of diving it, keeping it under until the water filled his lungs and Jeongguk ceased to function.

Namjoon shrugs, not even looking as Jeongguk stumbles back to the door. He needs to find you, ask how much of Namjoon’s words were true. He doesn’t care if Eunwoo is over he’ll kick him out if need be.

But then Namjoon opens his mouth one more time, the final nail in the coffin.

“You should have asked her out. I was waiting for you to it — she was probably waiting too.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #yeah yeah this is bad but um! i tired #sorry i took away the wholesome couple trope... i think jj oc and jk have shit to work out tbh #au: jock!jaykay #thank u for the prompt annonie!!#bts x reader #bts angst

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realcube · 3 years

Text

LEAVING MIDORIYA

part one (nsfw) | part two

tw// mentions of toxic relationships, drinking & mention of a bombing

honestly, if you were given enough time you probably could’ve figured it out on your own — without the assistance of a psychiatrist — but exactly one appointment later, you were left with the disheartening realisation that you weren’t having ‘bad dreams’ and the marks on your body weren’t inflicted by yourself during slumber. eventually, the fact set in that it was your sweet, gentle fiancée who was the cause of all these things.

this whole time, you were under the impression that you were the problem, that there was a malicious part of you that wanted to paint deku out to be some sort of villain; and now you were finally made aware that a villain is exactly what he is.

it was a hard conclusion to come to but the initial wave of relief you felt was enough to make you act on it quickly, as the more you waited around and let the fact sink in, the more you doubted whether or not to take action. but reasoning isn’t what you need right now, you just need to get away from him.

where will you go? you had no idea, but any where away from him is good enough.

midoriya didn’t even get enough time to try fill your head with even more lies. you came marching into the apartment with the intention of ignoring everything he says and simply pack your stuff so you can leave. no matter how much he screamed, begged or yelled, it was like trying to hold a conversation with a brick wall hence he eventually gave in, leaving you to collect your things in peace as there was clearly no way he was going to get through to you.

you left without another word — not even a goodbye — and you were sure to sneak your engagement ring out with you. although it made you sick to look at, realistically you might need the cash since as soon as you stepped outside your shared apartment with your shit in bags, you were officially homeless.

no need to worry though, you had arranged to stay the night at a friend’s house until tomorrow morning, then you could catch the train to your parent’s. from there, you’d stay with them until you manage to find a new apartment within your price range.

one problem; your friend just texted you saying that they have to retract their offer because their landlord doesn’t allow over two people to sleep in the same dorm, and they already have a roommate. very unfortunate but hey, what can you do? plus, they apologised and offered to pay for your hotel but you reassured them that their money wouldn’t be necessary.

now sitting outside your old apartment complex, scrolling through your phone looking for the nearest hotel. since both you and deku were well-paid pro-heroes and bought a penthouse in a rather affluent area, it was no surprise that most of the hotels that were reasonably close were from 4-5 stars.

although a 5-star hotel room for one night really wasn’t necessary, the post-breakup adrenaline was telling you otherwise. it also told you that treating yourself to a shopping spree, getting wine drunk at a bar and then shuffling back to the hotel with mcdonald’s take-out was a great idea!

those emotional discussions you had with complete strangers must’ve really gotten to you because when you opened your front camera to take some pictures, you immediately grimaced at the sight of your mascara staining your cheeks. you were lazing around in the hotel lobby surrounded by name brand gift bags — waiting for your room key — looking like that? how embarrassing.

quickly wiping away your tears, you put on a pair of designer sunglasses you brought earlier to shield your smudged eye-makeup from the world. not that you cared what anyone in this damn lobby thought of you anyway, you were only going to be here for one night, after that you would never see most of these people again. or at least, that is what you thought.

out of the corner of your eye, you saw flashing lights which prompted you to take out your earbuds but once you did, you instantly regretted it as all you heard was screaming and yelling from the entrance. looking up, you noticed an average-looking guy wearing a skull tank top resembling the fashion sense of a middle schooler, being followed by a mob of screaming fans, paparazzi and gossip channel reporters.

“dynamight! thank you for everything!”

“you deserve to be number one!”

“we are here at scene, pro-hero dynamight has just been seen entering what appears to be his five star accommodation, wearing his signature blac--”

the loud noises were suddenly muffled as the doorman shut the entrance behind him, leaving things just as they were, except now there was a muscular blond man encircled by bodyguards staring daggers at you.

in any other situation, you would’ve just tried your best to ignore him but some of that liquid courage was beginning to get to you, so your reaction was to snarl right back at him, yelling across the hall, “take a picture, why don’t ya? it’ll last longer.”

only upon processing your reply did the man finally snap out of his trance and storm up to, being hastily followed by his guards who looked as though they were ready to throw down at any given moment, so of course you cowered back in your seat, apologies waiting on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill until his face was hovering centimetres away from yours.

your throat ran dry at his unexpected action, your eyes scanning over his chiselled features through the tint of your glasses. in a turn of events, you were now the one speechlessly staring at him. then, a deep chuckle erupted from his throat, causing the shock to show on your expression.

“i knew i recognised you! you’re stupid deku’s girlfriend- fiancée or whatever; i saw the invite for your wedding in my mail and i just got a look at your face before i threw it away. small world.” the blond continued to laugh, talking to you as if you were an old friend of his despite the fact you’ve never seen him before in your life, “anyway, you like a hot fuckin’ mess. where’s deku?”

why was he talking to you so casually? and how dare he say that!

“first of all,” you started, peering over your glasses to gaze at his face without the rose tint but to no avail, you still had no idea who this man is. using the soles of your palm, you pushed him away by the shoulders as he was a bit too close for comfort, but that resulted in all his guard looking at you with murderous glints in their eyes. “deku and i broke up--”

“when?” he cut you off

“let me finish.” you glared at him, fixing your sunglasses, “we broke up this morning. secondly, who the fuck are you?”

the man looked like he was ready to burst out laughing once again until he had a visible realisation, “eh, well, we’ve never met before but i’m sure deku has told you about me. if not, you’ve probably seen me in the news; i saved around a thousa--”

“no, i’ve not watched the news for, like, the past six months.” this time, you cut him off with a mischievous smirk which you tried your best to conceal.

“bitch! let me fuckin’ finish!” he barked, then had a sudden change in demeanour as he let out a sigh, momentarily silent as he scanned the surrounding area, “i’m bakugo. kastuki.”

your reply of a blank stare spoke a thousand words.

“y’know, dynamight.”

who?

“the number two hero!”

nothing.

“the one who saved that whole airline from blowing up just a week ago! c’mon, it was all over the fuckin’ news!”

“you look like a hotter version of my old maths teacher. oh, and i’m (y/n) (l/n).” was the only verbal response he was able to get out of you, even after all his explaining.

“why do you i feel like you are sayin’ that just to piss me off?” he muttered to himself through gritted teeth, followed by a sharp inhale which you assumed was an attempt to calm himself down. his carnelian eyes darted around the room, halting once he raised his arm to view his watch. his brows knitted together as he read the time, forming a concentrated look which was short-lived as his face was quick to relax, emphasised by a slight shrug as if to say ‘i’ve got time’, before slumping down on the couch next to you.

“so why did you and shitty deku break up?”

“i may be a bit tipsy but i’m not just gonna tell that sorta stuff to a complete stranger.” each syllable felt like it had to be forced out one at a time, but you’d rather that than slur you speech as bakugo seemed like the type to poke fun at you for it.

“i just wanna know how badly he fucked up this time.” bakugo smirked, propping his elbow up on the back of the couch to turn and look at you, “eh, i don’t think we’ll be strangers for long.”

there was a certain purr in this voice which sent blood rushing to your cheeks as you never expect someone like him to come on so strong. not that you were complaining, i mean, being in his presence during a time like this felt like a gift from god but you weren’t going to let him know that. it’d only add to his already massive ego so you decided to ignore his suggestive behaviour, opting to show disinterest instead, “hm, you think?”

it was almost comical how fast bakugo’s cocky smirk fell into a frown. honestly, he wasn’t used to people that he flirts with rejecting him, considering that he rarely ever makes moves on anyone. so, now what did he do? due to the foreign nature of this situation, bakugo felt as though he was left with no choice but to bargain, since he’s far from a quitter, “oi, what that supposed to mean?”

you shrug.

bakugo clicked his tongue along with a roll of his eyes before he said, “how ‘bout this; i pay for your room tonight and in exchange we can get to know each other tomorrow.”

“i can pay for my own room though.”

bakugo deadpanned, he honestly thought he had won but apparently not. perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to hit on someone who had just gotten out of a relationship but whatever. “you’re impossible.” he spat, getting up from the couch and marching away, presumably to his room.

he tried to brush off the encounter like it never happened, reassuring himself that he didn’t have to think much of it as he could get with anyone else. plus, you’d probably come crawling back to him, begging to fuck once you get over deku anyway.

and he was half right.

eventually, you came to the realisation that both you and bakugo have one thing in common — a hatred for deku. and as it turns out, hatred provides a good groundwork for friendship.

#deku angst #izuku angst #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x y/n #midoriya angst #👾angst #i'll probably have to make a part 4 for this to make sense

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nalgenewhore · 3 years

Text

ends of the earth

elide x lorcan, modern au/band au (catfish and the bottlemen), light angst with a happy ending, word count: 5197

He’d been called to place five minutes ago, but Lorcan was still in the dressing room, his phone tight in his grasp.

Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

“Hey, it’s Elide, leave a message!”

Gods-damn it.

He clenched his jaw as the automated voice told him to speak after the beep, his knee bouncing up and down. Stealing one last glance at the door, like someone would burst through it and drag him away before he could say what he needed to, Lorcan waited anxiously.

Beep.

“Hey, Lee, it’s me. I, um, I don’t have that long ‘cause I was supposed to be in my place… five minutes ago, but I just wanted to say that…” Lorcan trailed, narrowing his eyes as he tried to order his thoughts. “I’m sorry that I’ve been gone so long.” His knee bounced again, uncontrollably. “I really miss you. Just call me back, please. I love you, sweetheart. Forever.”

With that, Lorcan hung up and shoved his phone into his bag before standing and grabbing his electric guitar from its velvet-lined case. He didn’t let any of the attendants touch it, or anyone else – besides Elide – for that matter.

He carried it out of the room with him, ducking his head as he moved through the backstage area to the left wing of the stage, where the rest of his band was waiting. Fenrys saw him first and clapped his hands together slowly, drawling, “Well, boys, aren’t we blessed? Our—”

“Can you not? For one fucking day?” Lorcan snapped, not having any of the energy he usually had to deal with his drummer’s mouth. Fenrys’ eyes widened and he all but froze, shocked by Lorcan’s response. The others quieted as well, all looking at Lorcan. He scowled and slipped the strap of his instrument over his head, tersely adjusting it so that it hung low over his hips.

When his bandmates were all still silent, he looked up, shame flooding through. “Fen, I’m- I’m sorry. It was just… stuff with ‘lide.”

“‘s’ok,” Fenrys said, shrugging. He grinned wildly, “I was being a shit.”

Lorcan nodded once in thanks or acknowledgement of Fenrys’ unsaid forgiveness, he wasn’t sure which it was. He sat down on some ledge, mindlessly tuning his guitar as they waited for the opening band to wrap their set up so that they could play.

Someone sat down next to him. Without looking, Lorcan knew that it was Rowan. The bassist was the most level-headed of them all and the only one with enough emotional maturity to talk to Lorcan about the growing issues between him and his girl. Rowan bumped his shoulder into Lorcan’s. “You, ah… feel like… talking ‘bout it?”

Lorcan snorted and chuckled lowly, “You know, not even a ‘lil bit, Ro.” He lifted his head and rolled his eyes at Rowan’s pointed look. “Hellas below, man, it’s just… we aren’t breaking up.” Neither of them wanted that, that Lorcan knew. “The touring’s a lot for both of us. It’s a lot for all of us,” he added, glancing at the rest of the band, who were all lazing on their behinds.

Rowan nodded, “Yeah. It is.” His shoulders slumped, straining against his loose cotton shirt, which was only three-quarters of the way buttoned. “You know that if you need to talk, I’m here, right?”

The lead singer just barely managed to stop his second eye-roll and nodded, lips tight. “Mm-hm. I know.”

Luckily, just then, the backstage lights flashed and Lorcan was spared from further needling. Someone came by as their opening band filed off of the stage, looking high off the ecstasy that was performing in front of a live crowd, and handed Lorcan, Rowan, Vaughan, Fenrys, and Connall their earpieces.

Lorcan fit his in his left ear, as he had a new double conch piercing in the right, and tucked his necklace beneath the collar of his faded t-shirt. It was a simple piece of jewellery, the only one he never took off. The chain was gold and from it dangled a viper pendant, twin to the same piece that hung from Elide’s slim throat.

Fenrys and Connall were the first to walk on, one to the drumset and the other to the keyboard. They shouted back at the crowd, always ones to rile them up and feed off of the crowd’s energy.

Next was Vaughan, the backup guitarist, who wore a prideful smirk, his dark eyes scanning seductively over the mass of fans. Lorcan shook his head at his cousin and Rowan strolled out, plucking absentmindedly at his bass. He waved after he found his position behind one of the three microphones. Vaughan was behind the other, playing a riff on his guitar, his fingers sliding up and down the fretboard.

Lorcan waited a moment more, his eyes closed for a fleeting second. When he opened them, he stepped out, the lights immediately blinding and heavy on him. The cheers and screams from the sea of people were deafening, but he was used to it.

He put on a golden grin, one corner of his lips higher than the other. Elide always liked to kiss him when he was smiling like this, pressing her round and sweet lips against the corner, her fingertips resting on his jawline.

The smile faltered for a second. The very next, it was as though he’d glitched, pasting that same smile back on. Lorcan lifted one hand to pull the microphone closer to him, “Evening, Varese. How we all doing? Good?” They roared back and he chuckled, nodding his head, “Alright, alright, no need to scream and shout. That’s our job.” Lorcan glanced at the boys one by one, nodding when they nodded at him.

“Let’s kick it!” Fenrys shouted, tapping his drumsticks together before he launched into song.

Lorcan heard the music in his earpiece and played his guitar as he began to sing, “You’re simpatico… and of all the lift-homes and all the mixed feelings, you’re cuts above…”

He knew that the crowd was singing along, but he couldn’t discern the lyrics that ripped from their throats.

“And I’d co-o-o-me… you can leather me with your li-i-i-ips…”

Fenrys slammed down against his drums and Lorcan sang roughly into the mic, his eyes closed, “I’ve got to give it to you – you give me problems! When you are not in the mood…”

One song bled into the next and into the next until they reached the track they hadn’t put on the album. Lorcan had written it days ago, when they’d been flying to the next city. The minute they’d touched down, the whole band was asking their manager to take them to the nearest studio to record and perfect it.

Unlike their other songs, this one was Lorcan’s only. Only he had written the lyrics, only he had figured out the chords. The boys had just known how badly he needed this, so they’d agreed without question, without hesitation.

“This next song’s…” Lorcan started, his heart thumping against his ribcage, “about a very, very special girl. My favourite girl in the whole world, really.” And I hope she hears this. He looked back at the others and nodded, his lips set in a grim line.

He plucked at his guitar, leaning into the mic, “I got misled, mistook, discard… anything that I said. See, I’m not the type to call you up drunk, but I got some lies to tell.”

Fenrys joined in gently, as did Connall. Still, it was only Lorcan who sang, “She hates her work, but loves to flirt.” When he’d first met Elide, they’d both been working at the same recording studio. People had told him she flirted with everyone, so he hadn’t known that she was even interested until one night she’d taken his face in her hands and kissed him in plain sight of all their coworkers, flipping them off as she did so. “It’s a shame she don’t work with me.

“She gets uptight, don’t like when I’m gone, but she won’t let on to me,” he continued, hating the fact that Elide was pulling away from him and hating the fact that he didn’t know how deeply his absence affected her.

Lorcan stepped back as they played up to the chorus, playing a little harder and letting a little more grunge bleed into the notes. He moved back to the mic, singing louder as the rest of the band started to play, “I said I’m only looking out for you, she said it’s obvious that’s a li-i-ie… I only ever put out for you, you know it’s obvious you don’t try.”

He didn’t hear the cheers of the crowd, ignored them as they shouted his name and screamed. This wasn’t for them – it was for Elide. All Lorcan could do was play hard enough so that maybe she could hear, never mind that she was an ocean away.

Lorcan let go of his guitar, letting Vaughan take the lead when he took the mic, “I got mistook and took dissent, and it’s not as if you didn’t no-otice.” He leaned forward, “But I try to steer you clear of this place and I wound up with nothing to show for it!”

He stood up again, pushing his guitar around his back, “You never got that from me. She said you never got that from me, she said you never got that from me…

“Oh, but I said you got that look from me-e,” his throat felt raw. With the speakers behind him, Lorcan could hardly hear himself. As the song built back up to the chorus, Lorcan took his guitar back in hand and strummed aggressively, his head moving back and forth with the beat.

“I said I’m only looking out for you, she said it’s obvious that’s a li-i-ie, I only ever put out for you, you know it’s obvious you don’t try.” Lorcan inhaled sharply, “I said I’m only looking out for you, she said it’s obvious that’s a li-i-ie, I only ever put out for you, you know it’s obvious you don’t try!”

He walked backwards a few paces for his guitar solo, only looking at the ‘E’ carved into his instrument, right where the neck connected to the body. Tears burned his eyes and Lorcan blinked them away, tensing his jaw.

Then, he pulled the microphone towards him and let go of his instrument. As he sang the last lines, one hand pushed his long hair back, “I got misled, mistook, discard… anything that I said. See, I’m not the type to call you up drunk, but I’ve got some lies to tell…”

<3<3<3

Elide bit her thumbnail as the phone line droned on. Her hands shook and she paced back and forth in front of their living room window. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Please, please, please pick up.

She’d watched Lorcan’s show through a livestream from somebody in the crowd. It’d been shaky and grainy, the audio blown, but she’d heard the song and more importantly, what Lorcan had said before it.

The line clicked, “Sweetheart?”

“Hi,” she breathed, her voice airy. Elide cleared her throat, “H-hi. It’s me.”

Lorcan chuckled. He sounded almost… relieved. “I know, I just- I just didn’t… know if you were going to call.”

Her heart sank slightly and she opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. Elide knew that there was a… there was a rift between them and she hadn’t made it easy for him to fix it. He doesn’t make it easy to love him, either. “I watched your show, baby. That new song…” she trailed off, not sure how to force the words out.

“Did… do you not like it?” he asked, sounding nervous.

“No! No, I loved it,” Elide said, sinking onto the windowsill and lifting her foot to rest her heel against the ledge. The hem of her boyfriend’s shirt bunched around the tops of her thighs and she fingered the holes dotting the edge. “It was great, Lor, really.” Elide looked down, her cheeks heating despite the fact that she was alone and he couldn’t see her. “Is it about me?”

“Lee… everything I write is about you,” he mumbled. “It’s all for you. I- I…” Lorcan exhaled. “Just give me a minute, won’t you? I can move somewhere else and we can FaceTime?”

She grinned and nodded, “Yeah, I’d like that. I miss seeing your face.”

“I miss seeing you too,” Lorcan murmured. “Ok, I’ll call you back, alright?”

“Ok. And I love you too. Always.”

Lorcan clicked his tongue lightly, teasingly saying, “You’re such a sap.”

Elide rolled her eyes, “Good-bye.”

He was laughing as he hung up and Elide got to her feet, prancing over to their bedroom. It was late and she knew she most likely fall asleep while talking to him. It had been hard to sleep without him next to her.

Elide had just settled in when her phone rang again, this time with a FaceTime call from Lorcan. She pressed the green icon and grinned at her screen as the call connected, her boyfriend’s face coming into focus, even if it was a little grainy. “Hi, baby.”

Lorcan’s smile was lopsided, her favourite smile of his. “Hey, sweetheart.” He was in his hotel bed, one hand tucked behind him, his head cradled by his tattoo-covered bicep. “How’re ya doing?”

“I’m ok,” she said, propping her phone against the headboard and cushioning her chin with a fluffy pillow. “I went to the studio today and worked on a new song.”

“Really? D’you reckon it’s any good?”

Elide shrugged, “Not sure yet. It doesn’t have that… it doesn’t have that thing, you know?”

Lorcan nodded, “Yeah, I know.”

For a moment, neither of them knew what to say, so they didn’t say anything.

Then, they both opened their mouths to talk at the same time. “I wanted to—” “We should– oh, you- you can go.”

Elide nodded, trying to summon courage she wasn’t sure that she had. “I’m… I wanted to talk. About you being gone.” Lorcan dipped his chin, his face grave as he encouraged her on. Tears sprung in her eyes and she whispered, “I miss you. Everything, everything comes back to that. I miss you. Whenever I’m angry at you, it’s ‘cause you’re not here and I- I just get more and more mad at that.” She wiped her cheeks and looked down at her hands, flicking her eyes to her bitten nails. “I’m biting my nails again.”

“You hate biting your nails,” Lorcan said softly, his eyes reflecting deep sorrow. “And-” he shifted, sitting up. “I know. I know that I’m gone too much. I know that- that I’m never there.” He frowned. “I want to come home, sweetheart, I want to be with you, I promise. I’m- I’m so tired of touring.” Lorcan rubbed his eyes. “Um… I talked to the boys. We’re… we don’t want to tour anymore. We’re just done.”

She gasped softly, her vision blurring. In a whisper, Elide told him: “Don’t say that if you don’t m-mean it.”

“Lee, of course I mean that. You really think I would…”

Elide shrugged, “I feel like I don’t know you, L. You’re... you aren’t Lorcan, you’re,” she did a dramatic hand gesture, “Lorcan Salvaterre, lead heartthrob of the Bloodsworn. And I still think that name is far too reminiscent of teenaged angst.”

He snorted and closed his yawns, rubbing his head against the crinkling crisp pillow. “Yeah… probably right about that one, love.” Lorcan sighed through his nose and slit his eyes open, “I know we aren’t finished with this.”

She nodded, fiddling with something. “Lor…” her lips trembled. “Your tour is done in a month.”

“I know,” he muttered. “But, we- we can make it. Can’t we? I mean, I’ve already written the sad song where I’m the shit boyfriend, right? We can- we can talk.” Lorcan pushed his silky hair back.

“Yeah. I’m just sad. I… I’m scared that I’ll feel like this again and we’ll never make up again. What happens then?”

Lorcan ran his tongue over his teeth and the muscles in his jaw feathered, “Lee, I… do you want to break up? Is that what you want?”

The words hit her like a blow and Elide physically recoiled, “No, of course that’s not what I want!” She made a helpless motion with her hands, “But what if that’s not enough? What if the fact that we love each other and want to spend the rest of our lives together isn’t enough?” Her throat was tight, so she swallowed past it, “I… I’m scared.”

“So am I,” Lorcan said. “We want the same things, I just… I think that’s enough. Can’t that be enough?”

She shrugged and looked down at her lap, picking at the pillow case. “Maybe it is. I guess- well, not guess, but… maybe that’s all that matters, right?”

“Right,” he nodded, the ghost of a smile flitting across his lips. Elide smiled back at him, her heart fluttering.

They spoke for a while more until their voices became drowsy and heavy with slumber. Elide pulled the duvet over her and snuggled her cheek against the pillow that smelled most like his cologne. Her eyes slipped shut and she struggled to open them again, only for them to fall shut again.

Lorcan laughed softly, “Sweetheart, go to sleep. You’re falling asleep.”

She sighed softly and hummed, “No, ‘m not. ‘m just… resting, baby.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing, hmm?” he teased, his smile easy and warm.

Elide nodded, “Yeah…” She pursed her lips and exhaled a puff of air, pulling the duvet up tighter. “Mmm… g’night, Salvaterre.”

“Sweet dreams, Lochan.”

Mere seconds later, Elide fell asleep. When she woke up in the middle of the night, her phone was still in her hand and she smiled at the screen, where the call was still happening and she could see her boyfriend sleeping like the dead. She took a screenshot and texted it to him.

sweetheart: Sent One (1) Photo Attachment

sweetheart: ur kinda cute or whatever. i think im kinda in luv with u.

Then, she fell asleep once more, waking up in the morning to a screenshot he’d sent of her.

salvaterre: Sent One (1) Photo Attachment

salvaterre: i know im completely in love with you

<3<3<3

“Lorcan!” called their manager’s assistant, Luca, as he held Lorcan’s phone up. “Someone’s calling you!”

Their rehearsal, if it could even be called that, paused. Fenrys was working on his drum tricks, but Lorcan wasn’t sure that him attempting to play while Vaughan and Connall threw extra drumsticks at his set could be considered working.

Lorcan nodded and put his guitar down, loping across the room. When he was close enough, he saw that it was Elide and reached out, “Thanks, man.” Luca nodded, his curls bouncing. Lorcan picked up the call and ducked out of the rehearsal room, lifting his phone to his ear, “Hey, you.”

“Hi,” she replied. “I just wanted to check in. Luca told me you guys were rehearsing.”

He snorted and walked down the dark hallway, “Rehearsing’s a bit generous, Lee. Ro is hungover and Vaughan and Connall are throwing drumsticks at Fen.”

A bright laugh bubbled from her lips. “Gods, I don’t know why I believed Luca. That boy is too kind.”

“He really is, I don’t know why he wants to work for us bastards.”

Elide hummed, “Yeah, I don’t know either. You guys aren’t that nice.”

Lorcan found a forgotten corner and sat down, his long legs splayed out before him. “We really aren’t.” He looked at his worn Chuck Taylors, the laces frayed. “How’re you?”

“Well… I’m good. I, um, I booked a gig.”

“You did? Lee, that’s amazing,” he said, sitting up straighter. “When’d you book it?”

She hesitated to answer, “...three weeks ago. I… I don’t know why I didn’t tell you but… yeah.”

Lorcan shook his head, “No, no, it’s fine. Are you excited? You haven’t played anywhere in a… long time, love.” When his band had started playing, Elide had played too, appearing in local bars and a few festivals. Then she’d stopped. She still wrote songs and recorded them, but nothing was released.

“Yeah, I know. I’m feeling good. I’m excited,” Elide told him. “Really, I am.”

“But…”

There was something she wasn’t saying.

Her swallow was audible and her voice was quiet when she spoke again, “It’s- it’s next week. And I want you to come, but you can’t. I know that.”

His heart stutterd to a stop. Lorcan opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I- um, I’m- I’m sorry. That I won’t be there. I wish I could be.”

She laughed, but the sound was forced, “Lor, I don’t want your apology. You’ve already apologised and… it’s just something that is. The facts are that I have a gig, I want you to be there to see, but you’re on tour. And this- it’s your dream, isn’t it?”

You’re my dream, he thought. Lorcan flicked his eyes upwards, lying through his teeth, “Yeah. Yeah, this… this is my dream. I’m touring the world and sharing my music with everyone. I never thought I’d be here.” And you were supposed to be right here with me.

“Exactly, so, I’ll play more gigs. You’ll see them. It’s not like this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, you know,” Elide joked. “You- you don’t have to worry about this one show, Lor.”

“Yeah…” he said, frowning slightly. Lorcan inhaled, “Listen, I’ve got to go back to rehearsal, but I’ll call you after?”

“Oh, yeah, ‘course. Talk to you later, then.”

“I love you, always.”

“And I love you, forever. Bye, baby.” Elide hung up and Lorcan slowly got to his feet, putting his phone in his back pocket.

He walked back to the rehearsal room, his brow furrowed in thought. Lorcan tapped the side of his fist against his leg as he went back.

When he walked back in, Malakai, their manager, glanced at him, “Are you… alright there, son?”

“Yeah,” Lorcan lifted his head. “I just need your help with something.”

<3<3<3

salvaterre: i don’t have time to call you before, but you’re going to do amazing and i love you so so so much.

salvaterre: you’re going to kill it

Elide stared down at the message, using it to ground herself. She stole yet another glance at the area before the makeshift stage and her heart hammered a bit harder. Her hands shook, so she breathed in deeply and tried to calm herself.

Her friends were sitting around the table closest to the stage, all sipping on their drinks and waiting excitedly for her to start.

The bartender, who was also the owner of the bar, walked up onto the stage and nodded once at Elide for confirmation. She nodded back at Gavriel and he turned to the microphone, “Folks, I want to thank you all for coming out tonight and please give a warm welcome to Elide Lochan!”

Aelin and Lysandra cheered, while Nesryn simply clapped along with the others, smiling gently.

Elide shook her head and put her phone in her guitar case before she walked out, sitting on the stool. Gavriel helped her adjust the microphone, “Is that alright?”

She nodded and adjusted her acoustic guitar, “Yes.”

“Alright, then. Good luck.” Gavriel walked off, leaving her to play.

“Um,” Elide said into the mic, looking over the crowd, “well, this is my first gig in quite some time and I’m… really happy to be up here, so, I hope you all enjoy it.”

Someone let out a loud ‘whoop’ and she laughed, strumming the strings idly.

She took a bracing breath and then started to play a song she’d written years ago. It was her safety song, Elide supposed, the one she always played. People always seemed to like it and when she used to play more regularly, it had been a frequent request.

As Elide played, her mind wandered, thinking about the lyrics she was singing and what they meant.

Much like her boyfriend, everything she wrote was for him.

Singing about him, it both saved and ruined her at the same time.

As the last notes rang out, Elide swallowed, her chest aching. There was a gentle applause throughout the bar and she smiled. “My last song of the night is a brand new tune and I’ve never actually played it in front of anyone else, so please be gentle. It’s called Hourglass and, yeah.” Her cheeks heated in embarrassment over her awkwardness and she ducked her head as Aelin cheered, laughing softly, “Thank you, Aelin.”

She exhaled once more, “Ok…” Elide strummed gently, one cowboy-booted foot up on the spindle of the stool she sat up. “You know, when you’re gone, I struggle at night, dreams of you fucking me all the time…

“Though I know you’re tied up and I know your phone’s fucked, I’m craving your calls like a soldier’s wife…” she sang gently, her eyes shutting, “I wanna bring you home myself, bring you home myse-e-elf.”

Elide strummed a little louder, “Come back, move in, mess my place… chest infect me, waste my days… ‘cause I know you love to drive me up the wall, I know you love to drive me up the wa-a-all…

“I wanna bring you home myself, bring you home myse-e-elf…”

The crowd was watching in silent rapture.

“And I’m so-o-o… impatient when you’re not mine. I just want to ca-a-a-tch up all on the lost time,” her voice was sultry like it usually was and she couldn’t help the emotion from bleeding into her words like she normally could, “And I’ll say I’m sorry if I sound sordid ‘cause all I really ever want is you…”

Elide vocalised sweetly as she played to the last verse, a small smile on her lips, “Offer my hand and I’ll take your name, share my shower, kiss my frame, ‘cause I wanna carry all of your children and I wanna call them,” she plucked more gently, “stup-id shit…”

She relaxed, indicating the end of the song, and she was met with loud applause. Elide smiled widely, her hands shaking.

She heard a familiar hurray and snapped her eyes to the table her friends were sitting at. Between Aelin and Nesryn, Lorcan sat, wearing a proud grin, his dark eyes glittering. Elide gaped, clapping her hand to her mouth.

Aelin got up and rushed to her, taking her guitar as Elide stood on shaky legs. “Wha- what- baby?”

He nodded once and Elide laughed, launching herself at him the moment he stood up. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, blinking back tears, “I- I can’t believe you’re here.”

Lorcan banded his arms around her waist and hugged her tight, one of his hands moving to press against her upper back. “I’ve been gone too long,” he said quietly. “And I didn’t want to miss this.”

Elide slowly pulled away and tilted her head up, tears lining her eyes, “I’m- gods, I don’t even know what to think. I’m, I’m so happy.” She laughed warmly, her hands squeezing his shoulders. After a quick look around, Elide nodded her head to the side of the bar, where they could have some privacy.

Lorcan nodded and went with her, taking their seats at an empty table. Elide sat up as high as she could and stretched over the small, round table, one hand tugging his jaw closer to her. She pressed her lips against his, somewhat melting at the first gentle brush of his tongue over the seam of her mouth. Elide parted her plush lips and gasped when his tongue licked over hers.

They drew back, never ones to display much affection in public. Lorcan’s hand cupped her face and he stroked his thumb over her cheekbone, “I missed you, sweetheart.”

“I missed you too,” Elide said, practically beaming. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?”

“Oh, well, why didn’t you tell me you’d written something new? What happened to our deal, hmm?” He hooked his pinky around hers, “We pinky promised, Lee, that means something, you know.”

One of the promises they’d made to each other was to always share their music with one another first.

Elide rolled her eyes, “Call it even, then?”

“But of course, sweetheart.”

She grinned, unable to control her smile, “I still can’t believe you’re actually here.” Lorcan’s hand was resting on the table and Elide ran her fingertips over his knuckles and the various tattoos he had. “How… do you feel about it? The song?”

“It’s beautiful,” he replied softly. “You’re extremely talented, Elide, d’you know that?” She blushed and lifted her eyes to his face. Lorcan softened as he took in her face and murmured, “C’mere,” as he pulled her off her stool and fit her between his thighs. He tipped her head back and kissed her once more. She melted into him, her lashes fluttering against his cheeks as she closed her eyes. “Lee,” Lorcan started, pulling back only enough to rest his forehead against hers.

Elide could see that he was going to say something and she quickly pressed her fingers to his full lips, shaking her head. She didn’t say a word, but he understood what she was telling him. There was nothing to say. Lorcan folded his arms around her and tucked her into his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head. His thumb stroked over her hair.

She smiled and inhaled the cedar and sage scent that clung to him like always. Idly, Elide toyed with his necklace, which was twin to hers. “So… how long do I get you this time?”

“A week,” he said, almost reluctant. “But, I was kinda thinking that after you…” Lorcan trailed off, nervous that she would say no.

Elide lifted her head, her hands resting on his thighs, “After? What do you mean after?”

He inhaled and spoke, his words rushed and indiscernible, “Italkedtotheboysandweallagreeditwouldbekindafunifyoucamewithusandyoucould—“

“Baby, slower, please,” Elide laughed. Lorcan blew out a breath and nodded, anxiously shoving his hair back, then settling both of his hands on her hips.

“If I asked you to come with me for the rest of the tour, what would you say?”

She gawked at him, almost taking a step back. “Are- are you serious, Lorcan?”

A nod.

“You really mean this? I would- I would come with you and do… what?”

He shrugged, “I dunno. You could sing with us. Feature artist.”

Elide laughed again, holding one of her hands to her mouth, “Of course – I would say yes.”

Relief flooded through his face and he smiled, “Really? You’d come with me?”

“Lorcan,” Elide said, softly shaking her head. She rose on her tip-toes, her lips brushing over his, “I would go with you to the ends of the earth and beyond.”

With a rakish grin, Lorcan closed the distance between them.

Always, they promised each other. I will be with you always.

<3<3<3

songs: Kathleen, Homesick, Hourglass (Catfish and the Bottlemen)

an: ahhh they kinda cute or whatevah

@mythicaitt @eyllweambassador @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @ladyverena @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @silversprings98 @amren-courtofdreams @jadeaffliction @superspiritfestival @sanakapoor @ireallyshouldsleeprn @spyofthenightcourt @thegoddessofyou @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @claralady @neonhellas @darlinminds @readingismyonlyhobby @autophobiaxx @myshadowsingeraz @firestarsandseneschals @elriel4life @always-in-a-daydream @jlinez @ladywitchling @mariamuses @darklesmylove @adelzd-bookblr @rowaelinismyotp @sassyhobbits @swankii-art-teacher @januarystears@flamingveritas

#elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #isa writes #nalgenewhore #i luv luv luv them.

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min-youngis · 3 years

Text

breaking bread - l.dh

it's just me and my banners against the world

~ Pairing : Lee Donghyuck x Reader, non-idol

~ Genre : Fluff, Humour, Crack™

~ Summary : Does somebody want to be fake engaged to me for like two hours to try free wedding cake samples?

Strangers to Lovers

~ Word Count : 3.9k

~ Warnings : swearing, excessive simping over bread

~ A/N: looK AT HIM !!! i started writing this on my period but then my period got over before i could finish it so there's a steady decline in theatrics throughout the story.

i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

The first time you pass the bakery, you’re with Hyejin.

It’s newly opened, you can tell. There are balloons hanging from the ceiling inside, and all the counters look bright and shiny. But it’s the smell that arrests you, your feet stalling of their own accord as you take a deep breath in; so deep, you’re on your toes by the time you finally decide to exhale.

Your friend doesn’t even realise you’ve stopped, continuing her story for her non-existent audience until she turns and sees you staring with alarming intensity at the new shop.

If you could, you’d sleep in the smell.

You feel a gentle palm on your shoulder, as she worriedly asks, “Y/N? You good?”

A dopey smile. “I’m perfect, thank you, and you?”

Slowly, you begin to inch toward the shop, almost creepily, not even looking at Hyejin when she snorts next to you at the fact that you’ve slipped into a food coma without even tasting any food.

You’re close enough to read the bright board on top of the counter now, nose nearly pressed right up to the glass as you ravenously go through the menu and prices.

If there were somebody behind the counter, they’d have born witness to all the stages of grief.

“Hyejin,” you moan lowly, agony apparent in your voice, hands now on the glass even as the smell assaults you more the closer you get. “Hyejin, we can’t afford this.”

Behind you, a firm hand wraps around your elbow. “I know, sweetie. I could have told you that from the font on the name board.”

You let out another broken groan, palms sliding down the glass dramatically as you take a last long look at the pastries lined up inside.

“There, there,” Hyejin comforts, tugging at your arm and rolling her eyes when you stop to inhale deeply one more time, the scent of fresh bread and sweetness filling your lungs. “I’ll buy you an ice-cream at that place next to the apartment, come on.”

It’s a crappy substitute, but you’ll take it if you don’t have to pay for it. You can’t forget the smell, though. It haunts you until you fall asleep that night; fresh and delectable and sweet.

The second time you pass the bakery, about a week later, you nearly give in. Nearly enter and order one of the pastries, like some kind of millionaire trust fund baby.

You’re alone, on the way back from a meeting, and there’s no Hyejin this time to be your voice of reason and to drag you away from your own impulsive decisions.

Dawdling on the sidewalk, you bend, pretending to tie your non-existent shoelace so the person manning the counter inside doesn’t get suspicious.

Your fingers still in their exaggerated movements as you let yourself take a deep breath in, sinking into the scent, shoulders actually drooping a bit as the smell of freshly processed dough fills your lungs.

It’s the sound of shoes slowing down and stopping close to you that snaps you out of it.

Too close.

Hurriedly, you stand up, shaking yourself out of your bread induced reverie. You had expected somebody to be staring at you in judgement, waiting to question you about why you’re pretending to tie shoelaces on sandals on the middle of the pavement; but all you see is a man standing a couple of feet away, speaking into a phone as his hands move dramatically in the air, frustration evident on his face.

In the clearing of your haze, you can tell he’s cute. No older than you, messy brown hair and a plain black t-shirt with ripped jeans. Really, your only complaint would be his attitude toward the bakery that you’re slowly beginning to regard as a legitimate place of worship. If he’s intent on swearing at some poor sod on the other end of the line, would it kill him to do it a few paces to the left? Away from this culinary haven?

He doesn’t seem to have noticed you, apparently comfortable with boring holes into the shop as he stands, and your plan to stall until he leaves so you can continue inhaling rarefied air doesn’t manifest in the next couple of minutes.

With a disgruntled look in his direction, (he keeps moving closer to the bakery, still shouting into his phone, and it’s beginning to annoy you), you inhale one last time, hope it sustains you until your next visit to this particular patch of pavement, and continue on your way home.

Day 3 involves a bench, a stranger and a revelation.

You’ve had a shit day at work, and it’s imperative that you’re reminded of the good things in life. The detour you take to ensure you pass the bakery on your way home is really self-preservation.

Strengthening your belief that only good things can happen on The Pavement, as you’ve come to fondly refer to it in your brain (and when you’re waxing lyrical to Hyejin, who just doesn’t get it), in a genius marketing move, there’s a bench that wasn’t there previously.

Right next to the entrance, facing the road, like in McDonald’s but without Ronald.

You try not to seem too excited at what’s basically an invitation for you to conduct your ritual, and casually slow down your pace as you near the area, trying to set up your subsequent action to seem like a nonchalant afterthought.

Until you spot the man again, walking in your direction. The same person whom you saw the other day desecrating the shop, and who cut short your...sniffing. And he’s walking toward you, making a beeline for the bench.

Screw nonchalant.

Subtly speeding up, you walk closer, noticing that he does the same thing.

Distantly, you’re amused at how the two of you have come to the same conclusion - that on an empty bench that can easily fit four people, only one of you can sit. Or maybe you’re competing for first, you aren’t sure.

You both reach at more or less the same time, exchange a stiff, polite smile that speaks volumes (yours says you won, his indicates the opposite), and sit down, leaving enough space in the middle to fit another person.

The first breath you take feels like being reborn.

Next to you, the Dude (which is what you christened him when you had ranted about his insensitivity and disrespect to Hyejin), is back to shouting at somebody on his phone.

You take yours out too, so you don’t seem pathetic. It isn’t like you’re stopping outside a bakery that you can’t afford just to smell bread on your way back from work.

At that moment, the shop doors open on your left, letting a customer out, and along with her, a strong, delicious waft of chocolate.

You’ve decided. This is heaven. This is where you’ll get married, and this is where you’ll ask your friends to bury you.

You’re soaking in the lingering after effects once the doors have swung closed, trying not to make your deep, quite frankly meditative breathing too obvious, while also trying to tune out the sound of the Dude ranting into his phone next to you, when you hear a mobile ring nearby.

And it isn’t yours.

You still. He stills. Marimba repeats one last, sad time and stops.

The thought forms through no conscious decision or effort of your own, slowly becoming more and more concrete.

You can feel him looking at you, as if waiting for you to call him out, and he opens his mouth to start talking at the same time as you do.

And then the door opens again, releasing another delectable whiff of sweet pastry, making the words stop at the tip of your tongue.

The two of you exchange a look, silent and full of gravitas, only breaking contact when he takes a deep breath and mutters, “Oh, shit, that’s so good.”

“Are you here for the smell as well?” Never in a million years did you think you’d say that.

He nods, sheepish smile on his face. “Yeah. I’ve been coming nearly every day for the last week.”

You can swear, in that moment, with his bucket hat and his baggy jeans and his now more obvious small sniffs, that you’ve never met a man so attractive in your life.

“This is my third time,” you reply, nodding in understanding even as a grin makes its way to your face unbidden.

His eyes twinkle, and you aren’t prepared for his next words. “I remember you from that evening when you were pretending to tie your shoelaces.”

“Were you faking the phone call then, too?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t bring it up.”

Emboldened, you offer him your hand, weirdly endeared by the way his mouth curls up in a half-laugh. As he puts his palm in yours, you shrug, “No judgement. You gotta do what you gotta do, yeah?”

“Absolutely. I’m Donghyuck.”

“Y/N. Lovely to meet a fellow bread enthusiast.”

When you spend twenty minutes talking about the bakery that night to Hyejin over dinner (she’s come to expect it at this point), the Dude has a name, and isn't so much of a dick as you had initially thought.

"Y/N, no."

"Y/N, yes."

She huffs, exasperated, random wisp of hair on her face flying upwards before settling freakishly perfectly. "I am not pretending to be engaged to you for free cake."

You're equal parts pleading and frustrated as you tug at her arm again, curling up as close to her on the couch as possible and batting your eyelashes as enticingly as you can. "Please? Am I not your very favourite person in the world?"

"No."

"Top ten at the very least?" you ask, undeterred.

She gives you an unimpressed look, pries your hand off of her elbow and turns back to the television, pressing play on the sitcom.

You don't even know what you're watching. You've been too busy concocting your master plan the entire evening, ever since you had passed the bakery and seen the newly installed sign outside that said FREE WEDDING CAKE SAMPLES!

You didn't even linger on the pavement as long as you usually do.

(Okay, maybe you lingered a little bit, hoping to run into your new acquaintance, but you had a plan, goddammit, and you had to convince Hyejin of it as soon as possible.)

"Give it up, Y/N. It's wrong and deceitful, I'm not going to do it."

You move away like you've been burnt, offense writ large on your face.

"Wrong? It's for a good cause!"

You admit, you probably deserve the eye roll for your theatrics. Recognising a lost case when you see one, you sigh slowly, settling back against the couch and resigning yourself to a cake-less existence.

"Why don't you ask your new friend? Mr. Fellow Weirdo."

"His name is Donghyuck. And I've only spoken to him once."

She shrugs unsympathetically, letting it go; but in your brain, the gears are turning again.

What about Donghyuck?

It's come to a point where you're willing to start saving specifically for the express purpose of buying cake.

Every time you pass the shop, your resolve weakens and your fingers inch closer to your wallet. The only thing that stops you is the fact that the end of the month is nearing, and expenses will hit you like a ton of bricks.

But you've come up with the perfect routine now. Every Monday and Thursday, at exactly 6 PM, on your way back from work, you sit on the bench outside the bakery for fifteen minutes. You haven't met Donghyuck again, but paradoxically enough, the more you don't see him, the more inviting Hyejin's suggestion seems. Twice already, while conducting your ritual, you had decided that if he showed up that day before you left, you would propose the idea to him.

You're in a similar headspace this evening, already planning out a conversation in your head and how you can bring it up if you meet him without sounding completely creepy, when you hear the devil himself, interrupting your monologue.

"Hey! Been a while, huh?"

You smile as he sits down next to you, a bit startled at seeing him in person after having fake conversations with him in your head, but nod happily. "How have you been?"

"Good, yeah. A bit busy, so I haven't come around much. But man, it's good to be back."

And there, as you watch his eyes close briefly in satisfaction and his shoulders rise and fall slowly as he takes a deep breath in, content smile spreading on his face when the smell hits him, you decide that Hyejin is one smart cookie.

"Do you want to be fake engaged to me?"

Granted, it isn't your smoothest work. And it completely derails any and all pointers you had come up with in your head for this exact scenario, but he doesn't get scared off.

His eyelids do snap open, though, and his serene expression morphs into one of confusion, but with remarkable calmness, he asks, "Uh, excuse me?"

Without a word, you point at the blackboard standing outside the shop on the other side of the doors. They've added balloons with green chalk now, as decoration. You hope they're better at baking than they are at drawing.

You watch his face clear up, realisation dawning as his lips curve into a wicked grin, one you haven't had the absolute pleasure of witnessing before.

Somehow, you don't think Ms. It's-Wrong-And-Deceitful would approve of this Donghyuck.

"I like the way you think," he says approvingly, glint of mischief in his eyes.

You can't stop your own excited smile from appearing, as the possibility of actually being able to have a taste of what you've been dreaming about becomes more of a certainty.

"Okay, but we've got to figure some stuff out, though."

"Agreed," he replies, all business. "Gotta make it believable. Which is your favourite Shrek film?"

You barely manage to restrain yourself from snorting, but from the twinkle in his eye, you're certain that you're about as good of an actress as the bakery owners are artists.

Calming down, you clear your head. "Okay, but for real, though. Basic things. What's your last name?"

"Lee. Your favourite ice cream flavour?"

"Mint chocolate. No, I don't take constructive criticism."

He shuts his mouth abruptly, his obedient nod making you giggle. "What do you do, job-wise?"

"I work at a record store."

You can't hide the impressed look on your face, eyebrow cocking up. "Dude, that's super cool. I do freelance journalism."

He nods, filing away all the information to whip out later. “What’s our proposal story?”

“Uh, something simple so they don’t have too many questions. Just say one of us asked over dinner?”

“Cool, yeah, makes sense. Summer wedding?”

“Summer wedding,” you agree, nodding.

Really, it shouldn’t be so easy to come up with fake wedding planning details with a veritable stranger.

He straightens up, standing and offering you his upturned palm, mischievous grin making a reappearance. “Ready?”

“Yes, yes, a million times yes.”

His laughter at your exaggerated tone dissipates some of the nerves, as you feel his cool hand wrap loosely around your fingers. It’s time for the performance of a lifetime.

"Let's get this bread," he mumbles, pushing the door open.

You nearly slump at the first proper breath you take. As lovely as the air outside is, everything is so much more intense here. Your fake fiancé's hand flexes in yours slightly, and you know he's going through some kind of spiritual awakening as well.

If the man behind the counter hadn't spoken, you're sure the two of you could stand there forever, just breathing.

"Hi, how can I help you?"

You snap out of your haze, slowly squeezing Donghyuck's fingers to get him back. It's show time.

You plaster on the brightest smile you've got (it isn't hard), and walk with him to the counter.

"Hey! We saw your board outside, about the wedding cakes."

He nods before replying to Donghyuck's non-question question, smiling enough for you to feel a pang of guilt; but not enough to abort mission. "That's right. Are the two of you engaged?"

You nod enthusiastically, impatient to start tasting. Maybe you overdo a bit when you giggle and say, "Yes!" with the brightest, most in-love laugh that you can manage.

You hear a muted chuckle from next to you, and you hope Mark behind the counter (according to his name tag) passes it off as joy and excitement.

"The bakery smelt so good from the outside, that we just had to come in and see if we could get our cake and desserts for the ceremony from here."

With a fond smile, he says, "Why don't you take a seat there, and I'll bring out the samples. Are you looking for any particular flavour?"

If you weren't nearly vibrating at the fact that you're this close to finally tasting what you've been dreaming of for weeks, you would have snorted at Donghyuck's very enthusiastic 'No preference whatsoever, bring them all!'

"Is this really happening?"

He squeezes your hand, excited grin and devilish smirk fighting for prominence on his face as he sits down next to you, whispering back, "Fuck, yeah."

He comes back bearing a tray with two spoons and a bunch of plates, each one having a small slice of different coloured pastry on it. In the other hand, a pamphlet with options for customisation and tiers. You don't know how to tell him that you couldn't care less about how many levels a wedding cake should have.

The moment he sets the tray down on the table, right in between you and Donghyuck, and the smell of the mixture of flavours and bread assaults your senses, you have to do everything in your power to not begin inhaling everything, to not grab a spoon and dig into whatever you can get your hands on. From the stiffness of his shoulders next to you, you know that your fake-fiancé is having the same problem in self-restraint.

"If you're going for a summer wedding, I'd suggest the berry based flavours-" Mark points out one delectable section of the tray, "-and for winter, our customers prefer chocolate or coffee varieties."

Donghyuck throws a subtle wink in your direction (and looks damn good doing it), before he asks, anticipation clear on his face, "Where would you like to start, baby?"

The pet name throws you off for a second, and from his grin, you have a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly what he's doing, but there's no time to analyse it now. There's a slice of red velvet directly under your nose that's practically begging to be eaten.

You're thankful for the customer that walks in at that moment, making Mark move away; you aren't sure how convincingly you can pretend to be a normal, engaged couple that hasn't been camping outside the shop for weeks once you've actually tasted the goods.

"Together?" Donghyuck asks, once you both have a spoon full of cake.

Nodding firmly with a grin, you count down from three.

The first bite renders you blank. The literal definition of no thoughts, head empty as the flavour bursts in your mouth, your eyes closed and spoon stuck inside. Next to you, you hear a borderline pornographic moan, but you'll be the last person to call him out on it.

Before you know it, you’ve dug your spoon into the cake again, right as he does the same, and you’re chewing another bite, practically floating in serenity.

It’s mostly silence as the two of you make your way through the ten odd pieces of pastry on the table, only punctuated by satisfied sighs and muttered ‘Oh, fuck’s, and you feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience, here in this expensive shop with your fake-fiancé who has the same (perfectly normal) enthusiasm for bread as you.

“I can’t believe we thought sitting outside was good enough when this exists,” Donghyuck says after swallowing a large bite of chocolate raspberry truffle. His eyes shine in satiated glee, fingers tapping a steady, restless staccato beat against the surface of the table as he chooses the next slice to taste.

Tucking your spoon into the strawberries and cream flavour that’s quickly become your personal favourite, you nod enthusiastically. “Very glad I met you. Who knows how long I would’ve sat outside otherwise, living unfulfilled, believing my life was complete?”

His chuckle makes the cake in your mouth taste sweeter.

You lick off your spoon once you’re finally done a few minutes later, audibly huffing as you settle against the back of the chair, satisfied. Next to you, Donghyuck does the same.

“You’ve got some icing on your face,” he observes, settling his spoon down and handing you a tissue.

“Here?”

“A little to the left.”

“Here?”

Wordlessly, you watch as he brings his hand up and lightly taps the left corner of your mouth, pad of his index finger gently grazing your commissure, heat from his hand lingering for a just a second before he pulls away, his gaze suddenly holding a little less mischief and a little more intensity, and his knee briefly knocking into yours under the table as he tilts his body toward you.

You almost don’t want to wipe off the icing, but you make sure not to break eye contact when you do, the faint sugar rush making you bolder.

“Oh, you guys are cute! Were you able to pick a flavour?”

You’re startled at Mark’s sudden reappearance, uncharacteristically flustered as Donghyuck smiles brightly and smoothly replies, “They were all incredible, thank you. We’d like to try some other places and then decide. We’ll let you know!”

You think you see a faint air of suspicion around Mark when you follow Donghyuck’s lead and stand up, and for good measure, you make sure to grab his hand while walking out, fingers easily tangling together. To his credit, he shows no surprise, playing along unceremoniously and even going so far as to lightly swing his arm as you open the door and step out.

Leading the way a few steps away from the shop, once you’ve ensured that Mark won’t be able to see you, you let go.

It’s all a little awkward. What do you say to break up a fake engagement?

“We can never go back in there without disguises again, that’s for sure.”

That should do it.

“Think he’ll notice it’s me if I wear a fake mustache?”

The shared laughter at his comment lasts for maybe ten seconds before it’s back to a vaguely uncomfortable silence. You know this is it. You know you both probably won’t meet again because you’re done with this bakery. Why are you finding it so challenging to say goodbye?

He opens his mouth slightly, looking a bit unsure even as he begins to talk, that same intense look in his eyes making a return.

“There’s a small restaurant they’ve just opened near my apartment with a Valentine’s day two-for-one offer. Do you want to maybe see if we can get away with it again?”

His voice pitches up hesitantly towards the end of it, as if mimicking your subtly quickening heartbeat.

“Or,” you start, shy smile creeping onto your face as you slowly take your phone out and hand it over to him to enter his number. “We could make it a real date, and have a meal with no moral repercussions.”

That night, when you tell Hyejin your story (which is decidedly more interesting than all your previous stories combined, according to her), the Dude has a name, a cute face and a discount lunch with you next week.

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tipsydipsydo · 4 years

Text

Touched [M]

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Fluff; Smut

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff; Full Body Massage; Petnames; Praising; Body-Worshipping; Nipple Play; Fingering; Mentions of pubic Hair; kinda tantric orgasm (?); Yoongi is awfully sweet and adorable! 🤧💕

A/N: I wrote this here for my sweet Darling Sibi @borathae who had an incredible awful week and I just thought about how to make a little bit up for this shitty week. I love you and I hope you like it, Baby~ 🙈💖

Summary: This week was just so awful and shitty, every muscle in your body hurts and you're absolutely exhausted from this horror week. But Yoongi has an Idea to relax you and make you feel so loved in a way, that couldn't make thousands of compliments.

[Links]

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「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

"Just relax. And if you don't want something, please just tell me.", Yoongi whispers in your ear as he lays you down on your stomach on the big king size bed. You just nod exhausted and worn out, really don’t want anything more than relaxation and rest.

This week had just been terrible and exhausting. You don't know why, but Mother Nature thought this week is a good week to let the temperatures reach 40°C. Exactly in the week where you no longer have lectures and therefore you have to work a 40 hours week in your side job. Not that it's bad, no. You work at a photographer and you study photography, so it couldn't be that bad... wrong. It is already shit if you have to renovate in blazing sun without shade a barn (for photo shootings etc). You are studying photography, not trained as a craftsman! Now you regret having applied with your craft skills.

Yoongi already said the last few days, you should finally quit and find a better part-time job, with a boss who also appreciates your photographic skills. But you need this Job, your Boss pays you well. Only you would like to do more often the things you have applied for and no other stupid work.

Especially when this man, who call you your boss, is sitting in his air-conditioned office and you had to work outside your ass off in this unbearable heat?!

But now this cruel week is finally over and you should not get upset even more with it. You’re finally at home, with Yoongi.

You close your eyes, inhale deeply the smell of the Ylang Ylang oil, which the Oil Burner on the windowsill lets spread throughout the room. A slight smile plays around your lips, Yoongi has remembered which kind of scents you like so much in the summer months. In your bedroom it’s pleasantly cool, the approaching night brings the first fresh breeze through the wide-open terrace door to you, caresses your naked skin tenderly. The sinking sun bathes the entire room in a soft red-orange tone.

It is incredibly comfortable to lie on the bed just in panties, between all the big soft pillows and blankets.

Your Boyfriend is up with something for you, something that is relaxing, sensual, tender. You admit, these last few weeks, you couldn't really be there for each other. Too much work, too many other things had just taken too much time. And the fact that he also spoils you now, only made your guilty conscience towards him grow even more.

The mattress sinks down a little, you felt him shift his weight and sit in front of your head.

He seems to rub oil or something else between his hands before bending over and stroking with his warm and big hands over your shoulders to the swell of your butt cheeks. You sigh softly at this loving touch, enjoy this single touch already so much.

His hands glide again and again in full strokes with gentle pressure over your back and then begin to massage you gently. Your breaths get deeper, undreamt-of tension gradually eases and you enjoy every single caress from him.

Circling, he lets his fingertips wander over your back, scratching lovingly with his fingernails delicately over it, which gives you tingling goose bumps.

Every patch of skin is getting pampered by him and leaves pure relaxation and deep inner peace. You no longer think, you just feel and and

gratefully accept his tender touches and this deep calm as a sensual and confidential gift from him.

Finally, he straightens himself up again and goes to the height of your hip and kneels above you, but lets his hands lie on your lower all the time, thereby not interrupting this physical and mental contact with each other.

His hands exert completely different pressure on your body through this altered Position, which is a completely different experience.

Yoongi really always knows what is good for you, even if you have never said those things before. He likes to massage you, let all his love and appreciation flow into you through these touches.

Things he would never have gotten over his lips otherwise, so that you feel downright adored.

Yoongi had always been a quiet man who had a hard time getting feelings across his lips and yet he is so incredibly soulful that he constantly tries to express all his love differently. And it is precisely through these touches that he can convey it much better than with any words.

For what he feels for you and shows you through these gestures, there are simply no words.

You groan softly and muted as his lips touch your neck and shoulders. Every single feather-light kiss leaves an exciting tingling on your skin, which made your pleasurable sigh slightly tremble.

You gulp a little, a lustful feeling shoots through your nerves and bales in my stomach, which slowly pulls into your lower abdomen.

His tender kisses and nibbles on your skin excite you. It is not a hot and craving desire, it’s a permanent subliminal and sensual pleasure that goes through your entire body and reaches, occupies all nerves and fibers.

His body slides backwards, his hands wander over your butt. It was just a gentle stroke over it and yet it aroused you even more. He continues this loving, slow treatment on your legs, massages and kisses every conceivable place. Even the soles of your feet and toes were kneaded with calm pressure. Your body is completely relaxed and yet you feel pleasure. Lust that let you otherwise expectantly tense. It is new and exciting to experience it like this.

His fingers are back up on your thighs and each of your two butt cheeks is now nestled in his palms.

From your coming sigh your excitement can now be heard, which makes him hum contentedly. There was still the thin stuff of Panties between you, but that doesn't stop your excitement for more. Rather, you feel your nascent moisture between

your legs just even more. At some point, his hands glide once more over your entire back, over your arms and hands, which you have placed at a laterally bent angle next to your head.

"Please turn around, Darling.", he breathes into your ear. A little sluggishly and slowly you turn on your back and notice how some blush rises on your cheeks. Your Breasts are bare. Even though Yoongi is your Boyfriend, it was often unusual for you to show yourself so naked, so vulnerable.

He spoils you now just as tenderly as it has done before with your back. Massages and rubs your scalp, temples and stroke all over your body in long strokes.

Every now and then a fresh breeze pulls over your body, brings the Lust in your blood more into action and makes your nipples hard. You you’re feeling warm, even quite hot. Yoongi feels your Lust now downright, nevertheless he spoils you slowly further, which became a sensual tormenting. He bypasses your erogenous zones, cancels them until the end of the extensive Massage.

Kissing every accessible spot of my skin and you feel as valued as you haven’t felt for a long time. You are tough and don’t get overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted easily, you want to show that you, as a woman, can be strong and independent. But you are also just a normal person, you struggles sometimes too, you also need from time to time a shoulder to lean on.

Yoongi gives you exactly this shoulder to lean on. He is solid as a rock and catches you when you fall. You are not alone in this cruel world. Yoongi is with you.

A light sweat film lies on your skin and you bite down on your lower lip softly, trying to hide your moaning away. Your breath is still deep, but it trembles a little with excitement and arousal.

Every Pore begins to tingle longingly, all over your body, from the hairline to your toes. From your feet, his hands glide in a fluid motion across your shins and the insides of your thighs. Caressing strokes, no more than a breath of wind over your Vulva.

You sigh tremblingly, automatically open your thighs a little more and your fingers run through your hair, which is spread like a fan around your head.

His touches give you immense trust in him. You present to him your soul. Your wishes, dreams, ideas, but also your fears and insecurities. He accepts you, he accepts you the way you are.

Touch you almost reverently, as if you were something so precious that is not worthy his touch. This realization of being valued and on an equal level with him, with him as a man, almost brings tears to your eyes. He shows you the respect that every woman would have deserved.

His fingertips dances across your Vulva up to your stomach and draw blurred lines that find themselves somewhere invisible.

They keep sliding back up and finally, they find your breasts. Finally. You wanted to be touched by Yoongi there so badly.

His fingertips drawing a spiral that circles ever tighter and ultimately reaches your nipples.

Carefully he caresses them and gently breathes his hot breath on them. Your body trembles.

Your folds were swollen and wet with Lust. This sensual game arouses you completely. How badly would you be touched there by him, caressed... Suddenly, his warm lips closes around your right nipple and caress it with light sucking, touching it with the tip of his tongue.

Your body is completely relaxed and yet it seems to you that everything in you is contracting with longing for him.

He plays the same game on your other nipple and you put your head in the back of your neck with your eyes closed. You whole body is so hot... A soft lustful moan escapes your open lips.

"You are so beautiful... you’ll ever be.", Yoongi whispered softly. His voice is also shaky and... there is a certain awe in his deep harsh voice. Another gasp comes out of your throat, his deep voice makes your hot, aroused body tingling. Makes my body pulsate. His lips touch your chin and kiss a trail down between your breasts across your stomach to your hot center.

Just before your Panties he stops and hooks his thumbs under the waistband on each side. Slowly he takes off the last piece of clothing before he lies next to you in a sideway position and lets his one Hand slip between your thighs.

You gasp for air and open your thighs a little more. His fingertips glide through the soft curls of your pubic hair, tugging gently on it to make you mewl. Moving lower to your folds before dipping with two of his fingers between them.

Gently he caresses them, playing gently with your entrance, while you quietly gasp out my Lust. Yoongi kisses your shoulder and your neck, in the Moment he finds your Clit that finally wanted to be found.

Your hip bucks up, you just bring out a strangled moan. You trust him so much, want to be able to open yourself completely up to him and let yourself fall, in the conscience of being caught by him again. He feels this intimate emotion in you, this desire to be completely his.

He whispers barely audible words into your ear, tells you what he loves about you and puts after each compliment a kiss under it. His fingers rubs over your pearl, carefully and sensually. Taking his time for you.

Again and again, two of his fingers sinks deep into you, then he stimulates all over again only your clit. A long, lustful game begins.

Your pelvis rises towards him, you reward his actions with soft, breathless moans and the search of your lips for his own. Your thighs fall apart to the side, open your folds open even more up for him and the idea that it sees you so open, bare and so vulnerable turns you incredibly on.

It’s the last time when his fingertips circles around your pearl, until you tremble and cramp with the fulfillment of your Lust. Feelings and emotions rain down on you, which could never have been properly described with words. Only your facial expressions can show approximately what fulfilled pleasure you are feeling right now.

Tenderly Yoongi kisses you and wispers a breathy "I love you" into your ear, before you look into his dark brown eyes and find nothing but love, honor and respect, which applies only to you alone.

#btswritersnet #suganetwork #bts smut #bangtanhq #yoongi smut #thehouseofbangtan #yoongi tantric massages #bts x reader #houseofddaeng #yoongi the soft fluffball #bangtanarmynet #yoongi x reader smut #by tipsydipsydo

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years

Text

Bogotá Kiss

Prologue: There Was a Boy

Summary/Author’s Note: Javier Peña had finally gotten his life together. He was a newlywed, back in the states with his bride, and starting his new life free of Escobar and the world of the cartels. That is until he found his wife in bed with another man. On a path of self destruction, he goes back to Bogota, reclaims his job with the DEA, his partner Steve Murphy, and throws himself into his work, cheap whiskey, and the company of his...informants.

You are a singer in the hottest burlesque club in Columbia. Pulling yourself out of poverty and into a world where men throw money at your feet, buy you diamonds, and pay untold amounts for your services. You don’t mind that the club’s biggest source of income is smuggling diamonds from the necks, wrists, and ears of its prostitutes and into the pockets of their buyers, until a handsome DEA agent gets too close and figures out the scheme.

**IMPORTANT: For those familiar with Moulin Rouge--The reader will NOT die at the end. Fuck that. Let Javi be happy god dammit.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (Moulin Rouge/French Kiss AU) Word Count: 1.6k (its just a prologue, the next chapter will be better) Warnings (for entire fic): NC-17/18+ - Language, sex, prostitution, mentions/implied R*pe (nothing will ever be described in detail or used as a plot device), typical canon violence for NARCOS, shooting, attempted murder, drug use, blackmail, hurt/comfort, lies and betrayal, happy ending

[MASTERLIST]

"It's not what it looks like."

People didn't actually say that line, did they? And worse yet, no one actually would possibly believe it. Right? The words fell from her lips and suddenly Javier Peña felt like he was watching a movie about someone else's life. A cliché of a film in which the idiot of a husband walked in on his wife bouncing on the dick of another man. He was that idiot, and as she scrambled off the lap of the stranger and called his name, he slammed the door behind him, not bothering to wait for an explanation. Queue the laugh track or cut to the scene of him walking in the rain to somber music.

Only this wasn't a movie. There would be no comedic relief, just a lot of heartache, wasted time and money. He had always had a bad habit of falling for the wrong girl. He would see himself mirrored in the eyes of the broken, the depressed, the ones who, much like him, just seemed unable to catch a break in life. But instead of getting a kindred spirit to share his world with, he usually just got a lot of baggage and a quick lay.

He packed a bag, not giving a shit about any of his worldly possessions, and found himself at the Dallas airport, sitting at the bar and waiting for his gate number to be called.

He raised two fingers, letting the bartender know he wanted a fucking double, as he held his cellphone to his ear and listened to it ring. The boxy phone didn't fit comfortably against his shoulder and he dropped it just as the other end picked up and Steve's voice came through.

"Murphy."

"Fuck. Shit." Javier fumbled the phone and held it back against his face.

"Javi?"

"Yeah, it's me." Javier sighed as he picked up his whiskey and tossed it back with a mild wince. "I'm on my way back."

"I heard." Steve paused. "Carolyn called. I told her I didn't know where you were."

"Thanks, 'appreciate it."

"I talked to Noonan. She said your job's still open. You can have it and the keys to your apartment."

They both paused for an extended period of time. Javier ordered another shot of whiskey and Steve breathed quietly on the other end of the phone. Neither one of them had to say out loud what they both already knew. Javier had fallen for the wrong girl, again. His heart was broken and he wanted to drown out the ache he was feeling in cheap booze, a carton of Marlboro, and expensive pussy.

"I'll pick you up from the airport. Safe trip, Jav."

"Thanks, Murph."

Javier pressed the button on the phone and rubbed his forehead with a heavy sigh. It was all smooth sailing from here. He was on his way back to normalcy, back to doing what he did best, hunting Narcos and not having any emotional ties to anything that mattered.

The car ride from the airport had been quiet for the most part but Javier could tell that Steve was just dying to ask. So, when they parked in front of the apartment and neither one of them moved, he dug his smokes out of his jacket pocket and rolled down the window. He flicked his silver lighter to life and inhaled deeply as Steve shut off the engine.

"Go ahead. Ask."

Steve sighed and looked at his friend. "What happened, man?"

"I let it go too far, like an idiot. And she couldn't even wait until the honeymoon was over before she tripped and landed on some other man's dick." He inhaled deeply and ran his thumb along his mustache.

"Shit. I'm sorry--"

"Don't," Javier cut him off and shook his head. "Okay? Don't."

"You file for divorce?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Lawyer is drawing everything up now so we can sign it."

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm sorry, Javi. You seemed happy." Steve looked at him and Javier flicked his cigarette out of the window.

"Yeah, I know." He took another long drag of his cigarette before tossing the butt out onto the sidewalk. “Tell Connie I said ‘hi’, okay?”

With a mumbled thanks for the ride and a couple of quick 'see you tomorrows', he opened the car door and grabbed his suitcase out of the back seat and walked up the stairs and into the apartment building. He went through the motions of coming back to this place that he knew quite well, as he went downstairs and stuck his keys in the door without needing to turn on a light.

He tossed his keys on the side table and kicked the door shut gently as he dropped his shoulder bag and looked around. The only furniture that the place had was the old embassy supplied leather couch, scuffed up coffee table, and bar stools against the kitchen counter. Fuck. That settled what he would be doing tomorrow, getting all his furniture out of storage and having the embassy replace what he didn’t have.

Before tossing his leather jacket on the back of the couch, he got out another cigarette and let it bob between his lips as he mumbled to himself. He inhaled deeply and tossed his lighter next to his keys before making his way to the kitchen. When he opened the fridge, he didn’t know if he wanted to run upstairs and kiss her, or if he wanted to clutch his chest and cry.

The entire appliance was completely bare and wiped out, the light making the white shelves look entirely too bright, but sitting in the middle of the top shelf was a covered casserole of some kind and a bottle of whiskey. A note was taped to the tin foil that read:

“Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Please eat something while you drink this. -- love, Connie.”

At least Steve knew how to pick a woman, because that’s exactly what Connie was, one hell of a woman. Javier grabbed the bottle of liquor and mentally promised Connie that he would eat later. He wasn’t hungry. He really hadn’t been hungry for the last few days, and as he looked at the whiskey and cracked the seal on the lid, he didn’t mourn that the kitchen didn’t have any glasses. He was well beyond the need for a glass.

He took the bottle to the couch, kicked off his boots and plopped down heavily. The whiskey was a familiar burn down his throat and he felt it all the way to his belly. Warm, inviting, and just what he needed. Another drink was followed by a long drag of his cigarette before he kick backed and muttered, “Home, sweet, home,” to a cold, empty house.

The banging on the door permeated his skull in a way that he didn’t think was possible. But then again it had been a long time since he had been this hungover. He rolled over on the leather couch and shoved his face into the cushions and prayed that whoever wanted him would just go away. There was no one on this green earth that he wanted to speak to.

He must have fallen back asleep briefly because the next thing he knew, his partner had let himself into his apartment with his spare key and was nudging his leg that was hanging off the side of the couch.

“Javi,” Steve said as he plucked the empty liquor bottle from under his friend’s arm. “Javi!”

“Is too early,” Javier mumbled into the leather of the sofa.

“It’s 4 in the afternoon.” Steve said, setting the bottle on the coffee table. “I told Noonan you were taking the weekend to unpack--” Steve looked around the apartment and then back to the horizontal man. “Looks like you’re done.”

“Fuck you.”

Steve shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “Come on. You need a shower. I’d offer to buy you a drink but you smell like you’ve got that taken care of. So, how about a lap dance? There’s this new place on the other side of town--got your name written all over it.”

“Go away.”

Steve, rubbed his hand down his face and glared at the shell of the man that he had gotten to know over the last couple of years. The day Javier Peña turned down a lap dance, it would have been a cold day in hell and yet the evidence was right there in front of him. Someone needed to tell the devil to go check his thermostat.

“Mmkay.” Steve said sharply and took the empty bottle over to the sink and filled it about half way with tap water. When he dumped it on top of Javier’s head, the way the dark-haired man sputtered and sat straight up brought him more joy than it probably should have. “Good morning!”

“F-fucking hillbilly,” Javier cursed as he pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe his face.

“Get your ass in the shower and I won’t tell Con that you didn’t eat her food she left you.” When his friend paused long enough to lower his shirt and glare at him, Steve continued. “I’m not fuckin’ around, Javi.”

The two men stood at odds of one another, but the blond refused to relent. Javier shoved his now soaking wet hair back from where it was plastered to his face and nodded. He stood with a groan and gave Steve his middle finger as he trudged to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“Missed you, too, bud!” Steve cupped his hands around his mouth in a mock yell after the other man’s retreating form. It was going to be a long road to getting his partner back to his usual self, but the natural place to start was with some no-strings-attached pussy.

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the-great-bbe · 3 years

Text

The children shriek with laughter as the waves roll against their legs. The sweet sound melds with the crashing of the sea, of Mellario and Ellaria gossiping about their beloveds, of Rhaella sighing and relaxing for once. All is bright and golden and warm, save for their ice-cold goblets of sangria. Elia tilts her head back against her chair and smiles. Let those bastards keep that ugly ass throne, she has all she needs right here.

Or, the sangria beach party that Elia and her loved ones deserved. A short fic to start off Summer is for Dorne!

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Among his many talents, Elia’s little brother is a master of mixing drinks.

He is a viper after all, and vipers know their poisons and how to mix them. Tequila from the agave blooming across the hillsides pairs perfectly with lime juice and distilled orange blossom nectar to make a margarita. Horchata foamy and fragrant with Summer Islander cinnamon can be elevated with sugarcane rum. And there’s nothing better on the gods’ green earth than red wine—proper Dornish sweetwine, not that diabetic piss from the Arbor—left to idle in icy splendor with strong brandy and fruit. Blood oranges, black strawberries, white nectarines, even a tart green apple or two. Their cousin Manfrey picked them all fresh from his private orchards near the Water Gardens just the day before. The bounty of Dorne for Dorne and Dornishmen alone.

A pitcher of his perfect sangria rests in a bucket full of ice slurry. Already her goblet is half empty, despite her efforts to sip and savor. It tastes so rich on her tongue much abused by dull Riverlands ale and Reacher wines. There are few blood oranges to be found north of the Boneway, even for a Princess of Dorne, and Elia feels the urge to inhale her drink. She sighs and rolls her shoulders. Just another sip for now. Summer explodes on her tongue, ripe and rich and such a dear welcome home.

Elia doesn’t remember the last time she was this happy. On Dragonstone it was a constant haze of sulfur and marine fog, and Kings Landing reeks from miles away. But here, on a long stretch of beach near Saltshore, the sun burns bright and delicious above the palm trees. Not a single cloud in the sapphire sky, nor any fog to mar the turquoise seas. Elia rolls her head back against her wicker chair. Perhaps later she’ll relocate to the hammock strung between two date palms and let the balmy sea breeze lull her and her children to sleep. But for now her precious Rhaenys plays in the surf with her cousins and Viserys, and dear Aegon builds a sandcastle with Oberyn’s help.

Instead of cowering from the Mad King’s rages and simmering with hatred towards her once husband, Elia lounges in the shade. Zinc paste is cloudy white on her shoulders, nose and ears to protect her from the strongest of the sun, just like the children. But the rest of her body is resplendent with shea butter and avocado oil. Thick aloe leaves already sticky with cooling sap wait in a basket by her feet in case she must ward away a sun burn, but her skin soaks up the midmorning sun like a child returning to her mother’s embrace. Gods, but the sun! She stretches her arms above her head and nearly knocks her wide brimmed hat aside. She swears she can feel the sunlight itself like warm silk through her fingers, like a waterfall down her chest to pool in her stomach and ignite joy in her veins.

She lets her gaze fall back towards the sea. When was the last time Rhaenys laughed this loudly? When was the last time Viserys laughed at all? Poor boy, but he, his mother and his baby sister are well in hand now. Targaryens by birth they may be, but the blood of Myriah Martell and Dyanna Dayne run sevenfold in their veins. Dorne shall never turn its back on any child no matter the color of their skin, and even from her shaded refuge Elia sees the freckles blooming across Viserys’s shoulders. Good; the more sun the better. Uncle Lewyn’s eldest daughter Obara throws him headlong into the waves and he shrieks with joy, while her little sister Nym and Doran’s Arianne demand their own toss into the surf. Rhaenys and Manfrey’s daughter Sarella help Lewyn’s Tyene search for shells and crabs, giggling and kicking seaweed at each other. When they find a proper shell, they bring it to Aegon and Oberyn who add it to their castle. Aegon blows a messy kiss onto Rhaenys’s cheek and Elia’s heart runs over with sweet warmth. Her babies, alive and well and happy.

It was a terribly close thing by the end of Robert’s Rebellion. Elia’s correspondence was cut off by Aerys in his paranoia, but she was able to smuggle out a letter to Oberyn when Rhaella left for Dragonstone. He returned with his sellswords to rescue them from their imprisonment, and not a moment sooner—Elia remembers how Kings Landing burned from her view on the ship home to Dorne. To think of what would’ve happened had they stayed…they say that Aerys was cut down by his own Kingsguard, and that the royal nursery was torn to shreds by the Mountain That Rides in search of children to kill.

Elia shudders. Perish the thought, banish it to the seven hells. Rhaegar is dead, and her children are Martells now. Even Rhaella forsook the Targaryen name when they alighted in Sunspear and she was hurried into proper birthing chambers. Daenerys came to the world not as a Targaryen princess but as a Lady Martell of Dorne, with Rhaella Martell the new Lady of Planky Town. Viserys and Aegon shall not give their lives to the Wall and Rhaenys shall not be chained to a Baratheon prince. Not if Westeros intends for Dorne to remain in the Seven Kingdoms, and truth be told Elia wonders if Doran intends to leave anyway. They entered into a kingdom with a union, and perhaps they shall leave with the sundering of one…

But that’s not what matters today. What matters is refilling her goblet. Elia raises it high, and Doran shuffles over with the pitcher. Her dear older brother is shirtless, stained with sand and salt, and there is a sweet flush to his cheeks. Even his bad leg seems fine with the therapy of burning sunlight illuminating their bones from the inside out. Mellario must certainly appreciate that! Her good sister lies on a spread linen sheet on the sands with Ellaria, Oberyn’s paramour. Both of them are bronze in the sun, a silk turban around Mellario’s head and Ellaria’s curls formed into twists down her back. And its’ said that Cersei Lannister is the most beautiful in Westeros, obviously people are blind. They look up at them with mischievous grins, before bumping their heads together and giggling. Elia smirks at Doran. “Careful now, habibi. I believe you’ll be ambushed later in the night and whisked away by a mystery woman.”

He laughs and his eyes crinkle at the edges. “I’ll be sure to not fight back too much.” He plops down next to her and sips at his lemon water. The maesters forbid him from alcohol and sugar until his gout is under control, a true tragedy in Elia’s eyes as the sangria is excellent. But even more excellent is seeing how happy her brother is. Gods, to imagine him mourning her and her babies as they did for uncle Lewyn, it’s a fate she would not wish on her loved ones. She intends to live to a hundred and twenty, just to ensure he’ll always smile at her with crinkled eyes.

Elia leans against his shoulder and peers out towards the cabana higher up towards the oasis grove. “Has Rhaella returned from Saltshore yet? Dany was giving the wet nurse a bit of a hard time.”

“Missed me, have you?” Rhaella, emerged from their cabana and the platters of fruit kept safe from the sea salt there, calls down to them. It’s been only a few months, and Rhaella is unrecognizable. Elia is glad to see the plump roundness of her stomach and thighs where before she was only skin and bone. And her skin, once as pale as parchment and twice as translucent, is as dark as her great-grandmother Dyanna. It glows against her silver-gold hair and lavender eyes, and there is happiness in her face where before there was only stifled fear.

Elia waves Rhaella over to the empty wicker chair by her side. Perhaps later, when the children sleep off their lunch and the adults are properly sauced from sangrias and margaritas, they’ll return to the cabana and lounge on the day beds. Maybe even one of the cabana boys—cabana men in truth, with their strong arms and backs—can give them all shoulder massages. Rhaella has a little favorite who is always eager to help his new lady relax. Elia raises her eyebrows at her good mother and she takes a long sip of her margarita. Elia is far from judging, as Rhaella deserves whatever happiness she can grasp.

They all do. How long have they all suffered these last years? Suffering Aerys, suffering Rhaegar, suffering the war that they wrought upon Westeros. Elia still remembers the screams from Rhaella’s chambers during their terrible stays in Kings Landing, she remembers the cold silences before Harrenhal and the even colder absences after. And now those men are dead and thousands with them. All over some Northern girl, and a prophecy that probably foretold the coming of the seasons than any promised prince!

Well, fuck them. Westeros has a new king now, in that stinking castle filled with blood and shit and ghosts, and the Baratheons and Lannisters can figure it out now. Let them have the starving smallfolk ready to rebel after a harsh winter. Let them have the honor of bartering away pieces of their souls until all that remains is bleeding pride. Let them have it all. All that matters to Dorne is the rice crop, and managing citrus exports, and the wellbeing of its people. Elia plans to build a new school for smallfolk children and petty gentry in Sunspear, as she is now Princess of Sunspear. More Martell branches for a blood orange tree to bear wondrous fruit. All beneath the sun, so bright in that perfect sky…

Elia sips her sangria. Oberyn and Aegon are finished with their sandcastle, and now he’s pulled out a guitar from somewhere and tries to teach his nephew how to play. Rhaenys perches on Obara’s shoulders and pretends to joust with Arianne who is on Viserys’s. Manfrey and his Summer Islander wife Bellegara Otherys finally finish up their romantic walk up and down the shore, with Bellegara joining Mellario and Ellaria’s whisper pile and Manfrey pulling Doran away to talk drunken business. Something about making a fleet of ships to rival Nymeria’s, and selling sweetwine to Sothoryos in exchange for coconut and date liquor. Elia giggles and can’t stop. Not with the sun so warm on her skin, not with Rhaella raising her goblet and toasting the coming summer.

It’s still winter north of the Red Mountains, but not here. No, summer is here for Dorne, and it is here to stay.

Let those bastards keep that ugly ass throne, she has all she needs right here.

#summer is for dorne #sifd #hot dorne summer #sangria beach party #southern renaissance approved

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firelonewolf · 4 years

Text

Hopelessly Bound

Summary: gaining the key to intimacy with Homelander is still going on. But more problems arise while you try to achieve the final goal.

Pairing: Homelander x CIA!Supe!Reader

Sequel to: Barrier

A/N: @darkmalice00 is the one to thank for this second part! I tried my hardest to get it to match the first one. Hope you like it!

Pushing your back against a couch you smelt the sweet smell of black tea with lemon juice. You only added a little bit of sugar, but it mostly had citric acid in it. Candle scented vanilla cookies took the place it was soothing, reminded you of being at grandma's. Heavy footsteps came before Mallory took a seat across from you. Stiring up her tea before sitting back and taking a sip. "Mission report," she commands to you. Taking sip of the naturally sweetened black tea you sat it down.

Inhaling before handing your hand out to her. She takes it with her slightly warm hands touching your upper arm. You shut your eyes and began to show everything. Relationships developed, what you saw in Homelander's mind, what you've heard. Everything centered around Vought.

But the hard part of memory sharing was the showing your mind walk. Mind walking hurt but combining it with memory share hurt even more. Flashes of the entire thing was taking energy out of you. At the final scene of it of Homelander submitting you pulled away. Gripping your head at the use of two powers at once, and yelped feeling blood tickle down your nose again.

Grace touched her head feeling half drained from that. "My goodness, I don't know how you can do it" she comments to you. Before pushing yourself back and wiping your nose. "My head throbbing at that. Do you want some aspirin?" She inquires to you heading over to get some. You shook your head at that. "Sometimes I forget how powerful you are. I've never met anyone with your abilities." She comments taking out the pills and popping two in.

Than sighed enduring your throbbing head. Felt like someone was squeezing it from the inside to the outside. It sucks for how much it hurts. "I usually drink a bit before it. Most of time I have some tequila beforehand. Numbs the pain, but I thought I could handle it without it." You remark with a sigh bringing your feet on to the couch and gazing down than felt a yawn.

Mallory sits back down doing the same. Sort of weird seeing her not in suits. Ever since her retirement things she switched from her suits to more comfortable clothes. Especially since she's been bird watching. "Good job, (Y/N), you gained access to his trust. Can you estimate when you can have the mind link with him?" She inquires taking a sip of her tea.

"Perhaps in a few weeks," you remark back.

"Good, I'll notify Butcher of the progress." She replies back to you. Boy, was this entire situation messy and like walking on egg shells. Mallory notices you face before sitting more forward at you. "This we've been waiting for. The official mission, I need you to remember (Y/L/N) you can't let them defeat you. You have a big heart, a good one. But I need you to remember, Homelander is a murder. You're helping the world by helping us take down this monster. Okay?" She inquires to you. Silently you nod at this. You had to remember this, and live by each of these words.

___

Bonding with Homelander was hard. It start out as simple things. Small talk evolved to more things. Than it evolved to joking and endless smiles. Than it just turned into an actual friendship sort of bond. Things were transforming rapidly at it was easier to access things with him, but harder. A sense of guilt sometimes overtook you at this entire scheme.

Each time you had to yell at yourself, he is a monster. Lab experiment that escaped, it still doesn't justify what he's damaged. How could it? People have died from his selfishness. None of his issues can excuse what hes become. He had a choice, and made it.

But soon enough it became different at the same time. Lingering long glances than that one time you said goodbye, sure it was a static shock but you felt it physically when you both realized your hands were stuck. But you couldn't let these advances affect you. Denying them was refusing the forbidden fruit and you knew that. Your like a black widow, but less epic, and didn't kill your spouse.

Your CIA training was rough, especially from your test. Thay made sure to throw anything rough at you, they made sure to give you the hardheaded attitude to withstand everything. They expected more from you because of the abilities, even going as far as to making you learn how to escape from a lot of things. The CIA and Mallory considered you climbing the ranks as soon as you graduated the academies. Your abitlies aided and they actually considered you intelligent in your very own way. Your scores with CIA test amazed them each time, and especially the physical test. A test with your power they had you create a mental link. Like always, they were blown away when you managed to do it successfully. Than came your first mind walk experience with a classified psychopath.

It was recorded, but what ended up happening you panicked. From all the darkness and the entirety of the fact inside of their head was a cyclone. But what they wanted you was to calm the psycho down for another case. You managed, but not without screeching like a banshee your head off and making the psycho as well. You ended up somehow breaking all the glass in a proximity.

Not that you had a sonic scream, no one had an explanation of what happened. Neither did you, but it happened and that was it. Binding almost made you rise to that level multiple times. You've only had that happened once, and it almost tore your entire vocals, ruining them. That would've made you voiceless, Mallory said once they would've codenamed you as Hush or something that meant voiceless. But little did you know it came to today.

Like any day, the Seven were out on a mission. Leaving you to do your normal task which meant digging for information. Until you saw from a nearby window people scrambling out of the place. Immediately your heart almost dropped to a deadly point, a cold sweat overtook you. Sprinting to the camera room, you saw lying on one of the floors was a the dead security. "Shit!" You hissed to yourself. Tapping your fingers rapidly you began to search through the cameras. Your eyes landed on a shooter. Everyone was either escaping or hiding. Until you spotted three hostages, "double shit." You hissed and began to search for any weapon. Outside of the office your eyes landed on a fire axe. "Screw my life apparently," you growled before taking it out.

Sprinting down multiple flights of stairs didn't make you break a sweat. CIA almost make you run until you vomit and keep going. Stealthy you began to make your way where you last saw the hostages. The Seven weren't here, and not everyone had the guts to fight. But you could rescue these civilians from a sick person despite them work for them.

But this reminded of you of one mission on a plane. Three of your teams were hostages, and you and another had to save them. But that missioned ended with you falling in the ocean, you were saved though by someone. But when they found you were halfway dead.

Not this time though. You planned on making it out alive and not near death. But fate wasn't the kindest person out there, was it? Than came where the Seven were done with there job, but to there surprised by Ashley, Vought International was under attack. Some crazed shooter blaming Vought came. Than came the recent call of them alerting you were fighting the shooter.

Somehow a screech of the person was muffled in the background. The minute they all heard your name, they all felt the world stop for a moment. Compared to Homelander, he felt the universe freeze for a brief moment. You were a fighter. But apparently the most selfless person in that place. And you were close to death.

Entirety of the whole situation changed in that exact moment. But everything turned inaudible as she talked about how Stillwell fine and most employees are okay, but that didn't matter. You were endanger and yet still decided to face it to save others instead yourself. As he began to march away he ignored how everyone began to pasture questions at him.

He ignored all of them before blasting off in the air. When he got closet enough to hear a screech of pain to where he felt a force launch him back somewhat. Glass broke on three different floors broke into billions of pieces. Landing in the moment he saw a bullet blasted in your left ribcage.

Weakly with blood pouring on your shirt you stumbled in shock before collapsing. On your face was blood pouring out like a river. Sweat and bags forming on your eyes. With your ears ringing from the damage you've caused with the mind walk, you lied defeated. The shooter cried than spotted Homelander who was in pure furious. What was scarier was the point he was thinking of nothing.

As if he was replaying the whole thing is his mind silently or was acting on wrath. In a millisecond you saw him take the throat of the shooter in his hand, and than laser eyes out. You saw the red beams break through the back of the guy's skull.

For a monster, he was very emotional. Drowsy greeted you, you wanted to shut your eyes in the brief moment. Homelander rushed over in a blink of an eye. For a moment you felt a sharp heat above the wound, as you passed out.

___

Paralyzed for a moment you felt awake. Were you in your astral projection form? Than forced yourself to shit, you felt weight. Nope, you were in your body still. Opening your eyes you forced yourself up. Around you was a four walled hospital room. With a bathroom on the side of it with a counter. You thought you were alone, than saw Homelander. Passed out on a chair by it. What time was it?

Seeing your clothes on a chair next to you, you felt almost stiff while starting to wake up your entire body. Grabbing your phone you turned the screen on, than saw it was nearly 6:30 and its been a day and a half. Than placed it back down to glance back at Homelander. He stayed? On a separate table on the other side was flowers.

Than a shark plush, immediately you smirked to yourself, that was the Deep's gift. So distinct compare to everyone else. Well, except Noirs. He put a card and a green tea latte mix with a new mug. Than Starlight's popped out, it was a cute card with a cartoon! But your gaze went back to the unconcious Homelander.

He stayed? Why? Did he actually care? Was he on to you? Was saving you for his benefit to find out who you actually were? Would he kill you after saving you? Or did he figure it out and plan on punishing you by forcing something out of you?

Debating within yourself you had to wonder. Did he genuinely care for you at this point? Was he more human now? As much as you wondered, you came to a conclusion. Both of you were the same at the end of the day. Lost, and eternally dark inside and hiding in the shadows. Difference was that you weren't a sociopath, you were just afraid of yourself and tried to do right.

Were you mad? Insane for caring and sympathizing with a sociopath? Why did you have to feel this way? Part of you wanted to shout for help to save you from loving a monster, but the other half felt scared for him. Could you save him? Could you actually save him from himself before it kills him?

All these raced before you. Than snapped at the sudden voice you heard. Your hair swayed as your head turned to the right. Part of it in your face at the sudden awaked Homelander. "Your awake" he yawned sitting himself up and stretching. "Its been a day and half. They took the bullet out. You surgery didn't take long thankfully, I was worried."

The last part made your heart swell. Why? You wanted to claw yourself apart, why was this happening? You were sinking down to him. This a disaster, and you liked it. Felt like a rush of adrenaline and freeing. You couldn't have whatever this is with him. You've never wanted something so bad, and you hated it. "You stayed here for me?"

His blue eyes flickered to you, your heart felt slightly warmed. "Yeah, I did." He said lowly to you sort of inching closer. This felt like magic. Why did it have to?

"Why?" You inquired awaiting his answer. You didn't use telepathy to hear his thoughts. You listened to his voice instead of his head.

He paused for a moment peering down at his hand before his gaze switched to you. "Because I was terrified." He states, for a moment you searched for a lie. But you couldn't help but feel yourself leaning in. "I was... scared for you."

"I'm okay now, no need to worry anymore." Warm, you felt a warm compare to his cold touch of his lips. He was so cool, you couldn't help passionately kiss him. Felt like magnets, magnetism of a force pulling you together. You loved how it felt as if water and fire came together.

Different forces of nature that are oil and water. And you loved it, just like how you felt with him at the moment. Not that it wasn't meant to be, well it sort of was. But you were seeing a different side of him from the cameras and the Boys. This humanity was hidden in him, no matter how much he tried to kill it. Brief moments he embraced it, and it was a different energy that was intoxicating. It was poison.

His venom was like a drug. But you wanted to escape the high but wanted to enjoy it. You couldn't help it though, as your heart swelled of how he made you feel. How he genuinely cared for you like a normal person. Half of you hissed how he wasn't normal though.

At that realization you wanted to cry, but refused the emotion. Hearing him laugh made you laugh in the moment as well, before kissing him again. This emotion inside of you that yearned for him was so addicting. Taking his upper arm to pull him closer, than felt a tether almost force.

Tether that was so tough like fiber strength. In that moment you blinked to feel a cool breeze than blinked your eyes open. In the moment you felt Homelander arm still in your grip. Than noticed the attire changed for both of you. Both of you pulled apart to see your world before.

On a cliff of bright green grass with mountain flowers everywhere. Sunshine that radiated warm all around. It was comforting but abive you was a lilac trees bloomed purple flowers. Pedals hitting you on your head. Near it down the cliff was a heliotropes. Both of you glanced around the place realizing where you were. "What the?" You hear Homelander say. "Where are we? Can you teleport?"

You shook your head at pure shellshock of what was happening. "I can mind walk.." you say lowly. "Mind walk, I think both of our minds clashed together. This has never happened..." you state. As he pulled from you than you saw.

He wore a black version of his suit with only white on it somewhat. Than you had a white sundress with red floral prints on it. "Its beautiful here..." he responds turning to you. Warmly you smiled surprised of how he was taking it. "Your mind alerting," he comments. Electricity was in his eyes perhaps from the intensity of both of your emotions? "Your incredible" he says pulling you back into one. Before feeling heart in a sharp pain the moment. For something that feels so right, it so painful, why? "I think I love you." John says in that moment pressing his temple against yours. Light tears came down your face that he didn't notice.

Sucking in a breath to gain to courage. Despite feeling all the butterflies in your stomach. "I think I love you too." You remark in a whisper.

___

Marching to Mallory's place after you were discharged from the hospital was so emotional for you. Crying you explained to her the entire situation. You showed her through your memory of everything. How he saved you, how he stayed by you. How he submitted to you. She congratulated on the mission complete on mind linking, now you have a official bond with Homelander. But to her shock, it deeper now that your both in love. You wasted no time quitting, and packing everything in your apartment. Luckily there wasn't much.

Your new mission was here. Stay with Billy Butcher and help them take the supes down. Much to how your heart ached at how you had to disappear from the face of the Earth. Despite only have Starlight left of the Seven no matter how much you'll miss the rest. They were broken people, in a broken place. Mainly Homelander.

Mallory cooked up a excuse to leave, one without you having to die. As you unpacked a couple of your things in a pair of a red wine colored tank top with a pair of black cargo pants. Billy sat on his couch contemplating why Mallory commanded him to let you stay with him. He pastured you with questions before the entire thing.

Yet you and Mallory agreed not to tell him why the mission was complete and what happened in between. Butcher would kill you, you had to keep it a secret. His thoughts were so loud compare to him vocally. Submitting and telling him the truth was hard, but you have to hide it from him.

Much to his dismay of knowing there was more to it than just a simple mission complete. But as you unpacked you couldn't help but have your heartache at thought of John. How he kissed you, how you felt. Like fine wine, it felt great but you knew you shouldn't. Scrubbing off your mind from him won't happen. Running away won't fully work without you yearning for him still.

Out running him wasn't possible either. His face was everywhere. Time to stop thinking about going backwards. You pulled out a silver necklace that was small. Middle of the small knot with a "J" in the center of it. No matter how much you were in love with him it was doomed. Doomed love that was hopelessly bound to happen. Allowing this disaster to happen was stupid, but too late to fix. No matter how much you felt in love with him. Like Butcher would say, if he did know, don't be a lovesick cunt.

"Do you want to get a drink later at the pub later? Watch one of the games?" He inquires to you as you hide the necklace again. Than hold a book in your hand.

"Yeah, that'll be nice after dealing with those supes" you remark with a light laugh. He returned to back to you. Ignore the forbidden fruit, now matter how you like the feeling of being in love. No choice but to move forward until all of this is finally done.

#the boys amazon #homelander #the boys #homelander x reader #billy butcher #frenchie #mothers milk #the boys season 2 #black noir #antony starr #starlight x hughie #starlight #x reader #queen maeve x elena #queen maeve x reader #a train

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

The Lies We Tell

Aaron Hotchner has been lied to his entire life. That’s the thing about good intentions...

Warnings: abuse

The day that Haley’s family moved into the neighborhood is seared into Hotch’s memory.

He was pulled out of bed by his father. The older man slurring his words, heavily affected by whatever cheap liquor he’d been drowning himself in the entire afternoon prior. He had no chance to understand what was being said. He’d gone, regardless, in the direction of his father’s pulling to alleviate the pressure on his shoulder joint. Knowing too much of the pinned, awkward angle would spell misfortune for him.

Sure enough, his shoulder comes free with a pop and a chocked grunt of pain-- he knows better than to cry out. He suffers through the drunken rant his father’s worked himself into, careful to keep his wounded arm tight to his chest. In the privacy he’s afforded, only after his father’s taken a few blows and has resigned himself to sleeping off his slump, he can reset his shoulder. Should he do it by himself? No. There, simply, isn’t any other option.

With word of the family moving in down the street, the Brooke’s, his father sobers up to put up his best front: loving father who day-lights as a lawyer and spends his nights beating the shit out of his family. That doesn’t mean that Aaron doesn’t manage to “step out of line” just as they’re leaving-- how dare he existed in his home.

With his ears still ringing from the blow to his head, vision swimming, Aaron Hotchner stands between his mother and father on Brooke’s lawn. His father beams down at him, pride and joy in every area of his face except in his eyes. The only place it matters is the only place it isn’t. The family across from them doesn’t take note of how empty his father’s eyes are or how hard his grip is on Aaron’s bony shoulder. All they see is a family that mirrors their own:

A father, a mother, and two children.

The Brookes are a good family. It takes years for Aaron to grow out of his contempt for them. By then, his father is dying and the beatings are getting worse.

“Aaron--”

He falls hard for Haley Brookes and for some reason she gives the world’s worse pirate #3 a chance. She starts to wonder how a guy like Aaron falls through the cracks. He does plenty of clubs and he’s as sweet as can be. His personality is a little underdeveloped, as are his social skills, and he doesn’t always understand current social things, but he’s funny, and he’s handsome.

And he’s got an awful home life.

“Oh God,” she reaches for him and quickly realizes that was a mistake. “Sorry,” she whispers, taking a step back. She hadn’t expected the broken sob to leave his mouth when she reached for him. Sure, she’d noticed that sometimes if she reaches for his hand too fast he flinches away. She just hadn’t connected his bruises for… for this.

He’s shaking in their doorway, soaking wet from the rain pouring down outside. It’s too cold to let him stand out there for too long.

She wracks her brain for what to do and with shaky inhale she forces herself to calm down. Aaron’s always fed off of the energy others give, it’s one of the first things you notice the longer you’re around him. His empathy is high. “Aaron,” she calls softly, extending her hand out of the doorway to him. He still has to step to reach her but that leaves their proximity in his control.

It takes him a moment but he steps closer and allows his fingers to brush against hers.

He knows Haley is safe. Haley will help him. He’s struggling. The line between pain and comfort is distorted. He’s scared and it immobilizes him. Rationally he knows-- he knows Haley will help him but he’s afraid his father will see. What if he hurts her too?

“Son?”

Mr. Brookes. He’ll protect them from his father.

“Son, what the hell--”

Haley steps between them, seeing the way Aaron’s eyes light up at the sight of her father. He’s not in his rational mind. This isn’t his fault. “Daddy,” she warns softly. Mercifully, they pass between them an understanding. Her father hates the Hotchners and he distrusts Aaron and his motivations. But he understands this. He understands where the bruise swelling on Aaron’s right cheekbone came from.

“Let me help,” Haley whispers to Aaron. “Come on, you’ll be okay.” She offers her hand back out and watches as Aaron’s eyes pass between her and her father. There’s another moment, more hesitation but he finally breaks the gap. He trusts her. He’s always trusted her.

Once he steps forward, this time, he doesn’t stop until he’s got both arms wrapped around Haley. He sobs into her collar and she holds him. Pulls him close until he’s practically folded into himself to be at her height. To allow himself to sink into her arms and just be held.

Haley’s mother brings in a bag of peas, cliche but the only thing they have to reduce the swelling in his face. Mr. Brookes stays in the kitchen, watching from the doorway as his wife and daughter aid Aaron. As uneasy as the situation feels him, there’s a stir of pride in the pit of his stomach at the side of Haley being so tender.

“Shh,” Haley runs her hand through Aaron’s wet hair. He flinches from the touch of the cold press to his cheek, pushing himself closer to Haley. She expects the movement and wordlessly takes the bag from her mother. “It’s alright,” she soothes and this time he sees the bag coming. He doesn’t fight it.

“I’m right here.” She promises, “always. I’ll always be right here.”

He places his hand over her own. It takes him a moment to realize where he is-- laying in the Brookes’s living room with his head in Haley’s lap. Blinking tears out of his eyes he asks, “do you promise?”

Haley nods and presses a kiss to his forehead, “I promise, Aaron. I’m right here.”

That was the first lie she ever told him.

___________

He makes it through training. Paperwork comes and goes. He can wrap his head around the cases that hurt the most but... he still stumbles. He’s not figured out how to hide these things from people trained to detect exactly what he’s doing. Jason and Dave are unforgiving. They push and push at his broken pieces. There’s a moment, suspended, where he can recognize that he has exactly two options: fall apart or tell.

And the time to make that decision is quickly leaving.

The silence is building and while he understands that there is nothing wrong with the silence normally, here it is baited. Each moment he allows Dave’s question to go unanswered is another ticking time bomb that allows Dave to come to his own conclusion, however right they may be.

Hotch doesn’t typically appreciate people getting into his head. He doesn’t appreciate anyone getting into his head. There’s a strange give and take with Dave, though. He’s come to understand a certain level of giving-- personal information as little as a review of his day or, from what Dave wants, an in-depth analysis of his childhood. These things equate to trust and… and, well, love.

“Well?”

But he can’t say the words. They’re stuck in the back of his throat-- worse than choking. Exactly like choking. He doesn’t want the words there. He wants them aired out. He wants to tell Dave that his father hit him so badly once that he was hospitalized for three days in the ICU. That the hitting wasn’t enough. As he got too weak to hit, the verbal abuse was just effective.

But there’s no Heimlich maneuver for emotions.

Just growth.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hotch doesn’t dare look up from the paperwork in his lap.

The question had been if he was willing to tell Dave what it was that had bothered him so much about the family of their almost victim. Almost, being subjective. The boy had still been through the trauma of being kidnapped, it was just some cruel mercy he wasn’t killed.

And for what? Hotch knew exactly what they were sending that boy back home to.

It’s the same thing he used to go home to.

Dave hums, it’s a specific sound he makes in the back of his throat and Hotch knows exactly what it means. He looks up and Dave just raises an eyebrow and shrugs it away. “I was just wondering,” he mumbles. “I also thought you should know that Jason called child protective services and I have a friend working on getting those kids out of that house.”

So he had seen the bruises.

“Oh,” escapes his mouth before he can bite it down. He nods his head and looks away, afraid of what he might see if looks at Dave for too long. “The father was unhinged,” he profiles. “Those kids won’t survive much longer with him.”

Dave nods, he’d come to the same conclusion. “Can’t imagine what it would be like to be raised by a man like that,” Dave says with a sympathetic shake of his head. “No one deserves that.”

Hotch refrains from nodding or even acknowledging that statement because he knows it’s meant for him. At him. Saying anything is admitting that Dave’s right.

Clearing his throat, Dave settles his attention back on the road. They’ve got a long drive ahead of them. Plenty of opportunities to have this discussion another time. Aaron’s just starting to hope that’s exactly what’s going to happen when Dave glances over at him.

"When was the last time you slept, " Dave plays his worried glance off by looking in the rear view mirror. Checking behind them. But he doesn't need to be looking at Hotch to know if he's lying or not. The kid looks like shit. He hasn't slept properly in days.

Hotch looks out the window, leaning his temple against the cool glass. "Don't know, " he mumbles.

Rossi hums.

"Why?"

Rossi glances at him, for a long hard minute it's a battle of wills. With a raised eyebrow, Dave shrugs. "Just checking in on you, am I not allowed to do that?"

Hotch doesn't reply. He doesn't even look up.

“Kid?”

Dammit. He wants to keep to himself. He wants to just crawl into a hole and act like nothing’s wrong. His childhood was great. His father was a hero. His mother… but he can’t even breathe. Each inhale gets caught in his throat and he can feel panic setting it. He needs to get out of this car. “P-Pull over,” he gasps, fingers going to his noose-- tie. “Pull over!”

He throws his door open, rushing out and toppling over onto his knees, gagging into the tall grass. A small voice in his head warns of the dangers of a snake, he did grow up in the south, but the way his stomach keeps cramping pushes that thought away. There are more dangerous things than a snake-- he used to live with one.

“Easy,” Dave mumbles from behind him and Hotch realizes he’s now leaning into Dave. Allowing the older man to hold him. “Easy, kid, just breathe.” Through each shuddering breath he pulls in, Hotch can feel Dave rubbing his hand up and down his back. His head is pounding, his ears pulsing. “Tell me next time you’re feeling sick, okay?”

Hotch leans back over, gagging miserably but unable to bring up anything with nothing left in his stomach.

“Look at me,” Dave asks, handing him a handkerchief to wipe his face off with. “I’m not going anywhere, kid. You can trust me. I’ll always be right here.”

Two months later he retires. Hotch doesn’t even get two weeks’ notice.

___________

He keeps counting. Jason Gideon keeps counting and each time he comes up one short. The radio in his ear buzzes, body counts over and over listed for the personnel looking through the carnage. There are plenty of missing officers, a single swat agent, and-and Jason’s one missing agent. Possible missing agent.

Six agents in… If six agents went in then there should still be-- Aaron.

Swaying where he stands, Aaron’s looking at the ruined building before him. His dark brown hair is pushed in disarray atop his head. No amount of gel keeping his crazy hair down. Jason’s always found it an endearing, if not silly, thing for someone so serious to have. But right now he can’t appreciate the cowlicks.

“Aaron,” Jason calls, knowing how the younger man startles when he’s not expecting being touched. “Can you hear me?” The closer he gets the more blood he sees. It might not be Aaron’s. That’s a very real possibility but Jason doubts that the crimson stain on his chest is entirely someone else’s.

Neither of their luck is that good.

And Jason knows he’s broken his promise to Dave.

“Watch out for the kid, huh? He…--”

“Get himself into trouble? Yeah, I know. I’ll watch his back.”

Who was watching his back today? Not Jason. He let six agents die. He was stupid. It was a stupid mistake and now everyone else is paying for it.

“Gideon?” Aaron turns to him, confusion pulling his thick brows down. “I can’t--” he looks around them, to the smoke and the building. “I can’t find Morgan. He… I just--” He winces in pain, his left hand touching his abdomen and he pulls it away bloody. He looks up to Gideon, tears in his eyes, “I can’t find Morgan.”

Jason nods his understanding, keeping his slow approach. “That’s okay,” he reassures him. “Don’t you remember? I sent Morgan back to Quantico.” He’s close enough now to touch Aaron and he offers a squeeze to his shoulder. “He’s okay. He’s safe.”

Aaron sucks in a breath, it sounds like a sob but he nods his understanding. His knees start to give beneath him, no reason to keep fighting if Morgan’s okay.

Jason catches him around the waist just as his knees cave beneath his weight. “It’s okay,” he breathes, shushing Aaron’s incoherent mumble. “You’re okay.” He places his hand over the wound, it’s easy to identify. It’s the only warm place on Hotch’s entire body. The strangled cry that leaves his pale lips rips through Jason.

His breathing immediately becomes more labored, his eyes slivers. “Hurts…” his face is awfully pale. His skin is clammy.

“Shh,” Jason looks motions for the medics running towards them to run faster. “I know, I know.” He tries to step back and give the medics room but the moment he moves Aaron grabs his hand. “Alright,” he settles back down, making sure to be out of the way but holding Aaron’s hand back. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.”

The minute he passes out, Jason pulls away. He just can’t do it. He needs to get away.

Hotch spends weeks in the hospital.

Morgan’s there… but that’s because no one else can be. Their unit is dead. They have to start from the beginning. It’s just Derek, Hotch, and Gideon. And Gideon’s off… God knows where.

The day Hotch is released from the hospital, Jason visits. He stands in the doorway of the room, smiling as Hotch and Derek argue while Haley stands to the side, obviously displeased. He’s always enjoyed Morgan and Hotch’s brotherly friendship. No one was faster at putting the other in their place like the other but let either hear someone else bad mouth them and they’d go down swinging.

Derek wins the argument and Hotch lets him help him into the wheelchair. When Derek looks up, pushing the feet of the wheelchair so that Hotch can rest his feet on them, he follows Hotch’s eyes to the doorway. “What are you doing here?” he spits.

It’s unkind but Jason’s expecting it just as much as Hotch’s soft reprimand in the form of a Morgan’s name grunted.

Morgan looks back at Hotch, about to start another argument but they share a glance and before either says anything Haley steps up. “Come on,” she motions for Morgan to follow her. “Just give them a minute.”

Morgan gives Jason the look. It means many things but today it’s a warning. If Jason hurts Hotch, Morgan’s going to do worse to him. Boss or not.

“How are you?” Jason asks, settling himself on the edge of Hotch’s vacated bed.

Hotch looks down at his hands, nervously picking at his nails. He shakes his head, “I’ll be back at the office in two weeks but they’re not letting me back into the field until at least the end of the month.” He looks up at Jason, “ and I have to pass all the field requirements.”

Jason nods, “that’s good.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “But that’s not what I asked.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow, not exactly playing stupid but not playing along either. “Mmm,” he looks back down at his hands, brows furrowed now. “Haley’s pregnant, she--” he looks up at the doorway as if expecting her there. “She wants me to transfer. Go someplace safer.”

Jason takes this in for a moment, looking to the ground. He shrugs, “it’s understandable. You’re going to be a father, Aaron. Of course, she wants you alive.” He looks down at the floor, in shame or contempt, or just vulnerability. “You’ll be safer anyhow, now,” he adds. “If you decide to stay you’re going to be taking the Unit Cheif position.”

Hotch’s head snaps up, “they-” He looks away from Jason, processing the information. After a moment, he looks back up. “They took your job?”

Jason shakes his head, “no.” He nods his head towards Hotch, “they gave my position to a worthy candidate, whose name I put in the ring myself.” He smiles proudly, “and I am going to watch him build a new team as his senior agent.”

Hotch looks up at Jason and shakes his head but he looks away, unsure of what he’s supposed to say. He knows he can do the job. That’s always what he wanted-- hell, it’s what Dave and Jason both wanted. He just wasn’t expecting it so soon. He’s not sure he’s ready for it so soon.

“You’ll be great,” Jason reassures him. He gets off the bed and crouches down beside the wheelchair. Leaving the two men eye-level. “There’s no one that could do this job better.”

Hotch feels pretty adamant about this.

“Look at me,” Jason requests. “Nothing is going to happen. You’re a natural leader.”

Hotch nods.

“You’re going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Two years later, as Hotch stands before Strauss knowing that the last year has been an unraveling-- a never-ending list of things that have gone wrong and reasons to fire him-- he wishes Jason were here. He shouldn’t have to deal with all of this alone. And yet he does.

___________

The world was on fire. Flames licking at the side of his arm and the way his legs refused to properly hold his weight. His knees hitting the gravel and the sting of skin tearing. But he’d sat in something wet. Crimson.

Morgan was there. He was kneeling beside Hotch, his hand on his shoulder.

“Agent Hotchner?” He flinches away from the penlight in his eyes. Someone says something and a palm settles across his forehead, this time he can’t move away as the light comes back. “Can you hear me, Agent Hotchner?”

Morgan stands up from his chair. He pushes himself between the doctor and Hotch. “You’re hurting him,” he accuses hotly. The doctor can’t refute that statement, Hotch is still groaning from the pain spiking through his head. He’s raised his hands to ward off another attack from the light, writhing as he moves his sore body to get away from where he knows it came from.

The doctor sighs. Of course, he understands the proximity of agents. This isn’t his first time dealing with government agents. Things are just becoming tricky. Agent Hotchner’s condition is critical and Agent Morgan understands that a little too well. He just doesn’t understand that his friend’s not going to catch his death with a doctor flashing a penlight into his eyes but he might if his concussion worsens or turns into a brain bleed.

“Agent,” the doctor says, growing impatient as Agent Hotchner grows more restless. “I understand your concern but your friend needs my help.” He knows he’s won the moment Morgan turns to look at Hotch. “Let me get him something for the pain and we can discuss this some more, okay?”

Morgan looks over to Hotch.

He’s crying, most likely not even aware of the tears streaming down his face. His hands are pressed over his ears and he’s turned over so that his back is to them. He’s managed to draw his knees to his chest. He’s entirely defensive, his pain is that bad.

“Okay,” the doctor repeats and this time Morgan nods. “Okay.” He steps right up to Hotch’s bedside, gently shaking the agent’s arm. “Agent Hotchner, can you hear me?” He doesn’t shine the penlight in his eyes, he just tries to get some sort of answer out of the other man.

Hotch manages a grumbled response, it’s too soft for Morgan to catch but the nurse facing Hotch looks up and repeats it. “He’s saying he’s okay.”

“He--” Morgan steps forward about to make sure they understand that’s very much not true but the doctor raises his hand and Morgan stops in his tracks.

“I know, “ the doctor confirms. He leans back over Hotch, “Agent, I’m going to have our very helpful nurse Sarah give you some pain meds, okay?” He pulls at the back of the gown Hotch’s bloodied clothes had been replaced by. He frowns at the road burn he finds but doesn’t comment. “You’ll be feeling a lot better in just a moment.”

The doctor steps to the side and motions for Morgan to follow.

Hotch cracks an eye open, fighting the currents of pain trying to drag him down to watch as the nurse pushing something painfully hot into his arm. It’s clear and his slurred speech doesn’t stop her. She pulls the syringe free and he just watches, that intense warmth working its way up his arm and into his chest. It hurts and it itches but his eyelids start to drop. Impossibly heavy.

Derek appears out of… well, nowhere. Hotch’s eyes move to the left, following the direction from which he appeared but he’s too tired to move his head and really figure out what’s happening.

“Hey man,” Morgan greets.

There’s something about the face that Morgan makes as he sits down in the visitor’s chair that sparks a sudden memory. “Kate,” Hotch rasps.

The doctor had just told Morgan that any stress is going to be too much. That Hotch’s heart and body just can’t take it.

Morgan looks up as the nurse tries to step between them, allowing her through. She places a mask over Hotch’s face, replacing the canal he’d worn just a moment ago. Worse, Morgan recalls, the doctor said he was getting worse. So when he sits down he puts on his best show.

“Joyner,” Morgan says. “You mean Kate Joyner.”

Hotch manages a small nod.

Morgan has to think carefully about his lie. He’ll have to recall these details later, to make sure the others understand his white lie. More importantly, Hotch has to believe him without a shred of doubt. “She’s downstairs,” Morgan says, which true. He’s just hoping Hotch assumes the E.R. and not the morgue. “You don’t need to worry about her, though,” Morgan says.

Hotch nods, “she’s… she’s okay?”

Morgan pulls in a steady breath, “she’s okay.” He smiles and offers Hotch a reassuring nod. “Get some sleep, man, you could use it.” He reaches over and squeezes Hotch’s hand, making sure he knows he’s not going anywhere.

Hotch can’t fight the drugs any longer. “The others,” he whispers. Morgan can’t hear him. “The others, are they okay?”

His breathing has become steadily worse and Morgan knows that if he doesn’t shut Hotch up soon they’re going to kick him out. Which may seem like a good thing but they don’t know Hotch. He’ll kill himself trying to get out of bed to make sure no one else is hurt.

“Everyone’s okay.”

And Hotch doesn’t need to know any more than that. They��ll catch the terrorist and he can worry about not dying on them. Because Morgan’s not sure he can handle anything but Hotch walking away from this.

He… He will walk away from this, right?

“Rest,” Morgan whispers. “We’ll handle everything.”

A month later, with ears as healed as they’re going to get and Morgan by his side, Hotch visits Kate Joyner’s grave.

“I’m sorry I…” Morgan can’t look at the gravestone or Hotch so he averts his eyes to the grass.

It takes a moment but Hotch’s voice cuts through the cold air with the thickness of his surfacing guilt. “It doesn’t matter.”

It did.

___________

Eventually, Dave leaves and Hotch is left with nothing but his previously raised question: what will his son remember about his in ten years? And no answer.

He falls asleep. It’s not a conscious choice but one his body makes for him. He’s been awake for the upwards of five hours, pushing past the mental fog a little too far. That had always been a problem for him. He could push his body, and he certainly would, but eventually, his brain would catch up. And, just as it had today, would override his determination to keep pushing.

He wakes to the sight of Emily Prentiss. She’s curled up in the visitor’s chair that she’d occupied earlier. Despite the days unraveling, she seems as relaxed as possible. But, then, she’s always held the danger of still water.

“You should have gone home with the others.” His voice seems caught around his sternum, lower and more agitated in tone than normal. Grumpy. He can’t help it. He’s not sure he could even smile right now if he had to. Not that there’s any reason to.

He’s completely alone.

She doesn’t pay his tone or attitude much mind but when has she? Given the last two years, he knows she’s grown some traction with the team and… well, they’ve grown closer as well. He knows this with an unfailing certainty when she simply shrugs away his comment.

Sometimes, they can really test him.

As she does frequently.

“I did go home,” she clarifies, flipping the page in her book without looking up at him. “And before you ask, I even got a good eight hours of sleep.”

He rolls his eyes, definitely something he wouldn’t do if not for the hefty amount of strong pain killers being dumped into his bloodstream. He knows he’s been beat, as he often is when it comes to Emily Prentiss, because he can’t disprove she’s slept or went home.

She reaches up and pulls--what he assumes is coffee-based off of the container-- a cup to her. She sips it and glances up at him. “Besides,” she says, putting the cup back. “I’m taking the first watch. I have to be here even if you don’t want me here.”

He understands well enough. Taking watch is not a new concept but the notion that he’d be on its receiving end is. He also knows she doesn’t mean the Bureau has assigned them to set watch, they’ve decided it amongst themselves. It almost makes the pain in his chest… numb.

He averts his eyes, looking to the ceiling. What’s he supposed to say to that anyway?

“How are you feeling,” she asks, tucking a bookmark in between the pages of her book. She sets it down in her lap, her full attention coming to him, even if he doesn’t want it. “Don’t lie,” she warns. “Your heartbeat is being measured out for me to see and you’re not that good at lying when you’re high.”

Like he’s let his heart rate give away if he was lying or not… besides, they both know lying while high thing is true. He hates that. “Fine,” he mumbles, eyes still on the ceiling.

She hums, “fine.” Sure. He gets stabbed nine times in his apartment after a case sent from hell by a serial killer they have profiled and know will continue to stalk Hotch for as long as possible. His only family has just been sent away for the next to foreseeable future and he’s fine. Just fine.

But what’s she to say. Everything’s going to be okay? She doesn’t know that. Even if they catch Foyet, that’s not going to mean Hotch can still look at himself in the mirror. It’s not going to fix the physiological torture.

She probably shouldn’t but she reaches between the two of them and gently takes his head. “Aaron,” she whispers because this isn’t the time for business casual nicknames. “We’re going to catch that son of a bitch,” her conviction feels misplaced but he can’t even bear to look at her and tell her that. “And you’re not going to lose anyone else.”

He nods, not able to trust his voice.

He’s exhausted. Too tired to argue with her.

“Okay.”

She sits back in her chair and they sit in one another silent comfort. A few minutes pass and she looks up and finds him sleep peacefully. Those brows finally having relaxed and his mouth open. She’ll be right here to keep the demons away and if Foyet decides to show his miserable face? He won’t be ready for the beating she’ll lay on him.

She just has no idea how wrong her promise is.

Now, she can squeeze his hand and promise him that he won’t lose anyone else. And he doesn’t for a few months.

Then she finds him crouched over Foyet’s dead body and Ian Doyle claws his way from the grave.

And he has to bury her.

He looses her too.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #jason gideon #derek morgan #emily prentiss #tw abuse

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youllneverknowrac · 4 years

Text

Oscar Diaz-Mariposita

Requested from one of my wattpad babies

“How is she?” You ask Oscar from the hospital bed you currently laid on. You glanced at the clock on the wall and read the time with a slight yawn,”It’s already 3 am? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You just gave birth nena. You needed the rest.” Oscar says as he paces around the room with the new born baby girl who was whining.

“Thank you for letting me sleep papi but I was suppose to feed her almost a hour ago.” You smile softly as you sit up in the bed.

“Oh, do you think that’s why she hasn’t stopped crying?” He asks with wide eyes,”I’m sorry, still sort of new at this daddy business.”

“So am I.” You laugh softly as you hold your arms out,”Let me see her.”

“Come on mariposita. I’m sorry I made you starve. I’ll get better at this.” He talks to the baby as he walks over and gently places her in your arms.

“Hi pretty girl. Are you hungry?” You smile as you bring her to your chest, inhaling her new scent and pressing a kiss to the top of her head,”Let’s see if you can do a better job then last time.” You say as you pull down the hospital gown and free your breast, bringing her closer so she can try to latch on.

“You almost got it...ah there you go.” Oscar smiles victoriously as he slides in next to you so he can watch her drink,”Does it hurt?”

“Not really, feels more sore if anything.” You try to explain as you rest your head on his shoulder,”I’m sure when she starts to get teeth I’ll be saying something else though.”

“You still gotta breast feed them when they get teeth?” Oscar asks

“Well if I want to, I guess we will see in a few months. I mean I want to be able to do it as long as possible.” You explain, Oscar nodding in understanding as a calm silence falls in between you guys as you soak in this moment, that is until he opens his mouth a few minutes later.

“Well when do you think I’d be able to get some of that action?” He asks with no shame,”I already miss them.”

“You’re so dumb.” You laugh with a playful eye roll,”Don’t talk about that when she’s right here.”

“Aye she’s not even two days old yet. She has no idea what her daddy is saying.”

“She does too know what her daddy is saying.” You sing,”So watch it.”

“Yes mam.” Oscar nods with a smirk,”I’ll be more careful with what I say around our newborn. I wouldn’t want her repeating anything.”

“Hm well make sure you tell that to Cesar and Sad Eyez. Especially Sad Eyez.”

“Hey she has like 20 uncles, she’s gonna hear shit...sorry stuff that she’s not suppose to. And if I remember correctly her mommy has used some pretty strong language.”

“That was before, this is now. I’m a changed women after I pushed her out of me.”

“We’ll see about that, I bet you can’t go a full day with out cussing.”

“What are we betting?”

“Hm diaper duty the first week home.”

“You’re so on.” You say as you feel your daughter unlatch from you so she can sneeze,”That was the cutest thing ever.�� You squeal as she stares up at the ceiling, not interested in your nipple anymore.

“Come back to daddy. See even she’s sick of your lies, she knows you’re going to loose the bet.” Oscar teases as he takes her back from you and begins to burp her,”Am I doing it right?”

“Yeah, but put this on your shoulder just in case.” You inform him as you reach over and grab one of her burping cloths,”Here.” You sigh and work it underneath her,”You don’t got to be so gentle, newborns are tougher than they look. And she has to burp so be a bit more firm.”

“Like this?” He mutters as he try’s to concentrate on the simple task,”You sure I’m not hurting her?”

“She’s fine, you’re doing great papi. Quit worrying so much, you’re a great daddy.”

“Are you just saying that? I ain’t never had no real parent ya know? I want to be the best dad I can to her.”

“Ozzy, you’re doing great. You’re going to be the best thing in our little girls life. Just like you were the best thing in my life when you made me yours.”

“I love you Y/N.” He smiles softly as you reassure him,”I can never thank you enough for sticking with me through it all and giving me this perfect little girl. Ima give you the world mami, just watch.”

“You already did Oscar.” You tear up as you lean over to press your lips against his cheek,”You being here with me is thanks enough.”

“You two are my life.” He says seriously,”You two are my whole world. Always.”

“What about Cesar?” You ask as you wipe a fallen tear with your finger, a small laugh followed as you kill the sweet moment.

“Yeah his ass too.” Oscar smirks just as the little girl burps quite loudly,”Good job mariposita.” He praises as he now gently caresses her back, all while you watch in adoration. The two people you love most in the world bonding all while you imagine how many more picture perfect moments you are going to get like this.

#spooky diaz #spooky x reader #netflix on my block #on my block imagines #netflix #freeridge #on my block season 3 #one shot #omb #omb season 3 #oscar diaz #oscar diaz x reader

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beelsnack · 4 years

Text

Obey Me! Boys and an Insecure MC

Alternate Title: Coping mechanisms? In my demonic dating sim? It’s more likely than you think.

I honestly didn’t mean for this to be so long, but hey.

CW: Depression, self hatred, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Lucifer: It was subtle, but nothing escaped the notice of the Eldest. He saw them fidgeting with their tie before heading to class, watched the frown tug at their lips when all they managed to produce was a rumpled tangle of silk. Caught them poking ruefully at their acne scars in the reflection of their D.D.D. Heard the frustrated sigh as they tried to sit in a way that hid the meat on their abdomen. But, above all, he paid close attention to those comments.

“Wow, I can’t do anything right, can I?”

“You would have to be a professional makeup artist to fix this mess, haha!”

“It’s alright, you can say I’m ugly.”

That was it. Lucifer stood from his seat at his desk, an errant paper fluttering to the ground in his wake. The Firstborn made his way over to where they were sitting, working away diligently on their laptop. Their breath caught in their throat when they turned to face him, and Lucifer fought back a sadistic grin when he felt them shudder at the feeling of his gloved hand sliding beneath their chin. He would file that away for later.

“That’s quite enough.” his voice was low as he lifted their face. They averted their eyes, clearly uncomfortable, but he kept his hand where it was. “Self-deprecation is unbecoming on anyone, but I certainly will not have it marring that beautiful face of yours.”

Nothing escaped the notice of the Eldest. Especially not the shy smile they wore as they bade him goodnight.

Mammon: Call him an idiot all you like, but if there was one thing that a solid gambling career had taught Mammon, it was how to read a person’s tells. The way they stood with their arms folded and body turned inward said they were trying to hide. Their habit of avoiding mirrors told him they hated the way they looked. The twinge of resigned sadness on their face when they carefully deflected Asmo’s blatant flirting made it obvious that they thought they didn’t deserve it.

It must have been particularly bad one night. The two of them had made themselves comfortable on the bed in preparation for movie night, but instead of cuddling up next to him like they normally did, they sat far enough away that Mammon had to actually scoot forward to jab them in the shoulder.

“Hey, what gives, human? Why’re you all the way over there?”

“I’m just feeling a little warm.” they shrugged, pulling their knees to their chest. They were trying to pull some reverse psychology bullshit by purposefully staring him in the eye while they lied to him. Mammon snorted.

“You really think you’re going to fool me like that? You’ve got at least a millennia until you can even think of lying to The Great Mammon!” he opened his arms and his voice softened when he spoke. “Come here.”

They hesitated - eyes flicking back and forth between him and a knot in the branches that made up their bed frame, nervous - before they tucked themselves into his waiting arms.

He leaned his cheek against the top of their head, inhaling the sweet smell of their freshly-washed hair and internally purring (maybe externally, but you wouldn’t be able to get him to admit it) when he felt them snuggle in a little deeper and release a pent up sigh.

Mammon stayed silent, absently stroking the back of their neck. Words had probably done the damage, and they definitely weren’t going to fix it. He knew that from experience. But shielding his human from their own poisonous thoughts for a few moments was a good place to start.

Levi: Self-deprecating comments were one of Levi’s main forms of communication. It was a defense mechanism, a low-level shield someone would cast when the enemy was ridiculously OP but the game didn’t give you a retreat option. He knew this mechanic.

But when he heard them use it, it made him angry.

How could someone as amazing as them - smart, pretty, brave, loved gaming, made sure to feed Henry 2.0 when Levi was at a Sucre Frenzy concert - think they were anything less then perfect? No, more importantly, who hurt them so badly that they started thinking that way?

He felt like he did that one time Mammon had dropped one of his limited-edition Ruri-chan figures from a balcony. Someone damaged something precious to him, and he wanted blood.

Of course, that would involve talking about feelings and other mushy, normie stuff, and he just wasn’t ready for that. So, he did the only thing he could think of.

Leviachan: Hey, you down for a raid? There’s this new set of armor - it’s suuuuuuper rare, and you’re the only one good enough to get through the dungeon with me!! Pleeeeaaaassseee?

Satan: These little reading dates had started without him really noticing. One day, the human had came into the library seeking a quiet place to study and finish up their homework. Then, they came in with a human world book that Satan had never heard of tucked under their arm and were more than willing to talk about it. This lead to the two of them huddled on the sofa with their noses buried in the same book, and the human surprising Satan by being able to keep up with his reading speed. And here they were.

Satan had chosen a detective novel that he was positive they would like, and the both of them had taken advantage of a quiet Sunday morning to let themselves get absorbed into the story. Satan had his long arms wrapped around them holding the book, and they were leaning against his chest as they flipped the pages. An easy routine that the two of them had fallen into.

He felt them sigh heavily against him and he quirked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I just...” they trailed off, gazing out the window at the dusty purple sky before snapping back to the present. “The love interest in this book is amazing. I’m a little jealous of them.”

“Jealous?” Satan echoed, looking down at the small frame curled up in his arms. “Why would you be jealous?”

“They were able to do so much with their life. They’re so young, yet they’ve got their life sorted out, they’re smart, beautiful, charismatic, and they’re confident in themselves despite all the shit people put them through...” they sighed again, and this time Satan heard the note of self-hatred on the exhale. “I can’t do anything like that.”

“Now where did you get that idea?” Satan said incredulously. “In the few months you’ve been here, you have excelled in every class you’ve taken, stood up against all of us in our true forms at least twice each, solved a murder, and convinced me to stop plotting to rip Lucifer’s throat out. All while adjusting to life in a world where most of the citizens could kill you by poking you a bit too hard. I would say that goes above and beyond ‘having your life sorted out.’“

The blush that bloomed across their face was so hot that Satan was able to feel it through his shirt, right next to his heart. He chuckled softly as he bent down to kiss their hair.

“I could write for eons about how amazing you are and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Asmo: Emotions fell right into his area of expertise, and even if they were immune to his charm, Asmo still could smell their emotions like a perfume. And their low self-confidence reeked like rotten fruit. A beautiful arrangement that had been abandoned and left to decay.

The Avatar of Lust was an inquisitive soul (Lucifer would call it being nosy, but whatever.) He was also a firm believer in the theory that you can tell everything you need to know about a person by their skincare routine. So that’s what led to him sneaking into their bathroom while Mammon had dragged them out on one of his stupid get-rich-quick schemes.

“Oh, I don’t think so!” Asmo cried in alarm as he picked up the bottle of human world acne treatment. “They might as well be washing their face with snake venom!”

With a scoff, Asmo kicked the waste basket out from beneath their counter and tossed the face wash in. Bottle after bottle followed it, and Asmo was just about to dump the last bottle of what he assumed was straight rubbing alcohol when he heard the door open.

“Asmo, what the fuck.”

“Darling, we need to have a very serious discussion about your choice in skincare products.” Asmo grimaced as he glanced at the label on the bottle before unceremoniously dropping it into the bottle graveyard. “Can you even pronounce some of these?”

Ah, there it was. The sickeningly sweet smell of self-hatred. Asmo fought the urge to recoil as they practically dove for the trash can.

“Asmo, come on, I have gross skin as it is, don’t take away the only things keeping me from looking like a slice of pizza.”

The sound of glass breaking echoed somewhere in the back of Asmo’s head. That rotten smell was rolling off of them in waves, but he fought off his aversion and knelt down next to them.

They nearly hit the ceiling when Asmo clasped their hands between his own. “Now, now, none of that.”

“None of what?”

Asmo giggled. “You know I wouldn’t bother associating myself with someone unsightly.” one of his hands moved to gently cup their jaw. “You poor thing, you’ve been ruining that lovely face of yours.”

“I didn’t think I could make it any worse.” they muttered, looking away as Asmo stroked a thumb over their cheekbone.

Asmo’s heart clenched, and he leaned forward to kiss them gently on the forehead. “Oh, I can’t stand hearing that kind of talk, especially coming from you. That settles it, then.” he stood with an air of finality.

“Settles what?” they tilt their head in a manner that reminded Asmo of a very adorable puppy.

“We’re going to get you some proper skincare products, and I’m going to spend the rest of the night making you feel like the divine beauty you actually are.”

It was only for a second, but Asmo swore that overpowering smell of rotten fruit was replaced with something just a little fresher.

Beelzebub: Normally, the Avatar of Gluttony wouldn’t complain about someone not eating. More for him. But he didn’t like the way the human was pushing food around their plate without actually eating any of it. They usually loved fried bat wing, too.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low so his brothers wouldn’t butt in. “Aren’t you hungry?”

They laughed sheepishly, pushing their plate towards him. “Nah, not really. I was snacking all day. Here, you can have it.”

“But I just heard your stomach growl.”

Shame flashed across their face before they looked up at him with a grin that didn’t quite make it to their eyes. “I guess, haha. Just trying to watch my figure, you know?”

Before Beel could swallow down the mouthful of bat wing - when did he even pick it up? They had stood from the table and excused themselves, saying something about having a lot of homework.

It was a few hours before they got back to their room. What had started as them doing their homework in the living room had turned into Mammon begging them to help him study, which then somehow turned to Mammon challenging Satan to a pillow fight. Finally, they had decided to give up and do their homework in their room.

Something delicious wafted out of their room when they opened the door. The source was an overly full plate of food - with extra bat wing, they noticed - sitting on their desk. Blinking in confusion, they shut the door behind them and approached the plate. When they got closer, the note tucked underneath the plate came into view.

Please eat properly. I don’t want you to starve.

-Beel

Belphegor: He never would have called himself needy or touch-starved before. But after spending so long stuck in that attic room with his only interaction being with Lucifer, Belphegor couldn’t seem to get enough physical contact. Especially with the human.

He knew he didn’t deserve their affection, not with how he took advantage of them, manipulated them, murdered them. But the human had enough room in their heart to forgive him, and he would take any ounce of affection they were willing to give.

But it still stung when they flinched.

It was only for an instant, but Belphegor could feel the instinctual tightening of muscles when he draped himself over their shoulder. Feel them jump when he bumped shoulders with them in the hall. Feel their heartbeat speed up when he decided to use them as a body pillow.

“You know you can tell me no, right?” he murmured sleepily as the moment passed and the human settled down.

“Would you stop if I did?”

“Hm...” he hummed, cracking open one amethyst eye to peer at them. “If you don’t like me touching you, why do you let me do it?”

The human sighed, scooting down from their position against their headboard so they were face to face with Belphegor, who still had his hands around their waist like they were a giant teddy bear.

“It’s more like...I can’t believe you want to touch me.”

Now that woke Belphie up - well, as up as he could be while still doing his best impersonation of a koala. “What?”

They laughed, but it sounded strained. “Come on, Belphie, look at me. I’m all...jiggly.”

“So?”

Silence. They looked at him like they were trying to solve a puzzle, and he met their gaze like he was trying to figure out why they couldn’t figure it out.

“It’s not like it matters,” he shrugged, snuggling down into the soft blankets and holding the human a little bit tighter. “I like touching you because you’re you. You being soft and warm is a side benefit.”

“Belphie - “

He yawned, and they genuinely couldn’t tell if it was fake or not. “Shh, I’m going to sleep. You’re my pillow, so don’t talk. Especially if it’s negative stuff like that.”

Honestly, that was the best nap they’d had in a while.

#obey me #shall we date obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #headcanon #honestly this was supposed to be short #I just wanted to write something quick and then this happened

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star-killer-md · 3 years

Text

Dream a Little Dream of Me Pt. 8

Well folks I have returned after a long break. I was hit with a wave of no motivation and life shit but thank you to everyone who has read all my other shit and left me such nice feedback. I am patently horrible at responding to comments but I see them all and love them so much. There is not much Kylo in this chapter, so apologies in advance but I promise there will be plenty of him to come.

AO3 Mirror

Part 9 to come

Warnings: Angst, angst and more angst, not much else except for that so buckle up.

Summary: In which you discover sometimes knowing is worse.

Ship: Kylo Ren x Negotiator!Reader

Word Count: 6.4k

Your breathing stopped along with the footsteps at the door. One hand remained pressed firmly against your mouth while you shrunk as far under the desk as possible. There was only horrid stillness for the next few moments. You got the distinct impression that whoever stood at the entryway was tasting the very air, sniffing like a predator for blood spilled into the sea. And a chill ran through you the second he caught your scent. A voice like ice and stone rang out as the hunt began in earnest.

“You know, it’s impolite to enter a room without permission,” Atreus mused from behind you.

The sound of it coupled with the knowledge that he was only mere footsteps away made your limbs shake. Like a wild creature caught in a snare, you were flooded with instinctual fear at the sound of the door clicking shut.

“Though I will admit, I was hoping you would pay me a visit.”

He was pacing now, footsteps softened by the carpet but still perceptible. To your right the embellished wardrobe doors were flung open accompanied by a dissatisfied grunt. You frantically searched the immediate area for paths of escape—or potential weapons if it came to that—but there was nothing. Your back was to the door and Atreus stood directly between you and the only way out.

As the likelihood that you would walk out of this office dwindled, you cursed yourself and your hubris for ever taking this job in the first place.

There must have been a saying about this type of thing somewhere, but you couldn’t seem to recall any at the moment.

“You ought to show yourself,” he continued, every word laced with mockery and disgust.

He was getting closer with each step. There were only so many places to hide and judging by the fading noises of clutter being moved, all but one had been exhausted. He was going to find you and you were going to die.

At least you would be right about one thing.

Kylo Ren really was a liar.

“I never took you for a coward,” fingers drummed on the desk above you and it creaked as Atreus leaned his weight over the top, like a ship's hull as it kicked into hyperdrive.

He was so close now you could smell him, all artificial cologne and shoe polish. If you hadn’t been trying so hard to hold your breath before you certainly were now. His own came in calm, measured puffs and you closed your eyes tightly as if that could hide you any further. While your last moments alive and breathing wasted away, you recalled all the times the Commander had called you arrogant or prideful or any other combination of synonyms that all meant the same damn thing: foolish.

Before you might have called it confidence. Might have thought he and all your other superiors were simply threatened by their inability to tear you down. Now you just kicked yourself for being cocky enough to leave your back turned.

“Seems I was mistaken, Ren.”

What?

You recoiled at the name and very nearly said the word aloud as your eyes flew open in shock. But the legs which came into view—unnervingly long and thin— and situated directly in front of the desk turned anything you might say to dust on your tongue.

Why was it, even at the moment of your imminent demise, that the Commander was inevitably mentioned?

Could you really not be executed for political gain in peace?

“I know you’re here. I can feel it,” he began but was interrupted by two more approaching footsteps and a blessedly familiar voice.

“No, I’m sorry sir, I’ve been away sampling catering options,” Lem’s soft, clear tone was more relieving that you’d care to admit.

You swore if you lived through the next five minutes, you’d apologize for every rude thing you’d ever said to him.

Well, all the rude things you’d been wrong about.

“You were in your office just before I left,” Gahl grumbled and stopped just outside the door, wrapping twice. “Atreus, are you quite finished in there? I’d rather not be late to dinner just because you’ve stained your tie.”

The creak of hinges nearly had you slamming your head into the desk in shock.

“No sir, I lent the space to our guest from the First Order,” Lem prattled nervously and you heard Atreus growl as he shifted in place.

“You shouldn’t be letting just anyone wander around here, Alba,” the advisor huffed before adding under his breath, “You never know what they might get into.”

“Really, you’re the one that suggested we invite—” Lem was drowned out by another soft knock and the creaking of a door across the hall.

You didn’t bother tuning into what Gahl had been mumbling about as Atreus’s knees slowly bent and you were once again filled with the rush of dread at the prospect of being discovered. At best you’d be labeled as a conspirator and sent back to the Finalizer for Hux to have you killed himself for destroying Order relations to Coruscant. At worst, you were destined to die on the goddamn floor at the feet of a greasy, poor excuse for an advisor.

But in fact, neither of those options played out.

Instead, you found the world going black for just a split second—no more than a blink—and when you woke it was to a hand gently rocking your shoulder.

You bolted upright, startled to find yourself no longer cramped on the floor, but seated in Lem’s office. There was a small puddle of drool on the desk and Lem himself staring down at you, brows knit in concern.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

But you didn’t respond right away, just looked wide-eyed out the door as Atreus rose from the floor and met your gaze with his own indecipherable expression.

From beside you, Lem squeezed your shoulder again and you turned to face him.

“Yes, sorry,” you muttered, shrugging away from him and rolling your neck. Every joint and muscle in you felt stiff. “I must have dozed off a bit.”

“I can see that,” he chuckled but his face never lost it’s questioning look.

“Right, well,” you continued, hastily gathering your things. The air felt thick and stuck in your throat. You wanted to get out—needed to get out—immediately. “Thank you for the office, I’ll be on my way and send the drafts to you later this evening.”

Passing by Gahl at the doorway, you gave him a friendly nod and a quiet, “Representative, I hope you have a lovely evening.”

You were nearly out of the wing entirely when that god awful voice sunk it’s claws into your leg again.

“Oh, but you must join us for dinner,” Atreus hummed.

He had sauntered back out to stand behind the Representative and was pinning you down with a horrifically sweet smile. It was so wrong on his face you shuddered at the sight. Gahl, annoyingly, nodded along as he looked you up and down.

“A good suggestion,” he said heartily. The redness of his cheeks and the slight sway in his step suggested he’d had more than just one drink before returning. “We haven’t had the chance to speak much since you came.”

Shit. That bastard knew you couldn’t refuse a personal invitation lest you run the risk of seeming rude or suspicious when you were here to supposedly mend ties. Gahl might have been drunk enough to forget the impasse but Atreus was not as dimwitted.

“Well, I suppose I can’t refuse such a kind invitation,” you gritted out as politely as possible.

Gahl clapped once, loudly and turned back, calling to Lem, “Wonderful! Lem my boy, you’ll meet our friend in the lobby, yes?”

“Of course,” he said, blonde head popping out of the doorway and offering you a sympathetic smile. “You can go drop your things off and change if you’d like, I’ll wait for you.”

You sighed and flashed a hopefully convincing grin at the three men, “Thank you, I shall see you momentarily.”

With that you tried your best not to turn and bolt, but waited at least until you got three corridors down before collapsing to the floor in a pile of stuttering breaths and shaking hands. You tucked your head between your knees and tried to inhale deeply. The insides of your head pounded with the slick, viscous sound of Atreus’s words. The only thing that pulled you to your feet again was the insistent need to get as far away from it as possible.

The hallways blended together as your feet carried you father and father from the offices, the Representative, and your almost murderer. You had hoped your room would offer some reprieve from the panic, that there may be someone waiting for you inside to spin comforting lies of safety.

There was not.

The room contained nothing but freshly made sheets and a white blotch on the wall where a hole had been patched.

Nothing at all to indicate the Commander had set foot there since your return.

You considered calling for him briefly. It had worked before, and the shame of crawling behind his hulking form to hide away was incredibly alluring. But instead you found yourself discarding your jacket and top in favorite of something slightly more upscale. The clothes landed in a pile by the bed where you sat for a moment.

With the door and several floors of high rise architecture between you and that slimy bastard of an advisor, you thought again about what your second dive into espionage had dredged up.

‘In his head’, Atreus said you were in his head long before you ever came on this assignment. Kylo had bristled at the words, shut you down quickly and you were used to secrets—you had many yourself—so you knew one when you saw it.

Bond.

The word rolled around in your skull, burned on your eyelids in that awful, messy script.

It hurt to think about.

Physically hurt, like someone was digging needles into your spine.

So you didn’t think about it.

Not yet.

Instead, you finished fixing your outfit and walked back out of the empty room. There were answers and you would find them, but it was clear you’d have to get them on your own. So you let the door click shut behind you and took a deep breath. It was just dinner. You could do dinner and you would get your answers.

On your own.

****

The food looked painted onto the plate, contrasting colors and lovingly set out, but tasted like sawdust in your mouth. A shame too, it smelled better than anything you’d been served yet on Coruscant and was certainly a hundred times more extravagant than anything the Finalizer’s cafeterias stocked.

But having the man who was seconds away from killing you just a short hour ago stare diagonally across the table with his corpse like eyes every time you moved did quite the number on your appetite.

Thankfully, Lem was seated in front of you and had been prattling away for most of the meal, leaving you with little silence to fill. Part of the way through your fourth or fifth wood-chip bite, Gahl decided to change that. His voice was low and grated with age as he turned in the seat beside you to speak.

“So, how are you enjoying your stay on Coruscant?” he asked, inching his leg out of the chair and closer to yours.

“You’ve been very hospitable, Representative, I have absolutely no complaints,” you lied through your teeth, smile just as purposefully arranged as the food in front of you.

Gahl’s hand patted your thigh just as he’d done at your first meeting, “Glad to hear it, I’m sure it’s nothing like those Star Destroyers.”

You cursed every social rule of polite society which kept you from putting your knife through his hand.

“It’s certainly a change of pace,” you mumbled around another flavorless mouthful. “Lem has been a wonderful guide.”

In fact, you would give anything to be surrounded once again with nothing but bland, grey durasteel and the eyes of officers who were more than happy to pretend you didn’t exist. You’d even take standing in General Hux’s office, watching his ginger head flit about between sifting through files and insulting your diction in reports. If the Commander would even bother to look your way, you would have taken his cold, inaccessible stare over this as well.

As your thoughts drifted further in the direction of Kylo Ren, another chilling voice joined the conversation.

“Oh, don’t feel the need to flatter him,” Atreus chose that moment to chime in, scoffing into his napkin. “No doubt Alba’s simply talked your ear off about his low class, wait staff dalliance.”

Lem bristled, cheeks a comical pink with rage, “He has a name.”

“Well, I’m sure he does, but I simply do not care to learn it,” Atreus sipped his drink and scowled. “You shouldn’t be fraternizing with the servers at all, it’s unbecoming of an aide to the Representative.”

Across the table, Lem deflated and looked between you and Gahl. You were given the distinct impression this was not a new topic of conversation.

“He’s right about that my boy, you can buy whoever you like now on the salary I pay you,” the Representative chuckled and downed the contents of his glass.

“I’m sure our guest would agree,” Atreus’ eyes were trained on the plate but you felt his gaze on you all the same.

“Relationships between superiors and subordinates are...frowned upon in the Order, I suppose.”

You only caught a glint of the light off Lem’s slicked yellow hair as he turned toward the man beside him.

“Certainly but it must happen,” he said.

“Of course it does,” Atreus looked at you then, the blue of his iris was so light it nearly blended into the whites. “But it would be quite a dangerous predicament, especially somewhere like the Order, would it not?”

You were sure to keep your face blank and unassuming, though it was either much less convincing than you believed it to be or Atreus was actively capable of hearing the panicked screaming of your internal monologue.

“Yes, yes it would be,” you nodded and looked back down to the table.

“Particularly with someone of your standing, working directly under the General, I can only imagine the implications of a relationship with anyone high enough to be your senior.”

You could feel your eye twitch and your jaw tense almost against your will, as if Kylo Ren himself was choosing this very moment to inhabit your body. Really, you almost wished that he would, especially with his aggravating ability to remain completely unreadable in even the most stress inducing of situations. But alas, the only part of you Kylo inhabited was your mind in the form of an incredibly inappropriate slew of evidence for your so-called ‘dangerous predicament.’

“Hm,” you hummed quietly in agreement, hoping he’d drop the subject. “It would be quite unsightly, I’m certain.”

Meanwhile, Lem stared at you incredulously and hurriedly excused himself from the table mumbling something about the restroom. His blonde head quickly disappeared into the crowd and you were left alone with the Representative and his advisor, a pit developing in your stomach. And it was only made deeper by the muted betrayal in Lem’s parting tone.

“The boy has always been too sensitive,” Gahl offered by way of explanation and Atreus nodded slowly.

“He cracks too easily under scrutiny. He should know by now that softness is not a very useful trait in this line of work.”

You frowned and shifted in your seat, swiftly moving the Representatives gnarled hand from your leg.

“Some amount of give is crucial in politics,” you said, gaze flicking between the two men. “It’s important to be able to bend to your adversary every so often. Being underestimated by your opponent often means you’ve been unwittingly awarded the high ground.”

Gahl laughed heartily again as you excused yourself as well, though Atreus remained stony calm even when you glanced back between the sea of tables and waiters and expensive suits.

Lem emerged from a side door not long after you’d posted yourself in the short, empty hallway leading to the restrooms. He would have walked straight past you if not for your hand swiftly yanking him back by the arm.

“Wait,” you hissed as he turned to face you huddled in one of the doorways.

“What?” he hissed back.

Well. That was a fair enough question, though you hadn’t exactly thought that far.

Lem stared at you with brows furrowed, obviously less than thrilled with how things were left off. A small part of your mind, which you were more than happy to bury and ignore, whispered that you ought to apologize. But that was most certainly not why you came after him.

No, leaving the table was simply to punctate your last statement.

Not because some part of you felt...guilty.

Absolutely not.

In fact, this was a perfect opportunity to do some more digging. Lem was your pseudo-informant and that was all.

Right.

That was certainly why the following words left your mouth in a tumble.

“Are you okay?”

Lem paused as you let your hand fall from his arm, shuffling back so he could stand out of sight in the door frame across from you. He still looked cross, but his lips quirked up just a bit. You supposed he’d asked you the same so many times in just the last day, it would be appropriate for you to return the favor.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “That was by no means a new conversation.”

“Under different circumstances, I would have been a bit more…” you trailed off and Lem offered you a signature toothy smile.

“Appearances and all, I get it. Atreus uses any excuse he can find to bring up Jane since he caught us a week or so before you got here,” Lem sighed, running a hand through his neat hair.

“Who?”

The look you received was even more incredulous than before.

“Jane, my—”

“Right, the waiter,” you nodded and raised your hands in apology, “so, why exactly does it matter who you’re seeing?”

Lem shook his head, “It doesn’t really, since I’m just an aide, but I’m fairly convinced he’s been trying to get rid of me since he was brought on.”

A gaggle of restaurant staff rushed past to the bar where a woman was loudly complaining about her food. You welcomed the attention her display drew away from you.

“Oh, he wants me gone too,” you muttered and quickly waved off the comment when Lem leveled you with another confused glance. “Any particular reason why?”

He shrugged and hunched over so he could lower his voice, “Not sure, but I do know he’s been butting his greasy head in whenever the opportunity presents itself. He climbed the ranks quicker than most of the other staffers.”

Now that was interesting. Bless Lem and his affinity for gossip.

“That seems odd,” you frowned. “I hadn’t heard of him until this assignment, and I like to think I’m fairly well informed.”

Lem scoffed and peered over his shoulder as if he would find Atreus there, breathing down his neck, “I’m sure you are. He just happened to materialize one day, determined to take my job.”

Yes and your life as well, but Lem needn’t know about that.

“Strange.”

“Yes it is,” he replied. “And they’ll think the same if we’re gone much longer.”

You nodded and watched him turn to merge back into the crowd, but he paused halfway into the hall.

“Thank you,” he said simply and slipped away, past the bar and into the waves of diners.

You waited another few minutes after Lem disappeared, and allowed yourself a small, secret smile. If for no other reason than your success at finally piecing together some information about the spiraling mess your life had become. But mostly at the rosy cheeked and chuckling sincerity that alleviated some of the uncomfortable fluttering in your stomach.

And you found the food a little less like chalk, the nerve wracking stares and inappropriate touches a little more bearable the rest of the night.

***

The elevator ride back to your room was far more excruciating than any of the other unpleasant encounters you’d experienced that day. At least when you were cowering on the floor making peace with the fast approaching end to your mortal body, you couldn’t feel the bearer of your death breathing down your neck.

It was so uncomfortable, you actually wished that the touch-happy, drunken Representative had tagged along instead of staying back till last call at the bar. Your heartbeat racketed up three times its normal rate when Lem pressed the button for his room a few floors below yours instead of riding back with Atreus to the office suites.

“Did you want to discuss my notes for a bit?” you asked, trying and somewhat failing to keep the desperation out of your voice.

Lem looked at you with a strange expression on his face, nose turning a darker shade of pink than usual, “Oh, ah, another time maybe. I have, um, someone waiting for me.”

From behind, Atreus scoffed.

“Truly, you are shameless, Alba,” he said and you heard him shift behind you.

“Right,” you wanted to push the issue harder, but it would be worse if Atreus suspected you knew anymore about his plot than he already did. “I’ll see you later in the week then.”

The panel above the transparent sliding doors rang and Lem stepped out into the hall, “Yes, well not too long till the big reveal, so I’m certain we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

The soft hiss of the doors closing again reverberated in your bones like the thunking of an executioner's blade. You swallowed as your tongue turned to stone in your mouth. There were only a handful of floors in between before your stop but that would be more than enough time to maim your body beyond recognition and throw it down the incinerator shaft.

You reminded yourself sternly that it was unlikely Atreus would exact whatever assassination plan he had in place in such a secluded space, but fear responses were not easily reasoned with.

Atreus remained resolutely out of your line of sight and that only made the deep, instinctual part of your brain howl for you to run, claw, bite. Oh if only it were that simple, there would surely be far fewer aggravating superior officers in your life.

The numbers on the panel moved far more slowly than you thought they ought to. With every extended second you spent in that horribly cramped lift, the air grew thicker with tension and the rancid smell of panic. Finally, finally, the panel flashed your floor number and the doors moved aside to reveal the beautiful sight of an empty hallway. But just before you crossed the threshold to freedom, an iron grip clamped hard down on your wrist.

“So sorry to keep you,” Atreus began and you spun to face him. “It has only just occurred to me I haven’t had the opportunity to discuss anything with you regarding the Representative and the subject matter of your speech.”

He really had to wait until now to do this, now when escape was dangling over your head like an unfortunate prisoner hanging over the maw of a hungry sarlacc.

“Yes, well Lem has been providing council with respect to the Order’s representation of Representative Gahl in all our official statements,” you replied calmly.

The slightest twitch of your hand revealed a shocking amount of force hidden in the advisor's lanky arms. You stuck your foot back as the doors began to close, unable to bear another minute trapped behind them.

“Of course, I simply wouldn’t want you being led astray by any of Alba’s short comings,” the grip on your wrist tightened almost imperceptibly, “I’d like to work more closely with you as we approach the first campaign endorsements.”

“Certainly,” you forced a tight smile in his direction. “I would greatly appreciate your input.”

The words sliced your lips as they tumbled out. You were accustomed to lying, yes, but stars that was potentially the least believable statement that had ever left your mouth.

“I’m sure.”

Staring hard into his dead man’s eyes, you tried not to breathe a sigh of relief as he unfurled his fingers from your wrist. Stepping back clumsily into the hall you waited until the doors hid his cheap imitation of a smile before you heading down the hall to your room. Better he not know which turn you took.

You ran the rest of the way back.

The tightness in your chest subsided by degrees the farther you got to safety and you didn’t even bother denying to yourself the hope that your Commander in all his black cloaked, looming glory would be waiting to stand between you and the reality waiting just outside.

You really should have known better than to put any faith in his promises.

“Kylo?” you whispered into the empty room.

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t, and maybe that was the only reason you were brave enough to call out for him.

There was a familiar black bag propped in the corner by your luggage which indicated Ren had at least returned to the Federal District at some point during the evening. That at least was something of a comfort, though a very small one.

You grabbed one of the chairs from the table and shoved it securely back under the door handle. It scrapped against the floor and your shin throbbed as you kicked it in place. Once again the clothes on you wore seemed to have been permeated with whatever disgusting, oily sheen that leaked off of the absolute slug of a man currently puttering around in his office planning the best way to choke the life out of you. They itched and stung and you tugged at them quickly, pulling each item off in a flurry like coals blistering your bare skin.

Free from the growing pile of discarded laundry you dug around through your cases. Your hands still shook as you scattered the contents, pulling on fresh bottoms that didn’t reek of lies and aftershave. You paused as your fingers brushed against something far softer than any of your Order regulation garments.

Large, flowing, and predictably black, Kylo Ren’s undershirt hung in your hands like a shroud.

You battled with your instincts. Half of you—the portion still living in the past where hatred was a simple comfort—wanted to ball it up and stomp it full of dusty boot prints. That side did not win and its screaming reduced considerably as the shirtsleeves made their way down your arms. You were enveloped immediately in a sense of sheer relief coupled with the feeling that what you were doing was profoundly reckless.

But even if it was a false sense of security, your hands and knees were not shaking as badly as before.

The Commander was intimidating and cold, but in addition he was intimidating and cold and standing resolutely between you and danger which was more than you could say for just about any other coworker.

You supposed he was probably a bit more than that now.

Eyes shut, you recalled the warm, full feeling of his approval upon seeing you in his clothes. The way it rushed through you and pulsated when he let his voice echo in your head. You wondered what it felt like for him. Was your voice a grating nuisance or was it a tingle at the back of his neck, the shiver of cool hands or maybe the surge after a well won battle.

How did he do it, you wondered. How did it feel to read you so easily? To know all your doubts and fears and micro-defiances before they left your mouth. And how did he remain so resolutely aloof?

Even now, as you tensed your jaw and tried to focus on the smell of him surrounding you and conjure his presence, there was nothing but dead air. You sighed and let your knees thunk down to the floor.

Unsurprisingly, it seemed that Kylo Ren only appeared when he wanted to, only answered your thoughts when it suited him. You could scream his name into the void of your mind but you couldn’t force him there—couldn’t Force him there. Which was unfortunate for many reasons. Being capable of wielding the throat crushing, invisible fabric of the universe at your will would have come in handy in so many situations. As you rubbed your eyes and prepared to wallow more thoroughly in the mess your life had devolved into, something caught your eye amongst the sea of clothing.

From the Commander’s open bag, you could see something brighter amongst the masses of black fabric. Further inspection revealed that the item was shoved into the back pocket of his trousers and when you looked closer, it was clear what you were looking at.

Your underwear.

Your underwear was hidden away in Commander Ren’s luggage.

And in your half shocked, half strangled endeared state, a memory surfaced.

The night you’d spent writhing on your bed as Kylo sat, watching as the Force fucked you open. The image of him was clear in your head—a princely, demonic being refusing you the luxury of pleasure through his touch and taking your soaked panties along as a trophy when he was finished with you.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

You’d thought it was a dream then.

And wasn’t it? The lines between waking and fantasy were blurring more and more with every passing day. But Kylo hadn’t left. He was there when you woke, that you did recall clearly. But these were the same, still unwashed from all those nights ago.

Kylo had said there was a difference between dreaming and projecting, and to be fair you’d never been able to tell them apart. The Force was somehow involved. The same Force which seemed to have a questionable relationship with existing inside you. But it stood to reason, if someone as incompetent and disconnected as you could think yourself into Kylo Ren’s presence on very specific occasions, that he could do so whenever the hell he wanted.

And while the implications this knowledge had on all your other sexual escapades was at the forefront of your mind and burning your face to a crisp, another inkling was forming amongst the embarrassment.

If the Commander truly had projected himself—whatever that really meant—into your room to fuck you into oblivion without lifting a finger and kept what he’d taken, maybe you could do the same.

Maybe, sitting inside your coat pocket was your own dream contraband.

Crawling across the floor, you sifted through the mess at the foot of the bed until your hand felt something small and hard. Your breath stuttered in your chest as you pulled a familiar leather bound notebook from the pile and turned it over in your grip—hefty and solid and so very real in your hands.

Staring down at the book you were at once intensely excited and overwhelmingly terrified. Logically, you knew that you were alone here and free from prying eyes no matter how desperately you wished not to be, but delving into what promised to be the source for so many of your questions felt too risky in the open of your bedroom.

Quietly, you leaped over the bed and scrambled into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you and sliding down to the floor. Only then, with your back barricading you in with the tile cooling your heated skin, did you crack open the cover and begin to read the sloppy, looping scrawl across each page.

A picture began to form in your mind growing clearer with every passing page.

It was very much like reading the ramblings of a madman, and upon passing the first ten or so pages, your initial deduction of mad ravings only grew more accurate. The entries were similar to that of a diary, each one detailing a new piece of intel discovered. And just as you’d noted before, almost all of it had something to do with Kylo Ren.

And you’d thought you were a bit obsessive.

There were names you didn’t recognize, and some you did—members of the Order, high ranking and not, scattered about. Occasionally passages were quoted from what seemed to be incident reports and older texts of galactic history. And of course, there were consistent references to the ever mysterious Force. All of which were written in such personal detail that you could be certain they came from someone who, unlike you, could and knew how to use it.

The words were so jumbled, you had to reread each line and follow it like a hunting trail to the next running sentence. And the farther you got, the deeper you dived, the more you felt your insignificance looming—that tight in your throat feeling of being so small in the grand scheme of things.

In this scheme of things at least.

From what you could understand, all the events leading up to your assignment to Coruscant and everything that had transpired since your arrival all boiled down this: power and the struggle to possess it.

And at the center of it all was Atreus, Kylo Ren, and, inexplicably, you.

In this story, you began as nothing more than another pawn on the chess board. Your name appeared maybe twice in the entire first half of the nearly full notebook. You were a footnote, a name scribbled in the margins connected to the General due to your position. After that, it seemed Atreus had gotten his hands on some more confidential documents, dozens of them in fact judging from his lists. Some were immaterial and contributed nothing, but from what you could gather, buried amongst them were dozens of your correspondence all pertaining to the Commander and all of which more than hinting at the small grudge you carried for him.

He’d even quoted lines from you.

As you progressed, the text became even more garbled, the handwriting rushed and nearly illegible but it was easy enough to see where it was heading.

You were meant to be an example—of that you were certain. But not for the First Order, not because one Coruscanti representative wanted to stick it to its totalitarian overlords. Oh no, the threat of your death was meant as an example to Kylo Ren himself. It was a message, a lure, cast down from Atreus. When you first began to piece this together, it sounded intensely nonsensical.

Almost entirely due to the fact that this plan hinged on Commander Ren of all people, having a vested interest in your life. Which, up until very recently, you would have deemed impossible. If anything, you’d have guessed he would greatly benefit from your demise seeing as you were at best an annoyance and at worst a roadblock between him and forceful galactic takeover.

But then you reached that word.

Bond.

Scribbled over and bolded with arrows and circles. You still couldn’t truly grasp the gravity of what it meant, but looking it over again, you knew it was true. Whatever this thing was, between you and your Commander, this was its name. And having read the journal in its entirety, you understood now why that singular word had struck you so thoroughly to your core.

“You aren’t going to die.”

How many times had Kylo said that to you now?

And it was constructed to bring your downfall. This was exactly what it seemed Atreus was banking on. It seemed all this want, all this hypothermic, desperate searching for one another was manufactured. The sense of wholeness, a sham. The pit inside you, the anger, the balm of Kylo moving inside you—all orchestrated somehow to fit into this master plan to remove the Commander and take whatever he was standing in the way of.

Without this, you would have remained a nuisance swearing at Ren from across conference tables. Nothing more than a bug to be smashed against the wall and left to rot. And that sat terribly on your shoulders.

Just as the book fell from your hands and onto the tile floor, you heard a familiar rattling coupled by a crash from the room just outside. Heavy footsteps rang out against the floor and a door slammed.

Your name was called softly into the stillness. Just as you had called for him. A few moments of silence passed before you could answer, and when you did your voice felt strange in your mouth.

“In here,” you replied quietly, listening to his foot falls approach the door and come to a halt.

When you closed your eyes, you could almost hear his breath. Kylo paused at the door, the soft thump of his hand coming to rest against the wood the only other sound he made. You didn’t move from the floor and he made no attempt to open the door. The tingle at the back of your neck, the slight tugging of your strings, told you he could feel the thoughts racing in your head.

Only minutes ago you would have been relieved to feel the warm of him spreading slowly down your spine. Now it felt strangely soured. For a moment you thought he might rip open the door, maybe bend you over the vanity again and teach what happened when you called for him out line.

But he didn’t.

When you didn’t shift from your spot to step into his grasp, you felt him pull away and heard the rustling of sheets and clothing outside. You didn’t know what you would say to him now, so instead you got up slowly and turned the water on. The mirror fogged over as you stripped and tucked the little notebook away under your clothes so the steam didn’t seep into the pages.

You could wash now, you thought, and hopefully Kylo would have fallen asleep or left to stalk the halls again when you finished. Then you could buy yourself some time to think, unbothered by other prying eyes in your head.

You stepped into the stream and scrubbed your skin raw, and all while the little black book watched you from its place on the sink, ever plotting.

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

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