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lillaluna · 4 months

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morning with genshin men

Pairing: Neuvillette, Kaeya, Tighnari, Childe, Dottore, Zhongli, Wriothesley, Pantalone x f!Reader

NEUVILLETTE

He is not new to getting up early in the morning, and most likely has trouble sleeping at night because of his constant thoughts of court proceedings. He is often plagued by questions about fate and justice, even though he is the personification of justice in Fontaine.

If Neuvillette had a sleepless night, there will be a glass of cool water with lemon waiting for you when you wake up early in the morning, and a light breakfast he just picked up at your favourite restaurant.

And if the Chief Justice managed to fall asleep and sleep through the night, you'll wake up in his strong arms. And this is a definite disadvantage for you, because such a morning is a real test of courage, which begins the moment you make sluggish attempts to leave that warm maelstrom of Neuvillette's loving arms.

Occasionally, you manage to coax Judex into helping you comb his long hair and gather his ponytail. Neuvillette actually likes it when you touch his head and his hair in particular, but he says it makes him too relaxed and sleepy, so he doesn't often allow himself the luxury of your gentle touch before work, leaving it for the evening.

CHILDE

Mornings with Childe are always unpredictable. Firstly, you don't know if you'll wake up with him or if he's already gone. If he's gone, is he already at work or did he just go for a drink of water? But none of that compares to when you both manage to wake up together, because avoiding his hugs and kisses is just as incredibly hard as getting out of them afterwards.

Ajax hates making breakfast. He'd rather be a silent spectator, watching you scurry around the kitchen, than a direct participant, unless, of course, he disturbs you with his kisses on your neck and his unmistakable hints to spend the morning on something more invigorating, in his opinion.

Childe literally makes you walk around the house in his shirt. It started the day you had your first sleepover, and he had to give you his clothes out of necessity, but the moment you came out of the bathroom, embarrassed, in his white shirt, enveloped in his scent, Ajax decided for himself that you should only wear it at home. Forgive him his little oddities, it's only because of his great and fervent feeling for you.

DOTTORE

A morning with Dottore often begins in his laboratory, where you enter with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. This is usually followed by a question from the man asking you what time it is and you smilingly reply that it's morning and he's lost track of time again. And how you adore these moments, when he settles all his affairs, sits down in his black armchair at the desk and you can approach him from behind to stretch his tense shoulders with your gentle fingers. You can't think of a more intimate moment for you, because you alone have the opportunity to see Dottore's moment of fatigue, to stand behind him and see his relaxed silhouette, to see his tired eyes and hear his voice hoarse from long silence.

Another way to start your day might be when Dottore himself returns at dawn to your shared bed. You lie under a warm blanket, hearing the bedroom door close quietly, for the boy thinks you are sound asleep. You hear the sound of his clothes being thrown on the floor somewhere, and then he sneaks under the covers and cuddles your warm, sleepy body. Normally, Dottore is cold, after the lowered temperature in the lab, so you wait patiently while his cold limbs soak up the warmth of your skin as his cold nose burrows into the curve of your neck, noisily sucking in your scent as if it warms him from the inside out.

It's rare, very rare that you get to spend the day together, but when you do, you don't get out of bed for a long time.

PANTALONE

What could be more beautiful than waking up every day on soft, cool silk sheets in the arms of a man you love, who can afford to linger in your arms for as long as he sees fit? You love to wake up before Pantalone, and lie there studying his features until they are relaxed and have that duty smile that you hate with all your heart and often ask him not to smile at you "like that".

But now you blink sleepily as you watch his chest rise and fall slowly, as a few dark curls fall across his face, contrasting mesmerisingly with his snow-white skin. You reach up with your fingers to brush the hair off his face, but Pantalone intercepts your hand, gently squeezing your wrist. He opens one eye, then draws your hand to his lips, and kisses the inside groan of your palm with a light kiss. He lowers your hand to his chest and places it where his heart beats, and usually to this measured pace you fall asleep.

Speaking of breakfast, it's usually something pompous where you get to choose exactly what you want to eat today.

These slow morning rituals, it's your whim, because if Pantalone leaves the house, it's until late afternoon, or deep into the night.

ZHONGLI

Lying in bed isn't exactly Zhongli's thing. No, he lets you do it, but alone, preferring to go to cook for you tomorrow, to brew one of his, and your, favourite teas. Sometimes, you like to come into the kitchen and watch your man fiddling with the household utensils, especially when he's just come out of his morning shower wrapped in just a towel around his hips.

Making Zhongli's breakfast serves as the perfect excuse for you to enjoy the sight of the always so put together Zhongli walking around your kitchen with loose, half-wet hair. The way water droplets drip down his strong, sculpted body while he purrs something under his breath as he brews flavoured tea for the both of you.

On rare days, often weekends, you manage to coax Zhongli to stay in bed longer to bask in each other's arms.

WRIOTHESLEY

Despite Duke Meropid's irregular work schedule, he makes every effort to spend every morning with you, saying it's the best possible start to the day. If Wriothesley does manage to start the morning with you, he'll try his best to keep you from getting dressed for longer, to keep you from cooking tomorrow, to make sure he's the only one paying attention to you. Of course you jokingly resist, saying that you have to take care of him, that cooking breakfast is a very important morning routine, but you quickly give in under the pressure of the duke's charm, who at some point just throws you on his shoulder and carries you out of the kitchen back to the bedroom.

Sometimes when you don't get to be together for very long, due to Wriothesley's busy schedule, you stay at his place of work, even if it's for a few days. He usually works long hours sitting at his desk filling out tonnes of paperwork while you sleep on the sofa next to him, covered in his warm coat. You wouldn't know it of course, but his work would go a lot more smoothly if he wasn't distracted by your sweet sleeping face.

KAEYA

Mornings with the Captain are a lot like mornings with Childe, when you open your eyes in the morning you don't know if you'll find your man around. But there is one situation that is your favourite, secretly from Kaeya of course, and for extra convincing you always swear at him nicely. There are days when the captain comes home early in the morning, while you're still lounging in bed. He's cold, wet, and dirty from the road, but Kaeya unceremoniously piles into your shared bed, hugging you tightly and trying to inhale your scent as deep into your lungs as possible. This awakening of yours usually leads you both into the shared bath, where you happily rub your beloved captain's back, hugging your legs around his waist. You love fiddling with his long hair, insisting that he wear it loose as often as possible when he's at home, and preferably without a shirt on!

If you manage to start the morning together, it's always a long, sweetly torturous effort to leave the bed, even if only for a simple drink of water, let alone a proper breakfast, which will probably carry over to lunch.

TIGHNARI

Needless to say, sleeping with Tighnari is very hot? Despite the fact that he often moves closer to you for a hug in his sleep, you have to move his arms, legs or tail away from you, because sleeping in such heat is unbearable. Even with all your love! But to start your day with morning hugs and kisses, you don't mind at all and you are happy to bury your face in Tighnari's neck or touch his plush ears, while he is peacefully sleeping and in half-sleep puts his head to you for caressing.

The forest guardian takes the first meal seriously, so he has happily taken it upon himself to prepare something tasty and healthy for the both of you.

Sometimes, Tighnari goes on long expeditions, or on forest patrols, and then you have to sleep alone, and as strange as it sounds, you cover yourself with two blankets at those times, just to feel the warmth, just to feel Tighnari's presence a little stronger.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #dottore x reader #dottore #il dottore #childe x reader #pantalone x reader #zhongli x reader #kaeya x reader #tighnari x reader #zhongli #tartaglia

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gremlingottoosilly · 3 months

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Hi! I've been reading you for a while now and I really like your work. I have an idea about the Monster!141. What if they encounter a wild hybrid such as an ermine? Like she pounces on them, defending the territory or sees them as a threat,but she is literally smaller than them.🦦🦦🦦

Awwww! She is still a predator, of course, but the only ones who are weaker than her are some tiny prey hybrids like mice and bunnies. She is still a force to be reckoned with...if you're afraid of this tiny thing getting her claws on your hand or something. She is so firm and weird, she is scratching at Gaz whenever he left. her up, and the only way for him to make her shut up is to lift her high in the air, flying with her in his hands. She is adorable like this, using every limb of her body to cling to him and then squeak in his ear to put her down. Just look at this fluffy thing, she even remembered what normal words sound like...the problem with monster uprising is that a lot of monsters became...wild like this. They would scratch and yell and forget normal speech sometimes, but, luckily, Gaz is patient enough to remind her again. Oh, but Price is having NONE of it. He takes pride in his pack not acting like wild animals even though they are mostly animal monster hybrids, but if you want to yell and scratch and bite, you'd have to learn your manners. Our Captain is usually against any clothes at all because he wants to have access to your body, but he would force you into the most uncomfortably covering clothes just so he could make you learn how to wear them. You are tagging on these fancy collars and tight corsets, but no one ever would help you get out of it. Price might like it when you're scratching at his back during sex, but if you're using your claws anywhere else, he would force you to wear a muzzle for your mouth and mittens for your cute clawed hands...you hate it so much!! But he won't listen, oh no( he will just let you across his lap to spank your pathetic wiggling butt. Soap is the nicest to you in this case...he is the wildest out of the pack, with the least self-control - he understands how hard it could be to behave properly for someone like you, and so he really wants you to be free with him. He would let you "escape" just so you could play a small game freely, and then you two would play hide, seek, and fuck! You always hated the last part because Soap is cheating and using his superior nose to track you while you're just trying to get on top of the trees(he loves to force you into a corner just so he could slowly approach you and finally get his fill...you're always ending up on your back with your legs spread when you're hunting with him, but at least he'd lick your bit marks later and let you bask in the fresh air for a bit. Ghost is...difficult. He likes discipline, like Price, but his punishments are even less conventional. If you're trying to fight him, he'd let you - would legit ask you out on a ring, just so he could force his full body weight on top of you and watch you trying to get free. You're so dumb and adorable, it's insane - you're still acting wild, acting like you're a predator just like them, but in reality, you're just a weak thing that needs to be disciplined as harshly as possible. He might feel a bit sorry for you...but he loves to fight - and fighting you is the most precious experience for him. He loves having the opportunity to just force you on the ground and get what he wants, maybe even finally getting a few of his shadowy tendrils up your wiggling butt since you've been so ungrateful lately...

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nexysworld · 4 months

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Summary: Leon is sent on a mission to carry out a hit for the government. He hated these missions the most, but worst of all you weren't supposed to be there. You weren't supposed to see him. Pairing: ID!Assassin Leon x Fem!Reader Tags: NSFW, MDNI, Smut, canon typical gore, graphic depictions of murder, comfort sex, mild dubcon, unprotected sex, fem!receiving oral sex, soft sex, angsty sex, hurt/comfort/hurt, dark content, descriptions of wound dressing. WC: 5.2k

A/N: This was a birthday fic for the wonderful @elfven-blog. <3 Title from the lyrics to the song Sextape by Deftones. Edit: I also have a bot based on this fic now: Character AI | Spicychat

Read on A03 || Ask Box || Masterlists

Cool air bristled the hairs on the back of his neck, limbs tingling with the typical anticipation of what came next. Hits weren’t his favorite type of mission, not by a longshot, he wanted to save people, not kill them. But with experience came a certain professional numbness and a way to compartmentalize. It didn’t help that the locale for this affair was in the dead center of a suburban upper class neighborhood. Every home had that same limestone brick or white overlapping paneling. Every door the same mahogany brown, tacky lawn gnomes, overly green grass, white picket fences – the works. The possibility of witnesses was high, the escape routes limited.

Regardless, Leon was a professional, and he would make it work. He always did.

Tilting his wrist, he looked down at the gold rolex, it was a little past 2:30am. He listened closely, to ensure there was no movement inside. The double windowed back doors were his point of entry. The brass knobs were old, the locks inside not quite as intricate as modern ones, all it took was a good smack against the swiss army knife he’d jammed into it for the lock to click open. The door opened quietly, he made sure to not close it completely behind him to ensure he could make his escape.

The house had an eerie quiet over it, almost like the universe knew what was about to happen. Leon cracked his neck and let out a breath, careful to not touch anything as he moved throughout the lower floor, clearing each room. The kitchen was pristine, nothing out of place on the island or counter. There was no homely smell of food, only the lingering scent of some harsh cleaner. Not a sign that anyone had even been down there within the past several hours – a good thing, he noted. Through the archway came the living room, he had been hopeful someone had opted to sleep on the couch, separate targets were easier targets. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t so lucky.

The plush gray sectional was untouched, not so much as a divet into the cushion. The TV remote lay on the dark oak coffee table. Unlike the kitchen, this room felt more homely. The faint smell of some fruity air freshener was all over, the cherry walls were lined with gold plated frames of the family.

His target was some small town politician, Jackson Moore, normally somebody not noteworthy to the government in the slightest, but he made the unfortunate mistake of shaking hands with terrorists, facilitating the sale of some new viral invention through the local pharmacies. The idea of another Raccoon City incident made his stomach turn. He wasn’t sure who he held more anger for, the people like this person who’d bring it about, or the government that he knew turned a blind eye until now – the same government who wouldn’t make the effort to save the people who uphold it.

He shook his head, and pushed his bangs back refocusing for a moment. He scanned over the pictures. Most normal family outings, some graduation photos and holiday ones in there. Hunnigan had told him beforehand that all of the kids were off to college, none due back for several more weeks. The only targets in the house were Mr. and Mrs. Moore.

There was only one more room on the bottom floor, where he was sure his victims were, the master bedroom. Leon made his way over, silently padding down the short hall staring at the door. It was cracked, the sound of light snoring and the smell of mint wafting from the room. He peeked inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dark room, a string of moonlight the only thing illuminating the sleeping lumps on the bed.

He tested the door, it squealed slightly as it opened making him freeze. One of the sleeping forms moved slightly rolling over. He waited, still as a statue until he was sure that both still remained asleep before sliding himself through the narrow opening he’d made.

Looming over the sleeping forms, he pulled his gun out from it’s holster attached to his waist. Even with the silencer, he knew he needed to be quick. One shot would wake the other, and then it was a matter of speed. He cocked the pistol, taking a few more steps towards the unaware persons before him. The gun felt heavy in his hand, but he lifted it anyway, deciding to start with the official target first.

Will the trigger pulled back, the room lit up for a split second with the bang of the gun. Time slowed as he watched the man’s body jolt slightly, blood splattering onto the pillow, the walls. The smell of gunpowder and iron hit his nose. The man’s fingers twitched slightly before his movement stopped. Just like he had expected, his wife was awake instantly, though no noise came from her.

Wide eyed, she stared at Leon, then down at her husband next to her. Her mouth opened like she was trying to scream, but the noise was caught in her throat, tears welled in the woman’s eyes. Blood had splattered onto her too, some chunks of brain along with it dripped from her curlers onto her lap. Her trembling hands reached over to her husband, “Jacks.” She whispered, reaching over and putting her hand on his deformed face. “Jacks.” She leaned over the man, trying to scoop the bits and pieces of him back together.

Leon wanted to feel sorry for her, wanted to wonder if that’s how someone might react to his death some day. But he pushed those feelings aside, she was a target, culpable in everything just as her husband was. He lifted the gun again, pointing it at her.

As she looked at him, eyes wide with fear, her mouth formed the shape of a word. He didn’t need to hear it to know it was a plea. He pulled the trigger again.

Deadshot, like putting down an animal, between the eyes.

Her body crumbled over itself as she slumped forward onto the bed, the back of her head exploded open like a volcano of bone, blood, and brain matter.

Not dwelling on it, he put his finger to the device in his ear. “It’s done, Hunnigan.” “Good work Leon. I’ll make sure that –”

“Hey mom, you still up? I thought I heard something.”

The soft voice pulled Leon from his conversation, there were footsteps out in the hallway and the sound of a lightswitch clicking on. ‘Shit.’ He cursed to himself inwardly. He took a few steps back from the door, whispering to Hunnigan. “You said there were no other targets here.” “There aren't –” “The daughter is home.” “Does she know you’re there?” “No, not yet.”

There was a moment of silence on the line before she spoke again. “Leon.” Hunnigan’s voice was serious, she knew him well enough after all these years to know his thoughts. “Leave no witnesses.” “There won’t be, she doesn’t even know I'm here.” The sound of the fridge opening and closing indicated the girl’s location. “Everyone at the location is a target, Leon. Everyone at the location is a witness.” “Not if she – “ “Leon, this is an order.” “I can wait for her –” “Leon –”

“She doesn’t have to die.” “Dad, is that you?” The sound of his voice, despite him doing his best to stay at a whisper, must've alerted the girl. There was shuffling around on the other end of the line, the next voice he heard made his blood cold. The head of the D.S.O shouting into his ear. “Kennedy, this is an order, kill her! Complete the mission. Do you understand me?”

“Understood.” He said flatly, disconnecting from the call. In a worse stroke of bad luck, the door to the bedroom swung open nearly at the same time.

And there you were.

Glass shattering as it hit the floor, water splattering around as the light from the hallway lit up the room from the opened door. You trembled in place as you processed the sight of things. Leon was frozen where he stood too. You were an adult, but young, more importantly innocent in all of this. Rarely in his forced-on-him career has he had to kill someone completely innocent. Usually it was the partners of criminals, civilians caught in crossfire. But never someone as young as you, never in a situation so targeted.

He hardly registered the shriek you made before you bolted. Acting purely on instinct he took off after you, the delay of his own shock didn’t matter much when he noticed the slimy trail of bloody footprints from where you’d ran through the glass left in the hallway. His own boots crunching it against the ground as he moved. If you had been smart, you’d have turned for the front door, or even the back. Instead, nearly sliding on your own blood you went for the staircase, the one route that would trap you on the upper floor. You let out a yelp of pain, trying your hardest to only use your less injured foot to bounce up the stairs as quickly as you could, the blood matting down into the carpet with each step.

It didn’t take long for Leon to catch up, thumping up each one loudly as his boots made contact. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t take his gun out, why he was even letting you attempt this unwinnable escape, he also didn’t know. Maybe it was just delaying the inevitable.

He reached out for you just as you made it to the top of the stairs. A simple shove was all it took to send you flying into the decorative hall table that waited at the top. A sickening crack was heard as your head collided with the dark wood, knocking it over as you rolled over with a groan, dazed from it. Managing to prop yourself up on your elbows, Leon could see the trickle of blood that began to run down your eye and cheek, along with the starting to swell shiner from your high-speed table collision.

You scuttled backwards, as best you could, haphazardly tossing the vase that had fallen at him. It missed, and went crashing onto the stairs. Tears mixed with the blood on your face, diluting the color, only leaving the dry specs stuck there. You looked pathetic and terrified in a way that made Leon’s heart twist.

“P-please… don’t.” You pleaded, putting your hand out and up as if that simple gesture would be enough to stop him, distance him from yourself.

He couldn’t do this, at least not like this. He kneeled before you, cupping your uninjured cheek in his hand. “Shhhh. Shhh.”

“P-please… I won’t tell any–” “It’s ok,” he cooed. “It’s not my style to hurt pretty girls, you know that?” He added as he scooped you up from the ground bridal style. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Getting his DNA all over you, getting your blood on him. This wasn’t a clean kill, this wasn’t what the upper brass wanted. For the moment though, he didn’t care. “Where’s your room, Sweetheart?”

You didn’t point or make a sound, your eyes darted from him to the cracked door next to him and then back to him as you shook in his hold. He wedged it open the rest of the way with his foot, before gently placing you down on your bed. It didn’t look right, all the blood staining into the fresh and plush sheets. It was different than your parents downstairs, the whole room screamed you. From the decor on the walls, to the laptop on the nightstand, your college hoodie hanging off the back of the chair at your desk. More reminders that you didn’t deserve this.

Before you could, he swiped the phone off of the side table, stuffing it into his pant pocket. “I know you hurt right now.” He said sweetly, “Give me a minute and we’ll get you all cleaned up, alright?” He gave you a moment to process his words. ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ He asked himself, as he held your hand, patting your arm gently. He could see the confusion in your eyes as the gears in your head turned to try and make a decision – timidly you nodded. He shot you his signature smile. “Atta girl. Stay here for me, no funny business.” Pointing a finger gun at you before he slipped out into the hallway and into the upstairs bathroom.

The suddenly bright lighting stung his eyes, he saw himself in the mirror, your blood speckled onto his jacket, some dried to his face. He looked rough, a cold sweat broken out onto his face, blue eyes distant looking back at himself. He splashed some cold water onto his face to calm his nerves before digging around to see if there was anything he could use to alleviate some of your pain, even if temporarily. The medicine cabinet was well stocked, though nothing would be enough to really combat the pain of your cracked head and torn up feet. He bit his lip as he grabbed some bandages and the bottle of peroxide.

First aide wasn’t really his specialty, but he knew enough from training. Along with the other supplies, he filled the empty cup on the counter with warm soap water, and took the washcloth with him.

To his surprise you were exactly where he’d left you, splayed out on the bed, looking scared and exhausted. Your head rested against the pillow, eyes staring up at the ceiling. “I’m going to take a look at your feet first.” Not that he really gave you the option, but you nodded in return. Leon was no stranger to gore, guts, and the rest, but something about them gave him pause. There was so much blood he could hardly see what was skin and what was glass. “It might sting just a little.” He assured, pouring the cold liquid out onto your feet. You hissed and squirmed a bit, but he placed his arm over your ankles to keep them still, watching as the peroxide bubbled, clearing away the redness of the blood. Small pieces of glass fell with it onto the now stained carpet. He opted to speak to you, see if he could get you to calm down some more while he worked, pouring more over the wounds. “You’re in college?” There was something about you that was indescribable to him, familiar to him, and he wasn’t sure why.

“Yeah.” Finally you answered with words, voice barely above a whisper. “Shouldn’t you be at school then? I thought the semester was still going.” He as he checked you over for any more obvious glass. When it was clear the peroxide had done it’s job, he took the bandages, gently wrapping them around your feet, gauze padding them.

“D-dropped out.” You squeaked out. “Last minute decision, had to come home.” He tied off the bandage before moving to look at your face. “School’s not for everyone. You’re probably better off without it.” Leon dipped the washcloth into the cup, wringing it out over the carpet, not really caring about the mess. He dabbed it gently against your injured face, helping to remove the remaining mess and to get a better look. Luckily the cut above your eye seemed superficial and the blood had stopped running, it was just a matter of cleaning up the dried mess that was left over. He was careful around the tender purple skin as he cleared as much as he could. “You have a boyfriend you leave back at school?”

“No. Never had one at all actually.” You replied, wincing when he accidentally touched a painful spot. “Never had one?” He asked more for himself than as a real question to you. ‘Hasn’t finished school, never had a boyfriend. This is so fucked up. She can’t be any older than Ashley was…’ He thought to himself, debating whether the court marshalling would be worth letting you go. In the same train of thought, he considered what would happen to you if he did. The government would probably send someone else just like him, someone less soft. He bristled at the thought, sitting up straight on the side of your bed. “That’s a shame, I would’ve thought a cute girl like you would be drowning in guys asking her out.” “Not really” You seemed to relax a bit now, well as relaxed as a person could be in your state. He could still tell from your blown pupils and 1000 mile stare that you were still in shock. Probably a good thing. “My parents are… were, strict.” Your face contorted like you were about to be sick at the memory.

Leon went back to stroking your cheek gently for comfort. “So no boyfriend, ever have your first kiss? First time?” Now that he had a better chance to really look at you, all cleaned up he realized who you reminded him of. Not so much Ashley, she was more strong willed and you didn’t quite look the part either. It wasn’t just the age, no…your voice, mannerisms, the way you looked. It was so very much her. Someone he hadn’t thought about since before even Raccoon City.

“Yeah. Wasn’t very good, some drunk frat boy.” You admitted leaning slightly into his touch. Silence passed between you both, nothing but the ceiling fan whirring above you. An automated air freshener spritzed roses and lilac into the air, barely covering the distinct peroxide and blood smell. Leon was surprised when you finally spoke again. “Why did you do it?”

The look on your face gutted him more than it should have. “I had to.” “Because of his job?” “Something like that, yeah.” “Did he deserve it?” “Yeah.”

You nodded, turning your eyes away from the ceiling to look at him. There was another tense silence before you spoke again. “Are you going to kill me too?”

He felt a chill ran over his body at the question. He leaned forward pressing his forehead to yours, moving his hand up to stroke your hair. “I don’t want to.” It wasn’t a real answer and he knew that, but it was honest. “Why are you being nice to me?” “I told you, I don’t like to hurt cute girls.” “That’s not it.”

How you read him for filth like that he’ll never know. “You remind me of someone.” He leaned back just enough to look at you again, but kept your faces close, so close he could feel the warmth of your breath on his face. “Who was she?” “My first girlfriend.” He admitted. “What happened to her?” “We broke up.” He said with a short laugh. “Right before my very first day as a cop.” While the conversation was far from appropriate for the situation, he supposed it worked to calm you down more as he felt you relax into the bed. His internal struggle was still playing tug-of-war with his psyche, not sure of how to proceed.

The piece in his ear picked up with some static before Hunnigan’s familiar voice was heard. “Leon are you there?”

He ignored her in favor of continuing to dote over you, hand gently running through your hair, taking in your features more. That trepidation never left your eyes – he understood it. He probably looked psychotic right now, a murderer who was being eerily kind. He was self aware enough to know that much.

“Leon, we haven’t heard a status report. Has the last target been eliminated?” She spoke loud enough this time that while it couldn’t have been above the lowest whisper for you, it was obvious you heard it, eyes widened again, mouth opening slightly. To keep you quiet he leaned forward pressing his lips to yours, a soft kiss you didn’t really return. “Stay quiet for me, ok?” He mumbled against your lips, before sitting up again. He considered replying to Hunnigan, but looking down at you, he took his earpiece out, tossing it to the other side of the room instead.

Hey eyed you again, before adding another kiss. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this.’ He reprimanded himself, as he placed another this time to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then jaw. Another on your neck for good measure. ‘I should’ve done it the second she opened the door. I should’ve done my job.’ Despite his mind’s dialogue he continued now at your collar bone. ‘Like ripping off a band aid…. I can’t let her last moments be like that.’ He began to rationalize as he looked up at you. “Let me make you feel good.”

“Wh-what?” “You deserve better than a drunk frat boy. Let me make you feel good.” He repeated. “Why?” “Because I want to.” He could clock the nervousness in your voice immediately. “You can say no.” He added. “I’m not a rapist.”

“A-are you going to kill me if I say no?” “No, of course not.” Again, it wasn’t technically a lie. He wouldn’t be doing it because you declined, but he felt mild disgust with himself for side-stepping the reality of the situation again. ‘It’s better this way though. For her.’

“Ok.” You said, nodding at him to continue. He treated you like glass, gently working your thin tank top up and over your breasts. He continued by kissing each one tenderly before taking your left nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until he felt it pebble. When you whimpered at the feeling, he began to suck on it, kneading your other breast with his hand. When he pulled himself off with a pop, he looked down at you, lips parted, eyes closed. Enjoying so much despite him having done so little. Adorable.

He ran his thumb along your bottom lip until he saw those pretty eyes crack open before capturing your lips again, taking the chance to slip his tongue inside once parted. You were sloppy with inexperience, but tasted like dessert, sweet. It made his cock twitch against his pants. He groaned slightly into your mouth, ignoring his own need. Pulling away he let you catch your breath, giving him the chance to move down your body one kiss under your breasts. The next above your naval – stomach contracting slightly. He added one more above the hem of your night pants.

He looked up at you, silently checking with you if it was alright to continue again. When you nodded, he helped you out of the pants. Gently tugging them down from the waist band, lifting each separate leg himself, careful to not hurt your already injured feet. “You alright?” “Y-yeah.”

“Let me know if anything hurts, ok?” “Ok.” “Good girl.”

Leon tugged his leather jacket off discarding it on the floor before rolling up the sleeves of his button up. He claimed a spot between your legs, lifting one over his shoulder for better access to what he was about to do. He gave a reassuring kiss to your thigh, using a free hand to part your folds, rubbing his thumb over your clit gently. He eyed you watching as you melted under his touch, soft whimpers tickling at his eardrums. “Such a pretty girl.” He cooed, replacing his thumb with his tongue, swirling it around the sensitive bud.

He had to grind down on the bed himself to relieve some of his own tension, reminding himself to keep his focus on you. His grip on your leg tightened as you arched your back, squirming more and more against his touch. “God…oh god…” You chanted, head tossed back, the leg draped over his shoulder kicking at his back. He knew you were close when your voice cracked, soft gasps escaped your lips. He continued lapping at you as you ground against his face, letting you ride through your orgasm – only stopping when your hands made purchase in his hair to get his attention. “C-can’t…can’t.”

Pulling back, he wiped your slick off his chin with his forearm, looking down at you. He watched as your chest heaved slowly, returning to a normal rhythm. Your uninjured eye was lidded less with shock and more with that familiar coming down of pleasure. He went to move back when you grabbed his arm, looking directly at him. “What about you?” He was a little shocked by the words, your concern for him. “I said I wanted to make you feel good.” He chalked it up to your likely traumatized and now lust hazed brain. “Don’t worry about me.” Leon made the motion to move again. “Wait.” You called, grip on his arm tightening. “What if… what if I want to?”

He didn’t move, unsure of how to respond. He’d already fucked up the mission, already covered you in his DNA, yours on him – but he couldn’t do what you were asking. That was too far.

“P-please?” You choked out, tears now welling in your eyes, spilling over and staining your cheeks again.

And just like that he was taken back to that day again, right before Raccoon City. A night he swore was the worst of his life, until he knew better. Sitting there across from him, begging him not to go – you sounded just like her too, like she was frozen in time beneath him. Even worse, this was the opposite of what he wanted, he wanted to make things easier for you, relax you. “I just want to be close, please? Please?” You were full on crying now, face scrunching up, barely able to catch your breath. “Ok. Ok.” He said, leaning down to kiss you again. “Shhh, don’t cry. Don’t cry. How do you want me to take you?” Your words came out between sniffles and hiccups. “Any way, you want.”

He nodded, sitting back enough to help you sit up, slipping your shirt off all the way. “Can you flip over for me? Lay down flat on your stomach.” He helped you comply with the command, still careful of your injuries. He could see the bandages on your feet had turned a slight pink. Once you were laid out the way he wanted, relaxed, face down into the pillow, he worked his own shirt off, tossing it over in a pile atop his jacket. His gun was removed from the holster, he was careful to lock the safety, discarding it with his other items. He left his pants on, undoing them enough to free his half hard cock, the head still weeping.

He spat in his hand, giving himself a few good tugs, feeling himself hardening fully again. “You ready?” “Yeah.” He crawled forward, gently lifting your butt up just enough for him to line himself at your soaking entrance. He grunted when he pressed in, you sucking him in warm and wet. He let you take a moment to relax down again as he leaned forward, pressing the entirety of his bare chest to your back, sinking his cock in slowly until he was buried all the way inside of your heat.

He kissed up your shoulders, and neck, rolling his hips into your slowly. “God you’re tight baby.” He whispered against your ear. He didn’t have the heart to rail you into the mattress, wanting to abate your request for closeness, intimacy. “S’big…” You lazily mumbled into the pillow. “I know, I know.” He crooned your neck just enough for him to lock your lips together again. “But you’re doing so good, taking me so well.” Letting you rest, he returned to focusing on the motion of setting a steady but not too rough pace, angling himself so that he hit that spot inside of you that had you whimpering again. He rewarded the noises by rolling you both onto the side, where he could wrap an arm around you like a tight hug, leg gently pulled over over his own so he had a better angle. Likely for the best, Leon was close already, he slowed down more, returning to simply rolling his hips as he trailed his hand down your stomach, ghosting it over your naval and thighs before rubbing at your clit for a bit as he kissed and sucked softly against your neck. He fucked you like he would’ve done to her, like you were his lover, the most important thing to him.

Your velvet walls felt like heaven as they squeezed against him, closer and closer to your own second orgasm. “That’s it baby.” He whispered hotly against your ear. “One more time for me, ok?” He sped up his fingers, feeling you tighten around him so much that he nearly felt his own eyes roll back. “G-good girl.” He praised, gripping your hip to speed up his own movements, his balls tightening as he came, cock throbbing as spurts of his seed painted your insides.

Leon held you like that for a while, curling in on you, offering soft praises as he nuzzled into your neck from behind. He didn’t move a muscle until your breath evened out completely, and he could tell by the low thrum of your heartbeat that you were incredibly close, if not already asleep. He looked up at the clock on the nightstand – 4:45am it read. He had about 20 more minutes max before someone from HQ would be sent in as backup, now that he’d been MIA for so long.

Now fully soft, he gently pulled himself out of you, and carefully rolled off the bed. He watched you for any more signs of movement as he buckled back up and redressed. There was that eerie silence settling over the house again, he felt heavy with the weight of the evening crushing against him like an invisible force. He wished for a moment that the world would swallow him up where he stood so he didn’t have to face his responsibilities, the consequences.

You looked peaceful laying there. He knew it was just the exhaustion, shock, and grief, that kept you tugged under the waves of unconsciousness, but for his own sake he pretended you were in a truly relaxed state. Moreso, he was glad you wouldn’t experience any more of that pain or fear tonight. Leon clicked the safety off the gun, watching you for any signs of movement. Not even a twitch as he cocked the gun again. He walked over, sitting at the side of the bed again, eyeing you over one more time. It felt like he was saying goodbye to a lot of things at that moment, his ex all over again, your future, another piece of the man he wanted to be. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this, you know?” He whispered, mostly to himself as he pressed the barrel of the pistol to the pillow.

He couldn’t look this time. He wouldn’t look this time. His chest tightened, having to take a moment to stop the bile trying to work its way up, and the urge to cry that had him wanting to heave against the floor. He grabbed his earpiece as he made his exit.

“This is Kennedy to HQ – the last target has been exterminated.”

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sunnebeam · 11 months

Text

in the darkest little paradise.

A 'DARKEST LITTLE PARADISE' DRABBLE.

pairing: min yoongi x reader

warnings: smut (minors do not interact), unprotected sex (bc it's fun to fantasize about in fictional situations but please use protection irl), small mentions of mafia shit (again), sex work

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: yet another smut drabble that's actually just a buildup for a whole ass wip! enjoy

— prev: (none) | next: and all the pieces fall

You're not much of a crybaby, not when life has a way of toughening you up.

But right now, with your legs high up in the sky as you lay on your back, your skin reveling in the soft velvet of the sheets, you blubber incoherently with uncontrollable tears streaming down your face.

The reason for your tears is wearing a smug look as he looks down at your pitiful, crying form.

"Why are you crying, princess?"

His thumb never leaves your clit just as his cock never leaves your warm, wet heat. But he doesn't move.

"Yoongi—"

"Yeah? What do you want?"

He's ruthless, rubbing circles on your sensitive nub but remaining otherwise motionless while he's balls deep inside you.

You hate crying. You hate pleading, as well. But Yoongi singlehandedly makes you do both.

After all, Min Yoongi owns the streets of Daegu. It should be a no-brainer that he owns your body, too.

He loves you like this, loves when your tough facade breaks just for him, loves when you whine and beg and plead to him, loves when you fall apart because of him.

"Yoongi," you whimper when he twitches inside you, "move."

If someone else tries ordering him around, they'd lose a limb.

But here you are, your pleas commanding him to fold to your every whim, your moans and lewd sounds spurring him to give you what you want.

And he does.

Yoongi starts off slow, knowing just how much you love the buildup despite your whining. He gathers a generous amount of spit in his mouth and lets it drop on your waiting cunt, groaning when he observes the mix of juices pooling between your spread legs where the two of you are joined.

"I've spoiled you too much," he teases, his hips starting to pick up a faster pace. "Bossing me around. Never saying please."

You're too fucked out to respond and it's not like he expects you to, anyway. Not when he starts jackhammering into you just the way you like it, and he begins to feel the fluttering of your walls.

"Yoongi," you sob, and as if to appease him, you chant, "please, please, please—"

And then you fall.

Yoongi loves it when you climax. You thrash around, hands gripping anything you can reach – the sheets, the bed posts, your hair, your tits. There's a beautiful vulnerability to the sight, a stark contrast to the tough, closed-off act you normally put on.

In truth, the both of you are closed-off people. But right here, with your cunt squeezing the life out of his dick, with your naked bodies connected in the most intimate of ways, he allows himself the same moment of vulnerability.

He falls. He reaches his peak and spills inside you, leaning down and groaning into your neck as you wrap your arms around him in a tight embrace.

Anyone looking at the two of you right now would think you're two lovers basking in the afterglow.

In another world, maybe. But in this dark little paradise, you can only wish.

Because he's Min Yoongi, the ruthless mob boss, the topdog of Daegu. And you're just a no-named prostitute, a whore, a nobody.

You know better than to dwell on it. So you suck it up, put on a face for him, and try to make the rest of his visit worth his while and worth his money.

After all, he's paying for you.

"Hey," he calls out just as the two of you are getting dressed. "Are you available tomorrow?"

"Oh, it's my day off tomor—"

"Not to work," he clarifies. "I mean, to go out."

Your eyebrows furrow.

"Out?" you repeat. "Out where?"

"To dinner."

You blink. "You want to take me out to dinner? Why?"

"Don't people usually go out for dinner to celebrate their birthdays?"

"My... birthday...? Wait, what?"

Yoongi just smirks. He then kisses your cheek before walking out the room with a quick, "I'll pick you up at seven," thrown over his shoulder.

You're dumbfounded. You're flustered. And truthfully, you're a bit excited. But most of all, you're confused.

Because how did Yoongi know tomorrow's your birthday?

#bts x reader #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut #suga smut #bts x you #min yoongi x you #yoongi x you #suga x you #bts fic #yoongi fic #suga fic #min yoongi fic #cat.writes

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lovelyhan · 1 year

Note

enemies to lovers prompt #10 "I'm not driving home with you..." with mingyu, thx <3

— vices & virtues ⟢

being from one of the most opulent families in the city, you're used to getting everything you want. but when you realize that your hot bodyguard is strictly off-limits, you treat him like anything else you can't have: with unbridled hostility.

★ FEATURING; bodyguard!mingyu x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 5.4k words

★ TAGS; enemies to lovers, unresolved sexual tension, smut

★ WARNINGS; alcohol consumption, cigarettes, implied/referenced drug use, self-destructive behavior in general, (probably inaccurate) discussions about drug poisoning, graphic sexual content (MINORS DNI)

★ NOTES; when i tell you i speedwrote this just in time for mingyu day,,, eugh i love you so much gyugyu and thank you to the anon who sent this in a while back!! this prompt was so tasty to work with!

★ SMUT TAGS; unprotected sex, couch sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, dacryphilia, size kink, mating press, overstimulation, creampie

★ SVT TAGLIST; @wonderfulshinee - @misssugarlips - @yourfavoritefreakyhan - @jeanjacketjesus - @just-here-to-read-01 - @hanihans - @venusrae - @taestrwbrry - @minnie-mouser22 - @dreamhannies - @thvhannie - @kkooongie - @gae-uls - @lenireads - @gaebestie - @ryusha-rose - @enhacolor - @ilyvern - @woo8hao - @spk93 - @tommolex - @stariightjoyy - @asjkdk - @horny4hoshi

★ MINGYU TAGLIST; @ @renjunphile - @acgyu - @potatofrieswithketchup - @pluviophile-xxx - @pretty-trustme - @zeenanigans - @noveniadelia

When the tiniest sliver of consciousness slips into your inebriated brain, you feel the cold tile of the bathroom floor being pried off your face. Well, more like you're being gently lifted off it, and into the arms of someone warm.

You nearly lean into their embrace until you catch a whiff of that familiar, musky cologne with hint of something like pine. It takes you some effort to keep yourself from bolting out of his grasp and retching your guts out in the toilet again.

You deign to squint your eyes despite the harsh fluorescent light razing your vision. Looking down on you is none other than Kim Mingyu, gaze as indifferent as ever. Unfortunately, you're too drunk or high to figure out how he even found you here, but you know there's no weaseling your way out when your father's little lapdog has tracked you down.

"What're you doing here?" you still ask even if you knew the answer.

It's my job to take care of you.

"It's my job to take care of you," he says the words in the same way you imagined him to—apathetic. Indecipherable.

"Fuck you. I don't need you to take care of me," you scoff. "My friends'll drop me off at my apartment like they always do."

Mingyu rolls his eyes. "You mean the same friends who called me because they're tired of having to clean up after your shit? I don't want to be here either, princess, but I'm actually getting paid to keep you in line, if you hadn't known that yet."

There's something so unfairly attractive in the snark in his tone, and you fucking hate him for it. Mostly, you hate yourself for even thinking that anything about Mingyu is remotely alluring.

In the end, you just tell yourself that you're an objective person. You have eyes, and it won't cost anything to admit that Mingyu is conventionally attractive. Even if you did hate his guts.

Not that he'll ever hear you admit that aloud, though.

You're vaguely aware of how the hem of your too-short dress rides up your thighs as Mingyu rises back to his full height—having no problems carrying you out of the bathroom bridal-style.

Under normal circumstances, you would've struggled. Proved that you could very much handle yourself despite being obviously hammered. But your head is spinning, and your limbs feel like they'll disintegrate any second.

Eyes closed, you press your face into the fine fabric of Mingyu's suit—breathing in the same scent that repulsed you not five minutes earlier in an attempt at anchoring your consciousness.

As Mingyu maneuvers you out of the bathroom, the loud bass blaring from the speakers at the frat party you've decided to attend last minute rings in your eardrums. You don't have to see your surroundings to know you've got onlookers. Those unsubtle comments are clue enough to know you're being watched.

Who is that? Her boyfriend?

No, idiot, that's probably her bodyguard or some shit. Her family's loaded as fuck.

So lucky. If I had a bodyguard like that, I'd totally let him smash.

The real question is: would he let you smash?

Fuck you.

You want to flash them the most disgusted look you could muster. As if you'd stoop low enough to fuck Mingyu, of all people. Don't they know who you are? You could easily let any man or woman you wanted on their knees for you.

You were supposed to stick to your regular routine of getting railed into the next day after a few drinks and sticks, but you obviously got a little too excited about the new strains your friends snuck into the party. Now you're being princess carried by a man you absolutely despise, too shit-faced to even be remotely desired by anyone else at the moment.

Still, never in a million years would you consider having this guy as a bodyguard lucky.

You can tell you're outside when the music starts to fade in the distance and the cold starts to prickle your legs and arms. A somewhat coherent part of you recalls leaving your designer jacket in the coatrack of the frat house, and if you weren't so fucking shit-faced, you would've yelled at Mingyu to go back and get it.

But just before you can consider asking him somewhat nicely, you hear him unlock a car that definitely doesn't sound like yours—making your ears perk up, and your consciousness flood back in much faster.

"What are you—?"

You thrash in Mingyu's arms until he lets you down on the ground—throwing him a stone-cold glare right after. The fact that your pedicured feet are in direct contact with the asphalt makes your rage spike further. How dare this asshole leave your Valentinos behind? He might as well have just left you at the party altogether!

"I'm not driving home with you," you growl.

Mingyu's expression doesn't even budge. "You're not driving. I am."

"Don't try to be fucking smart with me. I'm high, not stupid."

Folding your arms across your chest, you try to pretend that you're not in the middle of the street, arguing with Mingyu as your blood pressure rises to unimaginable heights.

Unfortunately for you, this isn't the first time your friends have left you in the quote-unquote capable hands of your bodyguard. But every time he did, he would always drive whatever car you chose to bring for the occasion and drop you off at your place.

When he brings a car of his own, however...

"You're bringing me straight to the old man," you grumble. "You think he'll appreciate seeing his daughter all wasted at three in the morning? You think he'll be happy with you when he finds out you let me sneak out like this? Are you stupid or do you actually want to get fired?"

"And who told you I was going to bring you to him?" Mingyu shakes his head, letting out a long-winded sigh. "Like I said, I don't want to be here either. The last thing I need is even more overtime after your father sets you straight."

That makes you pause, eyes widening with a hint of mistrust. Mingyu listens to every word his employer says. He's the perfect little lapdog. So perfect that sneaking out for these nightly escapades of yours have grown increasingly difficult with how good he is at finding you and bringing you home.

So hearing him practically say that he won't tattle on you...

"How can I be sure you're not fucking with me? That if I fall asleep in the car, I won't wake up in the courtyard of the old man's stupid mansion?"

"Do I look like I have the energy to deal with both of you at the same time?" he replies sharply, opening the door to the passenger seat with a hint of finality in his actions. "Just get in the fucking car so we can all head to bed before sunrise."

The sound of the house party still in full swing echoes in your ears from the distance. Your skin tingles a little beneath the heat of Mingyu's mildly pissed off gaze, and you let out a shuddering breath to keep yourself from giving the feeling a name.

"Fine."

...

Good news: you made it safely back to your apartment without anyone alerting your father about your true whereabouts.

Bad news: Mingyu just won't fucking leave.

He insisted that you get yourself refreshed with a shower first before he talks to you in the living room. The same guy that right-out said that you should hop in the passenger seat of his car so you'd both be asleep before the sun rises. The clock is already pushing past four in the morning, and Mingyu still insists on lecturing you before he leaves?

You of all people know how obstinate he can be. He's even more stubborn than you are, if you're being completely honest. So even if it wounds your pride to play along with what he has planned, you head back to your living room right after slipping on your usual nightgown—flashing Mingyu a look to remind him you're not at all pleased with whatever bullshit he wants to talk about.

However, your irritation ebbs a little when you see a plate of your favorite cookies sitting on the coffee table, along with a glass of water and a sheet of Advil.

Your gaze drifts from the snacks to your bodyguard, who looks more dressed down than usual. His coat is folded neatly, hanging off one side of your couch, and the first three buttons of his dress shirt are undone.

You gulp, prying your eyes off the sliver of chest he's willingly exposed before seating a respectable distance away.

"What did you want to talk about?" You try to sound casual as you leaned forward, reaching for a cookie and the glass of water without as much initiating eye contact.

"You smoked a few joints at the party, didn't you?"

You take a bite, washing it down with your drink before replying with, "So what if I did? A little kush isn't going to kill anybody, Mingyu."

"We both know 'a little' doesn't exist in your vocabulary, princess," he points out, crossing his arms with an unimpressed look. "Anyway, I'm not your father, so I typically don't care about what drugs you're taste testing every night—"

"Are you implying that you suddenly care now?"

"With a new poisonous marijuana strain circulating in the underground market? Of course I do."

You do a double take on that, staring at him hard as you begrudgingly swallow your cookie, "What? Underground market? And what do you mean poisonous?"

Mingyu lets out another sigh when he leans forward to reach for the box of cigarettes and a lighter you left strewn across your coffee table. You're even more surprised to see him lighting himself a stick and taking a drag than you were when he prepared some snacks and water for you.

"Some Columbian drug cartels thought it would be funny to infiltrate surface-level drug transactions. Long story short, they invented some fucked up strain laced with belladonna and smuggled it into the market under the impression that it's a new sativa strain."

You absolutely have no idea how Mingyu even got ahold of this information, but realizing the implication of his words has your stomach sinking with dread. If what he's saying is true, it's no wonder you were out so fucking quick tonight.

"I'm not gonna die within twenty four hours, right?" you half-joke because, Jesus, you're adventurous with your drugs, but you wouldn't willingly take something that can actually kill you.

To your relief, Mingyu shakes his head. "I don't know the science behind it either, but I was told sativa tones down the poisonous effect of belladonna by a huge margin. The worst you'll experience is a fever and a nasty cough if you don't do anything about it."

"Gee, way to be reassuring."

Mingyu scoffs before taking another drag of his cigarette. Your gaze is riveted on the cut of his jaw as he inhales the smoke with eyes closed. It's only when he flicks the ashes in a small ashtray you left by the small table beside the couch that you realize he's pushed the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows—exposing a good deal of his toned arms.

You immediately take a huge gulp of water, not wanting such unsavory thoughts about an unsavory person to surface now, of all times.

You might be more refreshed after your shower, but if you're starting to ogle Kim Mingyu, the strange joints you've been hitting all night might've messed with your head more than you thought.

"That's why we're going to the doctor tomorrow—"

You scowl. "Like hell I'm going to pay Doctor Yoon a visit. That guy's the biggest tattletale in the world. He'll definitely tell the old man. Oh, and I actually have classes tomorrow if you're forgetting, Mingyu."

"You're pretending to attend those now that it's convenient for you?" He smirks as he breathes out another puff of smoke. "Nice try, princess. But don't worry your pretty little head about it. I'll take you to another doctor I know—someone who won't get us both in trouble by telling your father that you've been smoking bad weed."

"Again, way to be fucking reassuring."

The silence finally settles as you nibble contemplatively on the snacks he brought for you. You're can say for sure that you're most certainly sober now, so Mingyu's words have got you thinking.

But it's a little difficult to think about the state of your health when you've got a sort-of uninvited guest manspreading right next to you on the couch.

"Aren't you going to leave?" you ask. "Just text me what time we're going to visit that doctor friend of yours."

"How would you feel if you got told to scram while you're in the middle of a smoke?" Mingyu flashes you an annoyed look. "For the third time, I don't even want to be here, princess. At least let me have this as compensation for saving your sorry ass."

He's so fucking infuriating.

The rough undercurrent in his voice. The perpetual upward curve of his lips as if he always has the upper hand. His beefy arms. His built chest.

...Not to mention his unexpected thoughtfulness when he decided to stick around and inform you about what you might've gotten yourself into instead of leaving you to fend for yourself. He even brought out your favorite cookies for good measure.

You never really know what to do with Kim fucking Mingyu. He stirs up all sorts of confusing feelings inside your chest at any given time, and frankly, you've had enough of it.

You allow yourself to relish in the pride that swells in your chest when he nearly drops his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray the moment you crawl on top of his lap.

Mingyu's mouth quivers with some sensible words his job description probably requires him to say, but you rob him of his ability to speak when you steal the cancer stick from his fingers. In one long breath, you smoke the cigarette down to the filter—killing it on your ashtray before leaning down to press your lips to his.

With how stunned he is, it doesn't take a lot of effort to pry Mingyu's mouth open, breathing the smoke into his mouth. Once you're satisfied, you pull away with a triumphant smirk.

"Now you're done," you say, making the motions to get off his lap. "I'm heading to bed. Don't wake me up before noon for that doctor's appointment or else I'm going to slash your ti—"

You don't even get to finish that sentence. Mingyu suddenly flips you over so that your back is pressed against the couch and he's lying on top of you—both knees planted on either side of your hips as he gazes at you with an ireful glare.

"W-What are you doing?" you whisper, but in spite of the protesting nature of your words, you can't help but feel a pang of white hot desire shoot straight through you when you feel just how big he is now that his body is pressed against yours.

"Teaching a bad girl a lesson," he whispers, grabbing your face roughly. "You can't just pull off shit like that and expect to walk away from it unscathed, princess."

Fuck. That nickname he always uses never fails to get on your nerves on any other day. But when he sounds like that and has you under him like this...

"What are you gonna do about it then?" you ask.

Mingyu chuckles darkly, as he squishes your face with his big, long fingers. You nearly shudder at the thought of what those digits could do to you if you just pushed the right buttons.

"You'll just have to fuck around and find out."

When the pressure of his strong grip leaves your cheeks, confusion paints your features. Mingyu's weight eases off your pliant body almost immediately as well, leaving you to scowl at him incredulously. He doesn't even look at you as he collects his coat from where it hangs off your couch.

But before he can even think about putting it back on, something not so different from a growl resonates deep in your chest as you sit back up—tugging on the collar of his shirt to smash your lips together.

Mingyu all but groans into the kiss, but you're not sure if you can even call it that. There's nothing but hunger fueling the both of you as your tongue slides alongside his, mapping out each other's mouths like your lives depended on it.

You vaguely hear his coat fall to the floor as Mingyu goes back to crowding you against the couch—one of his strong arms circling your waist as he grinds his hips against your middle. It's nearly embarrassing how willing you are to receive his advances.

You, the same person who told your bodyguard you refused to drive home with him, are now making out with said bodyguard at four in the morning.

But then again, who fucking cares?

"You have no idea," he whispers hoarsely against your lips and you let out a stifled moan when you feel the outline of his erection rut against your clothed pussy, "how much you drive me insane. You're such a fucking handful, you know that?"

"I'm glad to know I make your life miserable," you bite back despite the fact that, when Mingyu brings down the straps of your nightgown to expose your breasts to the cool air, you do nothing about it.

Mingyu lets out a harsh laugh. "You're probably into this, aren't you, princess? You like riling me up so much so that I'd snap and teach you a lesson?"

You want to tell him that he's being fucking full of himself if he thinks you've planned this that far back. But with how massive he feels through his trousers alone, you can't say that you don't want him inside you right this second.

It doesn't help that he's giving your chest a generous amount of attention—suckling at your nipples in a way that has you twitching beneath him with sensitivity.

"So what if I am?" you say, testing the limits of what he'll let you get away with. "You talk big about teaching me a lesson but you're being awfully careful with me. Aren't you going to shove your cock down my throat to get me to shut up?"

Mingyu chuckles with a quick shake of his head, like he isn't even taking your words seriously. You let out a sharp yelp when he bites down on one of your breasts—leaving a distinct imprint of his canines on your skin before staring into your eyes.

"I can choke you with my cock next time, princess. For now, I just want to make you come until you're crying for me."

Fuck.

Mingyu wastes no time. He immediately sinks to his knees on the floor, hauling your hips closer to the edge of the couch so that he can hook your thighs over his shoulders. When he realizes that you're not wearing any underwear underneath your flimsy satin nightgown, you swear the noise he makes is near animalistic.

"Don't get f-fucking cocky," you stammer, nerves alight everywhere his lips graze your inner thighs. "I don't usually wear underwear before going to sleep! This wasn't for you."

"It is now," Mingyu says before licking a long stripe from your leaking hole to your aching clit. He holds your thighs far apart as his lips latch onto that little bundle of nerves, alternating with delicious licks at your sensitive folds.

He practically smothers his face into your cunt as he continues his relentless assault on your clit. By the time Mingyu starts to tease his tongue along your entrance, your fingers have found their way into his unruly hair—moans falling from your lips with little concern about appearances.

Mingyu pulls away for a moment, and you nearly snap at him from that alone until he eases one of those thick fingers into your wet channel—dark eyes trained on you as he stretches you out with a hungry gaze.

You don't even feel any semblance of shame when you start to ride that single digit, wanting to feel him go deeper and spread you wider. Fortunately, your bodyguard is more attentive than you think, and it doesn't take long for him to ease another finger into your needy pussy, curling them just so once he's sure he's found that spot that'll render you an incoherent mess.

The sound he rips out of you is unholy and Mingyu growls again before his mouth finds its way back onto your cunt—getting lost in the taste of you on his tongue.

"Where's the fight you've been putting up against me all this time, princess?" he taunts just before those stupidly thick fingers graze that sensitive patch of flesh inside you again. "Are you that desperate? You've fucked yourself up so much tonight that you couldn't bring anyone back home. Your bodyguard's gonna have to do, huh?"

You know you should be affronted by how offensive his words are. Mingyu might be an expert at getting on your nerves, but with how good his fucking mouth feels as he laves at your cunt like a man starved, you can't even let yourself feel any modicum of annoyance.

"M-Mingyu," you gasp as he suckles on your clit again—steadily building your orgasm from the ground-up. "I'm gonna come, f-fuck!"

Three. Mingyu slides in three fingers at your admission, and you nearly cry with how wide he's stretching you out. This time, he switches from sucking at your clit to rapidly flicking his tongue against the sensitive pearl.

Your toes curl with oversensitivity, thighs nearly crushing his head as you frame the syllables of his name in another wanton moan. When Mingyu curls his fingers inside you one more time, the tension that's been building in your stomach snaps like a rubber band.

Once you teeter off the precarious edge of release, you feel a gush of slick surge out of your cunt and into his awaiting mouth. Mingyu laps it all up—his sinful tongue catching every drop of your tangy essence. If you didn't know better, you would think he's desperate for you as much as you are for him.

It takes a while for your mind to fully come back online after that first orgasm, chest heaving almost painfully with how Mingyu took your breath away with oral alone. When you finally have your wits about you, your bodyguard surges forward so that your faces are levelled, and you nearly groan when you see the way his mouth and chin glisten with your juices.

"So fucking delicious for me," he rasps. "Gonna let me have a taste of this pussy every time now, princess? Want my mouth on you before you sleep?

"Do whatever you want, Gyu," you mewl, tugging him closer as you position yourself horizontally on the couch. "N-Need you so bad."

He sighs, unbuttoning the rest of his dress shirt as he drinks in the sight of you all fucked out and compliant because of his mouth and fingers alone. Your lips are parted, eyes glistening with tears or desire—Mingyu can't say for sure just yet.

But if he can get you this wrecked from oral, he can't fucking wait to see what you'll look like after he gets you to cream on his cock.

His shirt falls to the floor and you can't contained the awed gasp that leaves you at the sight of him. He's built like a fucking sculpture—all lean muscle and hard toned abs. It would make sense for Mingyu to be this well-built, being your bodyguard and all, but the thought of having his body pressed against yours as he fucks you into the couch is sending your mind into overdrive.

"You're so adorable," he chuckles, but you know the words are anything but a compliment. "A moment ago you were challenging everything I said and did. Now you're suddenly an agreeable little thing. Are you that cock-hungry, princess? Want something to fill that pretty pussy?"

"Yes." You don't even hesitate. "Yes, yes, yes. Want your cock in me. Want you to fill me up, Gyu. Please..."

Fortunately for you, Mingyu isn't one to tease. The moment you've given him the green light to rearrange your insides, he steps out of his tight trousers and boxers at the same time, pumping his thick cock in one hand as he nudges your thighs apart once again.

You practically salivate at the thought that you're about to take all those delicious inches inside you. Mingyu doesn't miss the starry look on your face, but doesn't take the time to gloat about it. Instead, he leans all the way forward so that your thighs are squished against your chest—easing your legs across his shoulders in a position that's not so different from when he ate you out earlier.

"Gonna fuck the attitude out of you, princess," he promises before pressing a kiss on the corner of your mouth. "You ready for me?"

You nod a little too eagerly, forcing his face into the crook of your neck as you wrap your arms around his head. "Gyu, please..."

"Alright. Since you asked so nicely."

He doesn't even give any forewarning when he bottoms out inside you in one languid stroke. A choked up noise gets caught in your chest with how sudden he was, how full you feel in such a short amount of time, but Mingyu doesn't give you any time to think, or even to breathe.

Before you can even get a single word out, he's pulling his hips back—making you feel every inch of his thick cock before slamming his hips forward with a powerful thrust that drives you further into the sofa. You let out a long-winded moan, unable to do anything about it as he pounds into you with the vigor of someone who's been putting up with your shit for a better part of the year.

"Pussy's so fucking tight for me," he growls. "You're squeezing my cock so good, princess. Is this all I had to do so you'd stop driving me crazy? Eat you out a little and dick you down 'til you forget your name?"

You can't even process what he's saying right now—too lost in the sensation of his cockhead grazing your cervix with each forward stroke. He's reaching into you so deep that you might really just forget everything but the letters of Mingyu's name by the time he's done with you.

"M-Mingyu," you drawl dumbly as he peppers your neck with bites and bruises—unrelenting with his deep strokes as your cunt flutters around his length. "Fuck. L-Love your cock so much—oh!"

You let out a gasp that Mingyu quickly muffles with his own mouth as he adjusts your positions on the sofa—easing your legs off of his shoulders in exchange for spreading them wider on the cushions. How he manages to do that without his cock slipping out of you is a testament to your flexibility, and he's already cooking up what he'll do about that information for next time.

Mingyu continues kissing you all while he plants one foot on the couch and the other on the floor. When he tugs your hips even closer it's only then that you realize that the lunatic has you in a mating press.

"How long have you been thinking about me fucking you like this?" he whispers, deciding to drag it out with slow, deep thrusts that only serve to frustrate you. "You wouldn't have let me go this far if you hadn't thought about it at least once, princess."

I've wanted to fuck you since the old man introduced us, is the correct answer but you've still got some shred of dignity. If Mingyu wants the truth, he's going to have to work for it.

"Fuck me again after this, and I might give you an answer," you rasp, meeting his lazy thrusts with some of your own to get the point that you want him to ram into you across.

"There she is," Mingyu laughs. "My nasty, sharp-tongued princess. Thought I lost you for a sec."

"You will if you don't fuck me until I black out."

"Oh? All you had to do was ask, you know."

Then and there, Mingyu makes good of that interesting position he'd unknowingly lured you into—plunging that fat cock even deeper into your pussy if that's even possible. It felt heavenly, taking all of him while your legs dangled off his shoulders, but there's just something about having your legs spread impossibly wide as he drills into you with the full intention of making you come until you're crying that does it for you.

As each second passes, Mingyu's thrusts become more erratic—hips snapping with hard, calculated strokes so fucking good that tears are starting to glisten along the lines of your lashes like he promised.

You mewl his name like a string of prayers as the sound of your cunt squelching with every thrust rings in your ears. It's insane how close he's driven you to the edge in the span of thirty minutes, and you're starting to grow fearful of how addicting it feels to have him inside you like this.

At this point, you'd rather get off on Mingyu's cock than get high from some shady sativa joint. Something tells you he'd rather have that, too.

"Where do you want me, princess?" he whispers into your ear, reaching between your legs to give you just the right pressure you've been missing on your clit. You have to bite back a sob when he presses his thumb against it.

"Inside," you whimper as he continues plunging his engorged length into you. "Fill me with your cum, please, Gyu. I want it—want it so bad."

Mingyu hisses when you clench around his cock, large hands undoubtedly about to leave bruises on your thighs come morning. When you hear that deep, sexy laugh in your ear, you know it's all over for you.

"Come on my cock first, princess. Then I'll give you what you want."

He punctuates the words by drawing quick, tight circles on your clit all while keeping up the cadence of his thrusts. With the steady stream of stimulation he's so willing to give, it's a no-brainer for another orgasm to blindside you yet again.

You cry out with bliss as you screw your eyes shut—tears running down your cheeks in cascades as you fall apart on Mingyu's cock. He fucks into you despite the overstimulation, his own high not far behind because of the expression you're showing him.

"That's it," he rasps, leaning down to kiss the tears away. "Fucking cry for me, princess."

You're not sure if you're just too blissed out to comprehend it properly, but you're pretty sure that Mingyu just triggered another orgasm from you when you feel him twitch inside—your tight channel being covered in his white hot emission.

It doesn't help that your insatiable lover continues to fuck his cum deeper into your abused cunt, taking full advantage of this position while he can.

"M-Mingyu," you beg, fingers raking across his back as he punches the breath out of your lungs. "Too much. T-Too much."

You thought he wouldn't heed your words, but surprisingly, Mingyu halts every movement to gaze at you with a hint of concern lining his gaze. Wordlessly, he eases himself out of your sore cunt, wiping the tears off your eyes before pressing a kiss on your lips.

"Sorry," he murmurs before gently fixing the straps of your nightgown. He even tugs the hem down despite the fact that his cum is currently leaking out of you. "You want me to tuck you in?"

You nod, lacing your fingers around his neck, the overstimulated mess you are. Mingyu breathes out a quiet laugh before carrying you into his arms again.

"Alright, princess. Let's get you to bed."

You don't have the heart nor the energy to protest. Besides, it's his job to take care of you, after all.

⟢ end notes: reminder to not take any of the medical indications abt drugs that i included in this fic seriously. i made all of those up. oh and this should go w/o saying but don't fuck anyone while under the influence of anything AT ALL !!!

that aside, happy birthday to everyone's favorite puppy boy mingyu! i ended up loving him a lot more as i stanned svt, and i hope everyone else gives him the same love as well! god knows he has lots to give to both his members and his fans ueueue

++ if you spotted a few errors here and there, please don't tell me or i'll die of embarrassment ^_^ this wasn't proofread bcs i wanted to drop this exactly on his bday (i am 1 hour and 34 mins late!) HEHEHE i was sposed to write an ending scene in the morning where gyu wakes up and sees her wearing his shirt while making breakfast but that'll make this too long :| i'll just leave that to ur imagination!

#seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #kim mingyu #svt smut #svt fanfic #lovelyhan #🎲 ask games #full length fic 📚#💭 request

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aforestescape · 1 month

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simon ‘ghost’ riley and johnny ‘soap’ mctavish x reader - adorable. now give them both a boyfriend

content includes: i want two boyfriends and i want the boyfriends to be boyfriends. male!reader or gn!reader; ‘boyfriend’ used for reader but no defined pronouns, eludes to sex

i was rambling with some online friends earlier about how great it’d be to have two bfs

more of them here.

beds: double cuddles. being the middle spoon is the best until it’s not…

in the beginning of your relationship napping and sleeping together is a bit awkward. not because you aren’t all comfortable with each other at this point; it’s the fact that none of you have a bed truly big enough to fit the three of you comfortably.

johnny is a clingy sleeper. large body seeking out whoever’s limbs are closest and koala-ing onto them. simon on the other hand prefers to spread out and seems to hate the feeling of covers or blankets over him. he sleeps naked most of the time and will kick all the covers off in his sleep. it’s not uncommon to find yourself waking between slumber and having to try and drag the blankets back over yourself. only to find your arm and/or leg stuck in johnnys hold that strengthens with your movement.

and they’re both just large. beefy and hairy men, taking up all the space on the bed. summer nights being the worst, even with the air con set to a staggering 16 degrees celsius. all that muscled mass and body fat, sticky skin and ticklish hair. growing boners pressed against tight skin, you can hardly get a well rested night.

no matter your size it’s never not a mess of limbs to untangle from come morning. only the fact that it’s them making you put up with the less than great sleeping arrangement.

but those are just the days you decide to sleep together in bed. of course there are nights when one of you decides to stay in your respective flat. or even rarer nights when you all manage to sleep on your own, nobody to share space with.

needless to say, when you all finally move in together you spend a good amount of money on a bed large enough for the three of you.

two times the love

one thing to be said about having two partners, you had double the chances for a person to put up with your jokes and attitude. after a particularly hard day at work, having to deal with your coworkers who were always a bit too nosey. somehow never understanding that you don’t owe them an introspective look into your life. especially your love life that they were keen on working out after they realized you were dating two attractive and well fit men.

coming into your home, grumbling as the door slams a little harder than normal behind you.

you let out a sigh of relief as you spend the rest of your night in the comfort of their bodies. simon letting you nuzzle your head into the heft of his arm. johnny running the palm of his hand over your head in a soothing manner, mumbling sweet words to you in his thick accent.

coming home to cuddle with them, play games, cook dinner together. your own little bubble in the world that made you feel safe. you were safe, they’d protect you even when you don’t need it.

“i’m glad we can all be gay together,” you say jokingly, voice muffled against simon’s arm.

———

another night spent in your kit, leaned against the counter with a cooler in your hands. johnny sitting on top of the island across from you and simon stood next to his spread legs. you watch fondly as you all chat, simons fingers splayed over johns thigh. squeezing in an absentminded gesture, stimming more than anything.

nowadays it was rare for you all to see each other at the same time. even though you’d finally all saved and scrapped change to move in together, a nice little house with a decent amount of land. enough space for a garden that you’d brought up wanting to start. how rewarding it’d feel to cook for each other with the foods you grew.

but a new place meant a shift in routines, having to grow around and between each other’s schedules. especially being in a relationship with multiple people, you’d learned how to work a calendar as best you could.

so you took the time to enjoy this. just you and your boys, drinking and filling your home with a new warmth that’d you’d already grown used to. easily recognized as the same warmth that squeezed in time with your heartbeat. you were pulled from your thoughts as your boyfriend laughed uproariously. simon giving johnny a warning tap on his leg.

“aye- im only teasin’ love.”

you watch simon roll his brown eyes before cutting over to you. “and what do you think of this? says everyone can use two more boyfriends.” simons voice is dry but you can tell he’s amused or maybe it’s the infectious laugh johnny had.

“hmm. two more men, that means john and kyle right? i think we’d need a bigger bed than the one we have now but i’m more than happy to share you idiots with them.”

falling into domestics

onto the topic of beds again. you’d already agreed it’d be an important investment. you spent a few days wondering if you should splurge upwards ten thousand for an alaskan king. a hefty price but it could be worth it.

that is until johnny brings up the fact that you can just make your own for cheaper. says he’d seen it online and it was a simpler and cheaper solution to your problem. with that out of the way you ordered two full sizes and a few different bed sets. you all ended up spending the most time on trying to find a bed frame than anything else.

coming home one day from running errands to find simon in the yard. rented table saw connected by an extension cord running to the house and a decent sized pile up of wood. some pieces already cut down the size and shape. you didn’t question him, not wanting to interrupt his process until later in the evening when you were having dinner.

when he gruffed out that he was making you a bed you were surprised. sharing a glance with johnny and then looking back at simon. biting your bottom lip as you’re struck with just how fucking hot that was. your boyfriend spending days in the hot sun to make a bed just for you to break in together.

simon agreed it was reward enough as you and johnny spent the first night in your new bed worshipping his body. hours of attention to his freckled and scarred skin. kissing, biting, and licking stripes up taut skin that had simons head tossed back into your pillows. whispering words of praise and love in his ears as you made love to him into the early morning hours.

delegating dates: i want my boyfriend to have a boyfriend and i want for them to go on boyfriend dates

you look up from behind your desktop monitor, watching as johnny ruffles his hand through his mohawk. he’d been growing out the hair, letting it shag down to the nape of his neck. you’d spent many hours running your fingers through the thick strands. pulling on his hair to bring him to your level for a kiss was quickly becoming a favorite activity of yours.

you watched in amusement as he spent minutes of time fiddling with his hair. somehow even after dating so long he still gets nervous to go on dates. it’s incredibly sweet, a sentiment you share with simon. as he runs product through his hair to get it managed you let your eyes drift over his body. your gaze darkening slightly at just how delicious your boyfriend looks.

you wish to yourself that you weren’t behind in your work pace so that you could enjoy just how good your partners looked tonight.

watching as simon has enough of johnny’s taking too long, stalking over to wrap his big arms over the smaller man’s waist. you watch quietly as simon leans his head down to mumble something in his ear, taking note of the shiver that runs over johns body.

you can feel your breath steal away just watching them love each other. so soft with one another, obvious affection for your eyes only to truly witness and understand. sometimes you’re really struck by how much you adore them. how utterly lucky you feel to be able to love them and in turn how they love you.

biting your lip, you slip your phone from your desk to take shots of them.

one of simons blonde head obscured into johnnys neck. johnnys pretty pink lips parted on a breath as he tilts his neck for him. another with johnnys pouted lips spreading into a grin. another click and they’re kissing, lips moving slowly with practiced effort.

it was truly like beholding art. some sort of feat and testament of the universes power to bring such gorgeous men together. to let them love one another in ways that simon and you could only ever grow up craving. a love that johnny so readily gave to you, a love he knew instantly upon meeting would be reserved for you two alone.

special edition: shared custody

before you move in together, riley is practically a child of divorce, the poor sweet pup. he’s simons biological child of course, but now you and johnny are his stepdads. so he’ll spend days between your flats. at first he’s not a big fan of all the traveling. but as soon as he realizes the long drives mean new places to explore he quickly perked up.

now he looks forward to weekends at yours or johnnys. a different path to take, somehow something’s always just a little different for him to be bound with energy on walks. and your place is near a pets store. if he wasn’t a better behaved pup, he’d try dragging you to the door everytime you get close to it. but since he is a good boy instead he’ll give you the saddest eyes. nosing your pants leg to get your attention as if you would skip getting him a treat.

okay but we had such a good and silly conversation about what we’d do with two partners and😭 i have so many more thoughts. also i’m a pet play ghoap truther👆🏽so if/when i write more for this expect it

#ghoap x reader #ghoap x male reader #simon riley x male reader #johnny mctavish x male reader #cod x male reader #ghoap x you #aforestescape

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silverskye13 · 2 months

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random thought, but i had a vivid image of, if helsknight and welsknight ever saw each other without armor (or just helsknight out of his armor tbh), helsknight showing welsknight the scar tanguish gave him and saying "this was intended for you."

i don't know how in character that is, but tbh it's haunting me. maybe it's part of helsknight's revenge against welsknight or something, calling out his unknightly behavior and unhonorable conduct.

"You didn't answer my summons."

Helsknight froze. It was a quick, momentary startle, a short-circuit of normality. The moment he did it, every instinct told him to keep moving. That old command [Do something.] blared loud in the quiet surprise of his mind. So he moved his hand to pick up the brush on his table, and pretended to be unconcerned.

"I'm not a dog. You can't call me to heel," Helsknight said simply. He smirked and growled, "Though if you feel like losing some limbs, feel free to try."

Behind him, Wels shifted uncomfortably. Helsknight liked making Wels uncomfortable, he didn't handle it well. He was a creature used to comfort and ease. Inconvenience often galled him more than a sword to the throat. Different tactics for different battlefields, and this battlefield was a delicate one.

Helsknight was cleaning his arms and armor, which was one of several reasons why he hasn't leaped for a fight when Welsknight had called him to one. He was only in a tunic and breeches. It was luck he even had his boots on. He had offered to run errands with Tanguish, but Tanguish had said he was visiting his church and wanted to go on rooftops. So Helsknight stayed home, and he left his boots on. That was the other reason Helsknight hadn't answered the call: Tanguish wouldn't know where he was, and he knew Tanguish got paranoid about being left behind. Besides, Helsknight had chores he could do at home [like cleaning his arms and armor] so he stayed. Cleaning the chainmail was almost a formality. Hels was hot and dry, and he wore it often enough that the rings clattering together cleaned themselves. But sometimes he just liked putting an extra shine on things, so he took out his brush and oil and started brushing it down for any miniscule specks of rust or broken links he could find.

Wels, always keen on the times he wasn't wanted, decided now was the perfect time to show up in his living room. He stood awkwardly, waiting on Helsknight to make some aggressive movement. When none came, he cautiously stalked further into the tiny living space. His emotions were loud and uncomfortable without the distance between their respective worlds to dampen them, and they clung like smoke against Helsknight's skin. Caution at an unfamiliar space. Disgruntlement at being ignored.

[Guilt, like ash on a burn.]

"Is this... Yours?" Wels asked, glancing around.

"No, I'm just squatting in a random house. Sounded like a fun way to spend a Tuesday."

Helsknight felt the ant-bite sting of vicarious agitation and smirked. He was already getting on Wels's nerves.

[Good.]

"Couldn't build something nicer?" Wels snapped impatiently.

"I'm a fighter."

Helsknight found a place on his chainmail to brush down and got to work. The rough, grating twinge of the coarse bristles on chain made Wels wince. Helsknight always found the noise pleasant. Like scratching an itch.

"So?"

"I have better things to do than spend hours building the perfect house."

Wels scoffed and looked around the room with renewed disdain. "Where's your little devil?"

It took Helsknight a moment to place what he was asking. He sneered, a quiet bearing of teeth, and caught the flicker of red in the reflective shine of his chainmail. Wels looked pointedly away from him.

[Like ash on a burn.]

"Not feeling remorse... are we, crusader?" Helsknight asked, finding a new place to polish. The coin-drop clatter of chain, and the shrill scrape of bristles filled the silence like an accusation.

"Of course not," Wels sniffed disdainfully, still refusing to meet Helsknight's eye.

"Careful." Helsknight murmured, that red flash reflecting off his chainmail again, anger simmering. "Lying's a sin."

"Why would I feel remorse for protecting my home?"

"A crusade well fought I'm sure."

"It's not a crusade!" Wels snapped, his own anger a living thing raising hackles. "A crusader invades! A crusader fights a holy war just for the principle."

"Right. And you're fighting because--"

"Because I'm protecting Tango."

"-because it's for his own good?"

Wels didn't exactly wince, but he did still, as though he'd heard someone draw a blade from its scabbard. Helsknight might as well have unseated his sword. He had stopped scrubbing, all pretense of work falling. The need to pace, to circle, to corner, rose up in Helsknight like a waking beast.

"Interesting choice of words. Protecting." Helsknight said, his voice low, his hands still. "I was under the impression they were friends. Do you often protect Tango from the people he's begging you to spare?"

"That doesn't matter." Wels said so firmly it was almost convincing. Almost. "People are convinced they need an abusive relationship. That doesn't change the fact it's bad for them."

"So many interesting words today," Helsknight hissed. He stood like a dark tower rising, all embered fury slowly stoking. Wels didn't bother turning to face him. He could feel his intent like thunder. "Abuse. Brings to mind the image of power. I do have a question."

"I didn't come here for your stupid questions."

"No, you came here looking for a fight."

"I didn't."

"You really do need to tame that lying tongue."

"I didn't come here for a fight."

"Did it feel powerful?" Helsknight demanded, pacing a step, and loathing the tiny room for denying him the space to circle. "The voice. The command. How did it feel."

"Shut up."

"To have someone begging you not to hurt them," Helsknight continued relentlessly. "Not your stupid play fighting on your stupid little server. True, shaking, terror. Did it feel good, crusader? Just?"

"I told you to shut up!" Wels shouted, taking a threatening step forward only to find Helsknight had closed the space between them and stood looming like a rook on a tombstone.

Fear, a caged thing howling, battered against Helsknight's anger. It made Helsknight feel almost giddy, the crash of malicious schadenfreude and self-righteousness against Wels; a flickering thing of brittle will. They made a terrible ouroboros together, fear feeding anger feeding elation feeding fear. They were always like this. No matter how calm either of them tried to be, once anger kindled in one, their emotions burned until there was nothing left but fury and loathing. Helsknight had been made to cut Wels down to size.

"Do you know what that kind of fear does to people?" Helsknight demanded again, his voice so near a whisper it was smothering. They were so close together, but they made so little noise, all will and wide eyes. "What happened to mercy for the helpless, crusader?"

"He wasn't helpless," Welsknight said, trying very hard not to back down. "He stabbed me."

"And a drowning rat bites. I wouldn't call it an apex predator. Certainly I wouldn't call it a danger to you, with your full armor and sword." Helsknight bared his teeth at Wels, something like a bitter grin. "I wasn't wearing armor."

Wels looked down, where Helsknight had drawn up his tunic to reveal the new scar in his abdomen. Wels looked like he'd stopped breathing.

"This was intended for you," Helsknight said. "You should thank me."

"You're-- you're here telling me he's harmless," Wels laughed nervously. "But he almost killed you. You."

Something in Helsknight snapped, and in the moment it took him to reach for it with white knuckles and compose it again, he'd shoved Wels hard in the chest. It didn't knock his other half off his feet, but he stumbled back hard enough hit the opposite wall. Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly hard enough to warn.

"He did," Helsknight snarled, pacing forward slow steps. "That's what terror does to helpless people, crusader. It makes them bite. It makes them beg. It makes them clamor to live. You. Did. That. What did it feel like to abuse that kind of power Wels? To turn someone into a scared animal? To make someone so desperate they would almost kill a friend? Did you find your righteousness there crusader?"

Helsknight didn't know what he planned on doing. Violence was in his blood like a serpent, and he wanted it. And Wels knew he wanted it. There was the ring of drawn metal, and the silver-bright glint of an enchanted blade in a dark room. Helsknight's advance stopped at the top of Wels's sword, not close enough to hurt, but close enough to warn.

"Stop." Wels said. A command. A plea.

"I'm unarmed."

"That doesn't matter."

Helsknight smiled, and there was loathing and euphoria in it, and the wine-dark dread of Wels right on the other side of it. The knowledge of a line crossed, a battle he hadn't even realized he was fighting made forfeit.

"Fine." Helsknight said. "My blood's already been spilled once on your behalf. At least this time do it with your own sword, coward. I'll make it easy for you."

He took a step forward, and nudged the blade with a knuckle, resting the point against his scar. The metal was cold, even through his shirt, the enchantments alive and writhing so close to his skin.

"How cruel have you gotten while I wasn't there to keep you in check, crusader?"

There was a long breath of silence between them. Helsknight stood, precarious and predatory, daring Wels to kill him. And Wels stood there, and dared himself to as well. And the room was dark, lit only by red anger and blue dread, and the pale, languid flicker of enchanted steel. And neither of them breathed. And the universe watched.

A loud clatter sounded on the roof. Both knights looked up towards the ceiling, Wels in startlement, and Helsknight in resignation.

"And he stays my hand once again," Helsknight sighed.

"What--?" Wels didn't get his full question out before Helsknight moved. He knocked the sword aside and lunged forward to grab Wels's shirt. In a move that would've made Martyn proud, he dragged Wels forward into his knee, knocking the wind out of him. In the time it took Wels to collapse to the floor, Helsknight had taken his sword, and held the point beneath his other half's chin.

"Go home Wels," Helsknight said, "before I send you there the hard way."

Wels, breathless on the ground, let out half a strangled laugh. "Why don't you?"

"Because I was asked nicely not to go running off and killing you."

"Helsknight?" A loud knock sounded at the door. Tanguish's voice, a bright comfort even in spite of its concern, called to him. "Is everything okay? I thought I heard something fall."

Helsknight glared meaningfully down at Wels, who only hesitated long enough for Helsknight to draw back the sword before slipping back to his world. The moment he did, Helsknight felt his breath leave him, the great void of being left to his own thoughts and emotions. In the wake of everything that was Wels, he felt ridiculous.

[What in hels had he even been about to do? Die on someone's sword to prove a point? Idiot.]

"Helsknight? The door is locked."

"I'm coming," Helsknight called, pausing only long enough to hide Wels's sword beneath the couch, where Tanguish couldn't see it and inevitably worried about it. He checked his tunic to make sure he hadn't managed to actually stab himself [he hadn't] and went to let Tanguish inside.

#rns ficlets #helsknight #welsknight #tanguish (kinda)#this one feels very dense and dramatic #i feel like wels actively seeks out hels when he feels guilty / bad / self loathing #its like a compulsion: punishing yourself because you did wrong #even though its ultimately unproductive #also something something helsknight making some kind of point about how #instilling terror in something to confirm your bias that its dangerous #is more even than the terrified thing causing harm #case and point i scared you into drawing your sword on an unarmed man #i dont know im tired and that was a really badass phrase to just drop on me anon #*evil not even alskdjfjf im going to bed

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heartpiratedrabbles · 5 months

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Kids Anger Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 ~ Part 4

Kid X Fem Reader X Killer

Kid hasn’t been the same since finding you. He hasn’t even been his normal angry self. It’s like he’s become a shell of who he was and Killer can’t seem to snap him out of it. Killer was the one to break down you cell door and pick up your limp body, yelling at Kid the entire time to snap out of it. It wasn’t until the room was empty and Kid had realized he was staring at the stained floor that he started moving again.

The cell was clearly your torture chamber, the thought of someone hurting you sent him into a blinding rage. He knew Killer had taken you so he could wreck as much havoc as he wanted without care. He doesn’t remember much of what happened after Killer had taken you away, but he does know that the entire crews Bounties had gone up after they had left the island.

Killer gripping you limp body on the other hand rushed to get you back to the ship, there was no way anyone on this island would dare to treat you, especially not after hearing the destruction that had started behind him. The Navy base had been made of metal and steel and he could hear Kid using his power to decimate the area. But that wasn’t his concern right now, you had started to turn cold.

Jumping back onto the ship he ran towards the room they deemed the infirmary. Killer had thought it overkill to have an entire room dedicated to medicine and first aid when you had first come aboard but he couldn’t be more glad that you had been insistent on the semi-sterilized room. He passed Hip on his way in who had quickly followed them to help with whatever injuries you had.

No one on board was a skilled doctor, everyone knew basic first aid and a couple knew how to stitch or tourniquets a limb good enough. Hip by far was the most qualified to be called the ships doctor but even that was a stretch, sure she had been the one to cauterize Kids arm when it had been ripped off but it was still a far cry from being knowledge or skilled.

None the Less she gets to work closing up your wounds, she starts by stopping blood flow to your shoulder, a tight tourniquet, to make sure the infection doesn’t spread further. Taking her time to slowly look at the wound before she realizes the Bullets still in and goes to fish it out.

Your body, while cold, was covered in sweat and every movement and prod made you face slightly contort, a good sign in Killers mind as he got more supplies out to be used. He quickly walked out to inform everyone to be prepared to leave the second Kid gets back before going back in to assist Hip.

As he walks in he sees her pour whiskey into the wound and sees you flinch violently at the sudden pain. Despite being on the verge of death it seems you still have some fight left in you. Hip demands Killer help flip you over and without a thought he does so. Hip gasps at the deep gashes littering you back, and what skin left stained a deep purple almost black. Killer is the first one to start treating your back as Hip gets her bearings again, grabbing a needle and some thread to go in after Killer disinfects the wounds.

~~~

Kid had come back after night had fallen, passing out the second he gets on deck, and just as soon as he passes out the rest of the crew is working at leaving the hidden cove. Killer could feel the vessel move and he was almost glad it had taken Kid this long to get back, there were more injuries than he had thought and it had been a couple hours since they started working on you.

It was only once the night became the darkest that they had finished bandaging you up, your breathing shallow still. The rest of the crew seemed relieved that Kid and Killers mission to retrieve you had been a success but it became all the more worrisome when Hip came out of the room covered in blood and exhausted.

She’s the one that set up a schedule to make sure you were never alone. And as much as Killer wanted to move you to an actual bed, he was afraid to move you. He muttered under his breathe, begging you to just wake up, this had been hard enough when he went through it with Kid. But he didn’t have the reassurance he had back then, he believed Kid would make it through his ordeal, he was only missing an arm, you on the other hand… You were weaker than them, and your injuries seemed so much more severe.

As he’s leaning over you, not even daring to hold your hand in fear of harming you more, the door opens and shuts. A small huff and creaking of chairs lets the blonde man know that the other was finally there. “She’s alive” Kid whispers, his voice slightly wavering. Killer feels the red-head shake slightly and leans on him.

“Hip thinks we should amputate her arm” Killer says, his voice weak and dry, “She. The infection, she thinks its too much” The bandages on you were already slightly dirty, and no doubt they’d be changing them again soon.

Kid lets out a weak chuckle, “We could twin.” Killer also seemed to let out an amused huff at the idea. Neither of them looked at each other and silence feel upon them as they both watched you chest slightly move with your labored breathing.

~~~

It’s been a week and you didn’t show signs of getting better, but you also didn’t show signs of getting worse. You were on the constant edge of Life and Death but for the most part you had seemed stable. Kid spent his days silent, unusual for how he normally was. His only direction given to the crew was to go someplace where there was a doctor, any other interaction was from the rambunctious crew checking to make sure he was alright himself, and eating.

Killer had taken it upon himself to be in charge of changing your bandages, taking extra time to check every wound and using more alcohol to disinfect anything he deemed dirty, lightly dabbing at anything that had continued to bleed or somehow re-opened. Kid could barely watch, he hated this, he hated you, he hated how weak you had become. Where was his feisty little mouse? The one that wasn’t afraid to hit him even if you knew it would hurt him. Laying in front of him was an empty shell that he was terrified to touch, he just wanted you back.

At some point through out the week Kid had convinced Killer to move you to an actual bed, to their bed. It didn’t matter that they’d have to change sheets often to keep them clean for you, nor did it matter that it meant neither of them had a bed to lay on, both of them would rather sleep on the floor before making you any more uncomfortable.

Quincy would come often enough with fluids and somehow got you to drink by holding your nose shut, the first time she had done it Kid nearly attacked her, thinking she was trying to suffocate you. But once the misunderstanding was resolved He’d reluctantly sit back and watch you swallow in order to gasp for air. Killer had assumed it was a good sign.

It wasn’t until Kid had finally decided to lightly grip your hand that a moan had left your lips. Killer had jumped from his chair hearing it and joined you two on the other side of the bed. A small squeeze to Kids hand had made him reinvigorated and nearly screaming for you to wake up only for Killer to hit his head to be more quiet.

But just as quickly as you had given them both hope, you had sent them over the edge when you broke out into a fever. Your brows furrowing as you took a turn for the worse. Kid had gotten a part of his soul back and went running out, demanding they reach an island by the morning and Killer took to work to wipe you down of sweat, changing your bandages as often as the sweat soaked through them.

Despite it all the two had become exhausted and it was Hip who had decided to lock them out of their own room, demanding they get some sleep as she looked over you for the night. Begrudgingly, they both agreed, opting to not break the door open and instead heading to the rec room where there were some hammocks and a couch.

As they both got situated, Killer on the couch and Kid in a hammock, a foot placed on the ground the silence overwhelmed them. “What if.” Kid started, staring at the ceiling, “What if she doesn’t wake up?” Killer could hear how broken Kid was, “All because I couldn’t shut myself up-“ Silence filled the air as Kid refused to let a sob out, “and didn’t realize when our mouse was hurt.”

Killer stayed silent, not wanting to reveal his own emotions, but instead got up and somehow squeezed himself into the already occupied hammock. Kid seemed to breathe in, holding his breathe for a second before laughing a bit, “We’re not kids anymore Killer- We don’t fit like this” Moving slightly to try and get more comfortable.

“I can leave if you wan-“

“Don’t you dare leave me,” Kid's voice was demanding yet weak as he placed his head on Killer's chest.

#Kid x Reader X Killer #One Piece #Kid #Killer #Angst #Part 3 #One Piece X Reader

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sunlightmurdock · 7 months

Text

Operation Apollo | 2.7 | Jake Seresin x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, manipulation, sucky parents, grief and manipulation, lying, mentions of pregnancy (rumours), tabloids, media, Jake’s feelings, Apollo making bad decisions <3, wc: 5.8k

…

Jake has been having weird dreams recently. No, weird isn’t the word. Downright unnerving. The kind of dreams that have you waking up breathless, and drenched in sweat, and alone. He has been here before. Not in this particular hotel room is SoCal, but in this position. Alone, and having weird dreams.

The sheet under him is damp, and he can feel one bead of sweat in particular following the length of his spine. It’s a sick kind of feeling, like waiting for a fever to break. He swallows thickly before he even begins to stir. His throat is sore and dry. His legs ache before he even attempts to stretch them

Without opening his eyes, he knows that his bed is empty.

But, even in this empty bed, filled with that sick kind of feeling, Jake would rather be here. Being awake, left with the sobriety of conscious thought, is a far milder form of torture than letting himself drift off again. Here, awake, you’re alive.

You aren’t in danger, screaming out his name and begging for his help. Even here, even awake, the sound of your voice rings in his ears and his forearms tingle like your fingertips are still digging into them.

He can barely sleep now, not until the exhaustion finally comes for him and he knocks out. Even then, even when he finally manages to sleep, he doesn’t rest. He’s met with the same dreams over and over.

This hotel room in San Diego is far from feeling like home. It doesn’t smell right. It smells like air freshener and laundry. He can hear traffic and voices in the hall. The room feels too still. Jake misses that familiar feeling of your restless sleep, your limbs all over him and your face pressing into the crook of his neck, your heart beating against his skin. He misses the smell of you, the soft perfume of your body wash that always lingers from showering with him the night before.

He parts his dry lips and lets out a long exhale. His fingers twitch at his side before he manages to lift his arm and rub at his eyes.

As much as real rest would probably heal the aches in his body — he’s not in his twenties anymore, nature keeps reminding him of that — Jake won’t let himself stay in bed. An hour after sunrise, he’s jogging along the viewpoint by Ocean Beach. He’s listening to his country running playlist that you make fun of him for.

He thinks of all the mornings he let you coax him into staying in bed. Those mischievous little smiles and your legs stretching out across the fabric, tangling between his, your hands adventuring across his muscles. He has always been an early riser, but he misses those lazy mornings. He hates himself for wasting so many — arguing with you or beating himself up for what he was keeping from you. None of it seems worth it now.

This beautiful day, this soaring sun. Clear sky, ocean air, salt on his skin. He would give it all up in an instant.

He’d give anything to come home and find you sprawled out along the couch, a straw between your lips and another one of those mischievous little smiles toying on them too, asking him, “How was the run, cowboy?”

His feet hit the pavement to the beat playing through his ears, his heartbeat starting to quicken through his chest. Faster than normal. He’s a pretty fit guy, he works out regularly. He hasn’t been sleeping well. Or eating great. Sweat beads along his hairline as he pushes himself harder anyway. A simple 5k hasn’t ever stunted him before, and he won’t let it now.

The shore passes him by in his peripheral, traffic on his other side. He wonders if you’re up yet, if this is hitting you as hard as it’s hitting him. There are a hundred and twelve days left of your father’s term, three-sixty-five after that where you’ll still have a service detail. Jake read those papers from back to front twice. Four hundred more days of this is going to kill him.

Twenty minutes into his 5k, something snaps him out of his pity party. Something to his right, barely there in the corner of his vision. He turns his head, brows drawing together. Harvard. Brigham fucking Lennox, a kid who was brought up to be just as pretentious as the people who named him that had hoped.

The Weapons Systems Officer is leaning out of the driver’s side window of a black Jeep Wrangler. Shirtless and wearing sunglasses, probably on his way to some party on the beach that Jake would have been throwing if things had gone down differently. He’s yelling something.

“What?” Jake pants out, plucking the earbud from his ear, squinting through the sun at the ghost of a friend, leaning out of the driver’s side window. Harvard’s smile practically doubles, stretching ear to ear.

“I said congratulations, Hangman!” Harvard’s East-Coast accent booms across the street. Jake’s brows draw together, his mouth pulling into a contradictory frown.

Just like that, the light turns green and Harvard lifts one of those stupid bear paws he’s got for hands and waves, then the Jeep pulls off down the street. Congratulations, Hangman. Jake stares after the car, catching his breath.

It speeds away from him with the flow of traffic, while Jake himself can’t fathom moving from this spot. There’s a twisting, tightening knot in his stomach that threatens to have him heaving on this sidewalk like a hungover teenager.

Straightening up a little, Jake inhales all the sea salt and humidity that this little patch of earth has to offer. It weighs down throat sick feeling just enough for it to sink back to the pit of his stomach. If there’s one thing that Jake will remember about his career in the Navy, it’s how those guys tick. That Cheshire Cat smile doesn’t ever mean anything good.

He stretches his neck side to side and pushes his right hand into his pocket. Jake has to lift his left hand to shield his eyes as he looks down at his phone and finally turns off the do not disturb feature. He hadn’t wanted to listen to his mother’s pity for the second time in a five year period — he loves her, but he won’t ever let her see him with a broken heart again.

Blinking, he pulls the phone closer to his face. He’s got almost nine hundred notifications pending on his Home Screen. He swipes briefly into them and reads the top text message.

Hey, man, it’s Rooster. Hope you’re doing okay. Just saw the news.

Jake squints. He didn’t even know that Bradshaw still had his phone number. Jake’s mind instantly thinks of the worst. She’s dead. He’s been gone for a week, and now she’s dead. Swallowing, he continues. His thumb pushes the notification away and unlocks the phone all together.

He opens an internet browser and moves to click on the search bar, but he doesn’t have to. It’s right there staring back at him. Headline news, highlighted on the browser. First Daughter’s illicit affair with bodyguard. Your name plastered across the front page. Then, his eyes land on it. Knocked up.

It’s a picture of you with your hand extending backwards towards Jake in a crowd. It was from before anything had even happened with you. He remembers that dress, and the way your palm fit into his. It’s got emojis edited over it, tabloid-style, babies and bottles.

“Sorry, excuse me.” Jake flinches. His head whips around and finds a woman with a stroller staring at him apologetically. It’s double-wide, and there are two twin girls sitting in the pink and white thing, staring at him too. Twins.

His eyes widen. They aren’t very old. One of them is drooling all over their fist and the other is happily making some kind of cookie turn to mush in their hand. They’re watching him intently.

He’s blocking the sidewalk. That’s all it is. That’s why all three of them are staring at him. He’s just standing like an idiot in the middle of the path.

“Yeah. Sorry. Sorry.” Jake mutters, stumbling back out of her way, turning his attention back to the phone and clicking on a link. He’s zoned out again just as quickly, brows furrowed as he studies the webpage.

Insider source. Going on for months. Fired. Cover-up. Uncovered images. He sits on the wall bordering the beach and gawks.

The leaked security feeds had nothing to do with you, even though you had figured it would all come spilling out eventually. Once the media gets a whiff of a scandal, it’s impressive what they can find. Oddly, you’re okay with the evidence that they found. You know that there must be worse out there.

The worst that they’ve got is you and Jake pictured leaving the same bathroom minutes apart in the White House. Couple of kissing pictures. Old photos of Jake guiding you through busy crowds with his fingertips brushing yours are suddenly front page news.

You might be okay with what the internet has discovered — after all, you were prepared for it. Jake, however, suddenly starts to understand why that sick, twisting feeling won’t leave him alone.

He studies these images for longer than he’ll ever admit, all of these photos of the two of you together, grainy and from a bird’s eye angle. All it does is make that feeling in his chest grow. A simmer spilling over into a full blown boil. His ears hot, his throat thick, his fingers trembling. All of these reminders of how many times he got to touch you, and he sits there by the beach not knowing if he’ll ever get to do it again. Not after this.

It’s far too nice of a day for this. Mid-morning down by the San Diego River Bikeway. Blue skies and a soft, salty breeze cutting through the warming day. Everyone carries on around him.

He stares at the image left on his phone now. It’s a picture of you as a kid, standing next to your father and looking up at him with a big smile on your face. Even then, it’s at a campaign event. He isn’t even looking at you. Right next to that, a stark comparison, is a picture of you at the party you had snuck out to in the hills. You’re wearing a cap sleeve mini dress that hugs your body like a second skin, and Jake’s standing right behind you, smiling, pointing to a table of liquor.

That’s the narrative they’re spinning, and Jake is glad.

He’s panicking, he’s sick and his head feels like it’s going to roll right off of his shoulders, but he’s so glad that it isn’t your name being dragged through the mud. Suddenly, his biggest concern is no longer whether you’re awake and missing him. You’re all alone, probably scared out of your mind.

All those mornings with you keeping him in bed, sure, they were the focus a few minutes ago. Now he’s thinking of the evenings he had spent with you wrapped tight in his arms, calming your worries, soothing you to sleep. He hadn’t once dreamt of leaving you alone with those worries ever again, much less of being the cause of them.

The two of you hadn’t exactly been careful. Jake hadn’t touched you much since the two of you had been here together, four or so weeks ago now. Not since he had gotten that phone call in the Hard Deck. But before that — there were points where the two of you had slept together four times in one day.

Jake’s feet stumble as he goes for his first step, almost tripping over himself. He picks at straws in his mind, finally starting to move, wracking his brain for answers. The downstairs bathroom near the garden in the White House — fuck, Jake hopes he didn’t make a baby in that place.

He’s still thinking about it once he’s stepping out of his car and slamming the door shut. Truthfully, he drove this route on autopilot. If Bradley Bradshaw still has Jake’s number, he probably still lives in the same place. That old bird always had a thing for the sentimental.

Speaking of sentimental, Jake’s got a bad taste in his mouth thinking about this whole thing. It’s not like, if you have this kid, it’s ever going to experience a normal life. Family Christmases seem far from possible after your dad just threatened to send Jake to jail.

He swallows softly, walking up the steps and knocking against the glass pane in the door. This place had seemed weird and old back then. A fifties style bungalow with awkward links to the city and far too much peace and quiet; it paled in comparison to Jake’s bachelor pad near base.

Now, it looks the exact same. Nothing has changed but Jake. Now, he looks at the six foot fence around the backyard and the slightly longer driveway so that it’s quiet and off the road, and it all makes sense. It’s practically perfect.

Jake blinks as the door pulls open. There he is again, for the second time in just over a month after four years of no contact. Bradley stares, eyes wide for a second as he processes who is standing in front of him. It takes a moment to register. He stiffens and grips the door handle tighter.

“Jake.” Bradley realizes, frowning slightly as he bumps the door against his shoulder, blocking the entryway with his body. He gives his old friend a quick look up and down. If there’s one person he hadn’t been expecting to see on his porch, shirtless and looking like hell, today it was Jake. “What’s up?”

“Can I use your phone? I need to make a call.”

“They didn’t have one in your… hotel room?” Bradley frowns. He nudges closer and pulls the door with him. Jake’s expression changes. So, Bradley’s got some girl inside. Jake couldn’t care less. There were times when they were deployed that Jake has heard and seen Bradley do things he’d rather not remember.

Now, he’s standing on Bradley’s front porch and ready to name each and every one of them in alphabetical order if the dumb bird doesn’t get a lot more compliant, quickly.

“I was closer to here. Look, I don’t care who you’ve got in there — can I please just make a call from your phone?” Jake rushes. Bradley sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek and turns his head to glance through into the hallway of his apartment.

Rooster has seen the articles. He knows why Jake’s standing at his front door drenched in sweat right now. He also knows that if he was in Jake’s shoes, he would be going out of his mind right now. Hell, if Rooster was in Jake’s shoes, he’s not sure he would have survived the past four years.

“Yeah. Sure. Come in, I’ll grab my phone.” He decides finally, already feeling that this is a bad idea from the second that Jake’s foot crosses the threshold. Bradley’s back is turned for exactly six paces.

“Babe—“

Jake’s head turns as Bradley picks his phone up from the couch. His brows knit together at the sound of a familiar voice — a masculine voice. They both turn their heads to stare at the man standing in Bradley’s hallway.

Javy swallows. He shifts uncomfortably on his weight and crosses his wrists like that will hide the fact that he’s wearing nothing but a charcoal coloured pair of Calvin Klein briefs.

Jake turns his head again, and this time finds Rooster turning beet red. If he wasn’t freaking out so badly, he might have cracked a joke.

“I mean… Rooster.” Javy corrects.

“Bradshaw, phone.” Jake reminds. Rooster blinks, tossing his phone across to Jake. Jake catches it in one hand and heads back out onto the front porch silently.

These people used to be his best friends. Once upon a time, this news would have been ground breaking to him. Rooster and Coyote. This would have taken him weeks to get over. Today, he doesn’t give a shit. Truthfully, from the deepest part of him, he doesn’t care about those people in the slightest.

All he cares about is you, going through exactly what he’s going through, alone.

He taps the number in to Bradley’s phone and it rings once before it is answered.

“Sir, I told you, she won’t speak to y—“

“Allen.” Jake breathed out and the other man stops speaking instantly. This isn’t allowed. This conversation shouldn’t be happening. No one really tried that hard to prevent it though, not really. Not when it was this easy. “Put her on the phone.”

Allen swallows softly as he turns his head and looks into the living room at the furious girl on the couch. Your father has been calling you all day, and now you’re being grilled by a California press representative. You just won’t talk.

“I can’t, sir. She’s in the middle of something right now.” Allen carries on like he’s still speaking to Mr. Head of State himself.

Jake opens his mouth but then quickly decides that he has to sit down before he can say something like this outside. He stumbles forwards and drops down onto Bradley Bradshaw’s porch step. He threw up here once in his twenties. Bradley didn’t invite him back much after that. “Is she pregnant?”

“I’m not sure. Sir.” Allen answers quietly. He presses his lips together in a tight line. With how fragile you’ve been recently, you’re going to lose it if you find out he spoke with Jake today. Currently, you appear to have taken a vow of silence. You’ve been tapping away at a laptop for hours. The entire staff has tried to put you on the phone with your father several times each. You just won’t talk to him.

Allen knows why you’re doing it. You want that selfish old bastard to panic. He can’t say he blames you.

“What do you mean you don’t fucking know? — She is or she isn’t. Allen, put her on the phone, I need to speak to her.” Jake bites. He rubs at his eyes, his head is pounding.

“I can’t do that. I would if I could.” Allen answers softly. Jake could continue to argue, but he knows this old jerk isn’t going to change his mind. His fist clenches around the chipped wooden step.

His throat strains. “Is — Is she okay?”

“No.” Allen answers calmly, leaning his back slightly against the wall behind him. Shooting a quick look in each direction, he lowers his voice again. “I… I think she might have let this get leaked on purpose.

“What?” Jake gawks. For the second time today, his world is turned on his axis and he has to reevaluate all of the information he has seen before. He rubs his knuckle into the socket of his eye, shaking his head like that will unscramble his train of thought.

“She told someone. I don’t see why she would, unless—“

You’re not pregnant. If you were, you wouldn’t tell a stranger. Unless this is the same girl you told before, about you and him. Fuck, he’s not sure what you would do anymore. He doesn’t have a clue.

“Fuck. Fuck. I need to see her. I know it’s a lot to ask, but—“ Jake pushes his fingers into his head and shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t pretend he hadn’t ever thought of what it would be like to have a family with you. Far in the future, he had hopes for plenty of things.

This wasn’t ever how he dreamed of finding out he was going to be a dad, he’s terrified. He can’t imagine how you’re feeling.

He needs to see your face.

“Jake. Don’t.” Allen whispers angrily, making Manny’s head shoot up. The older man turns on his heel and heads for the back door. This conversation can’t continue here, when Jake’s being this ridiculous. “What phone is this? — The house is full of staff right now, you can’t do this now. I could get her to call you. Later.”

“Yeah. I can keep the phone. Get her to call me back on this number. I swear, Allen, if I don’t hear from her today then I’m going to drive up there.”

“Alright!” Allen hisses into the phone, checking over his shoulder. He could be tanking his thirty year career just by having this conversation, much less by aiding and abetting your little affair. “I’ll figure it out. Just calm down. She’s… in a weird place right now and I don’t need you making it worse. This is going to blow over.”

“Making it— are you fucking kidding?”

The line clicks dead. Jake almost throws the phone across the front yard, but he doesn’t. For two reasons. The first, he needs to speak to you — if he doesn’t hear your voice today, he might actually go insane. The second, he knows that Rooster is watching and would be upset if Jake obliterated his phone.

Jake swallows dryly, then pushes himself to stand. Rooster and Coyote spring into action, trying to make it look like they hadn’t been eavesdropping, as Jake walks back into the living room. Javy is wearing sweatpants now. Jake doesn’t take notice of either one of them, not really.

“I need to keep your phone for today.” Jake says, offering no explanation to accompany the statement. They were listening, he doesn’t need to elaborate.

“Uh… alright. Can l… see something on there first?” Rooster asks, shooting an awkward glance across at Javy. Javy’s eyes widen as he turns to look at the phone in Jake’s hand. Jake passes it over compliantly.

Rooster perches on the arm of the couch and gets to work hiding all of the naked photos of Jake’s best friend in a secret album. Silence falls across the three of them. This is especially rough because anyone who knows Javy, knows that he’s a chatterbox. He loves to talk. He could talk to anyone about everything.

But he doesn’t know how to talk to Jake now.

The feeling isn’t good. Jake is the one who left. The one who couldn’t bare to see their faces, or hear their voices, or even think about the Hard Deck. He shut them out on purpose and most days, after he had first lost Dani, Jake had hoped he wouldn’t ever see a single one of them again.

He guesses now that maybe if he wasn’t seeing them, he could pretend that she wasn’t dead. That she was still sitting in that bar, playing pool with her friends, growing older like she was meant to.

Jake and Javy are thinking of the same thing. Dani. What things would be like if she hadn’t died. If Jake might have stayed — that’s not much of a question; he would have. He loved his life back then. But that’s all an if. Jake hates playing the ‘What If’ game. His counselor told him it isn’t healthy.

He could love his life now, maybe even more than he had back then. He doesn’t like to thing about you in the same vein as Danielle — it doesn’t seem right to compare you when you each were so different, and he was so different when he loved you and her.

He can’t keep thinking about it, it still makes him angry. So, he swallows and crosses his arms over his chest, turning his head towards Coyote. “So… you’re fucking Rooster.”

“Actually, I’m the one—“ Bradley stops talking as Jake and Javy turn to look at him together. He just smiles sheepishly, then turns his attention back to the phone.

“Actually, we’ve been dating for four months.” Javy explains, his lips tugging at a smile. He won’t quite let himself give into it. They’re both pretending that he isn’t standing there barely dressed.

Jake raises his brows. “Wow. Dating… you didn’t say anything when I was here last.”

“You didn’t tell us that you were sleeping with the President’s daughter.” Javy retaliates, this time giving into the amusement and letting a smirk plaster itself across his angled features.

Rooster looks up quickly and shoots a stern look across at his boyfriend. When they had discussed what they would say to Jake if they saw him during all of this, they had specifically agreed not to come at him head on.

Jake makes himself smile. “Dating. I guess. More than fucking, anyway.”

Doesn’t feel right to say that he might have found the love of his life, not when they all thought he had found it before.

Javy smiles back at him, arms folded across his bare chest. He gives a small nod. “So… are you really going to be a dad?”

Rooster looks up again, this time handing the phone back to Jake. Both of them stare at him now. The Hangman they knew back then would be taking this news a lot worse.

“I don’t know. I hope not.” The hope isn’t that there’s no baby because he doesn’t want one with you. That’s clear. He just can’t let you go through that without him right by your side. He wants more for you right now. He wants independence, and privacy. He wants whatever you want, and you’ve never once signaled to him that that would be a baby.

“Well… we were just going to watch the game later. If you wanted to hang out here, take your mind off things.” Bradley offers, giving a small shrug of his shoulders. Jake glances over towards Javy, then back. Then, down at the phone in his hand. It’s probably not cool to steal Rooster’s phone.

“Yeah, okay.” Jake decides quietly.

There’re a small clock in the corner of the TV screen. Jake sinks into Bradley’s couch, his arms crossed over his chest, and watches the minutes tick by. Bradley and Javy sit either side of him trying to prompt the conversation onward.

If this was a couple of years ago, Jake would be cracking jokes and this would feel as natural as breathing. Now, even breathing doesn’t feel all that natural. Each inhale feels like winding clock hands into place. Every exhale feels like he’s in flight school feeling that G-Force nausea again for the first time.

He wishes he hadn’t let it get this bad. That he hadn’t let these guys become strangers. He wishes he would have been there when Rooster and Coyote started dating, so he could figure it out before everyone else and bet Phoenix out of twenty dollars. He wonders if she knows yet.

“So, is my phone number gonna get put on a CIA watch list or something?” Rooster asks, one arm tucked behind his head and a beer in his hand. Jake almost scoffs at the idea, then stops to consider it. Maybe, actually. He turns his head to look at Rooster.

“Worried they’re going to hear all those voicemails Mav leaves you reminding you to water your plants?” Javy taunts from the other side of Jake. Jake snorts, looking between the two of them.

“You’re a farmer now, too, huh?” Jake chimes in.

“Oh yeah. Chillies, herbs, tomatoes, zucchini. He’s even got little gloves he wears when he gardens.” Javy spills, making Jake laugh for the first time. This next inhale feels softer, a little more natural. Making fun of Rooster will always feel natural.

Four hours away, your vow of silence still hasn’t let up. For the first time all day, you’ve moved from the couch. Allen had watched you stand up, slamming the laptop lid shut and tucking the thing under your arm. It hasn’t left your side in a day and a half.

If he’s right, and you’ve orchestrated this entire thing so far, he knows that it doesn’t stop with a scandal. No, you’re going right for the jugular with this thing. He trails behind you, footsteps quiet on the rug. And yet, you hear him anyway.

He stumbles as you round on him, doing his best to slow down and not completely mow you over in his stride. Those crows feet and sun-aged freckles aren’t fooling you, that stern-looking old man hasn’t ever been able to stop you doing anything.

“Why are you following me, Allen?”

He narrows those grey eyes at you and leans closer, “What the hell are you up to? — Don’t lie to me.”

Briefly, he’s met with silence. As much silence as is possible in your life. Downstairs is still buzzing with life, with phone calls. The entire house is trying to clean up the mess you made, all at once. Just like you wanted them to. Now, they’re all busy.

“I’m keeping a promise that I made to my dad.” You shrug. It’s the truth, in simple terms. You promised him you were going to ruin him, and that man raised you not to quit.

Allen looks heavenward, resting his hands on his hips. He remembers the day he met you, and how angry you were back then. Far too often since that day, he has found himself thinking of what he would say to you if you were one of his daughters. He sniffs, then exhales, dropping his neck and studying the carpet.

“I spoke to Jake today. He saw the news and he called me.” This time, when he lifts his gaze and looks at you, his jaw sets and his brows knit together. You might not be one of his daughters, but he knows you like you are. “I’m gonna let you speak to him, and you’re going to promise me something, kid.”

For the first time all day, that indifferent, angry look drops from your face and Allen sees you for what you are. Devastated. You nod your head furiously, blinking at him. “Anything.”

His expression dullens, eyes growing stormy. “You’ll drop this. Whatever you’re planning, whatever you’re doing — you’ll let it go.”

Your face blanks in front of him, then calms. You’re poker-facing him, he knows that look. He has known how to recognise it since you were young. Still, he waits for your answer.

“Okay.” You tell him, straightening out your mouth, giving him a curt nod.

Swiftly, he takes one step forwards and invades your space. He has let you get away with too much for too long. He acknowledges now, after he had retired, you would probably be dead if it wasn’t for Jake. He won’t make the same mistake twice.

“No. I’m serious. Swear to me that you won’t do anything stupid.”

If his definition of anything stupid is even remotely similar to Jake’s, you’re confident that you will have already disappointed the both of them. They would never approve. It’s not safe. But you’re not made of glass, and the things you have found could change everything.

It’s scary, really, the way you’re able to relax your face so solemnly. Allen’s been looking at that face almost every day for the last seven years, and you still manage to fool him.

“I swear. I swear that I’ll leave it alone, if you let me speak to him.”

Jake gets the call just after seven. He practically throws Coyote out of the way heading for the door. He staggers out onto the back porch and rests his hand against the stair railing, bracing his weight.

“Jake?”

For the past four nights straight, Jake’s subconscious has subjected him to nothing but your voice, strained in terror and pain, calling out for help. To hear it now, soft and calm — it feels like Jake’s lungs untwist and he can inhale deeper.

“Fuck, honey, I missed you.” He breathes out all at once, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Faintly, he can hear the soft whimper you make on the other end. The slight sniffle. He can’t see you, and he doesn’t ask to confirm, but he knows that you’re laying in his bed. It’s not just wishful thinking. He just knows that if he got in his car and drove there now, that’s where he would find you.

He likes the idea. If he has to wake up alone, at least he knows you’re still waking up in his bed somehow.

“I miss you so much.” You tell him quietly, your eyes squeezed tightly shut, his comforter hugged to your chest. With your eyes closed, it’s easier to pretend that he’s here with you.

“I have to ask. You’re not… — You aren’t—?”

“No, shit. I’m sorry. No.” You remember, giving a quick shake of your head. “I’m not. I’m not.”

Jake exhales and takes two steps down from the porch, shuffling down, settling onto his back on the grass. “I’ve been thinking all day about it. We haven’t talked about kids.”

“No, but it’s fine. I only said—“

“I want that,” Jake tells the sky, the phone pressed so close to his ear that he can listen to you breathing. “One day, I want to hear that news and I want us to be happy. And I want it to be our news, just ours. At least for a while.”

You press your face into the cold fabric of his pillow, letting it soak up the tears on your cheeks. He listens to you breathe a little while longer. It’s not what he’s used to. If you were really here, you’d be closer. Each of your exhales would fan out across his chest.

“I…” You almost tell him that you want that too, and it’s ridiculous but in that split-second, it just sounds too daunting. After all you’ve been through. All that the two of you have faced together. You’re just too scared to tell him. “I’m so sick of living like this.”

“I know, sweet girl, I know.” Jake murmurs. He’s so close to the phone that your mind fills in that blanks and you swear you feel the rumble in his chest that you only hear when you’re laying on him.

If you ever want any semblance of the life that Jake wants to give you, something has to give. You’ve got to be brave about it. It was never going to be easy.

“I really love you.” You tell him quietly, pulling his pillow close against your body. Jake blinks up at the sky and just for a moment wishes he was back home. At least there, the sky’s dark enough for him to pick out constellations. There, he would have something to focus on other than how empty he feels without you.

“I love you too, so much. I - I can’t stop thinking about you. Tell me you’re okay. Tell me what you’ve been doing.” He’s rambling a little. Salty tears spill onto your lips as they twist into a sad smile. If he wants to hear that you’re okay, that’s what you’ll tell him. The lie comes just as easily to Jake as it had in the promise you had made to Allen.

If you’re brave now, you’ve got the chance to make things right.

…

@alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream

#jake smut #apollo jake #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman seresin #Jake hangman Seresin smut #Jake hangman seresin fic #Jake hangman seresin x reader #operation apollo #top gun maverick #top gun au #Jake seresin au

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waldau · 4 months

Text

tomorrow — jeon wonwoo | 2,049 words | fluff

in the words of james acaster: starting making it, had a breakdown, bon appetit. also i saw the news about mingyu's post and laughed for a minute straight 💀

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

being sick sucks in general, but wonwoo thinks it's worse when he's on tour. he's supposed to be seeing new places with his friends, meeting fans and doing what he loves the most for them. in short, he's supposed to be having a good time.

instead, he's stuck in his hotel room all by himself, his limbs trapped inside an insanely heavy comforter which can't possibly be that heavy. and it's not even comforting him right now.

this is all wrong. he should be on the other side of the world, with you, eating the stuff you've made, or going on inadvisable, impromptu snack drives when you can't sleep. he shouldn't be in agony because of some random street food he decided to try with the rest of the group. that he somehow had no tolerance for.

either way, he really misses you, and has even resigned himself to counting the seconds that are passing so that he can bore himself into sleep and make tomorrow come faster. time is supposed to be an illusion, anyway.

his door opens slowly, and his heart jumps against his ribs for a second. there's no way you—

"hyung," comes mingyu's voice, low and concerned. he shuts the door behind him. "how are you feeling?"

"better. but still tired."

mingyu makes a sad noise. "hungry?"

"not at all."

"you sure?"

"yeah."

"okay, uh, we're all going for dinner now. we'll be back in a couple of hours, because dino wanted to visit the park nearby, but if there's anything you want, just let me know, okay?"

wonwoo feels the weight of his phone being set on his chest through the comforter. the block of metal and chips is the only thing that's his link to you right now.

"call me if you want me to get something warm and safe to eat before you sleep."

wonwoo wants to thank him, but he can't even muster the energy to keep his eyes open. he feels mingyu ruffle his hair briefly before chuckling, because that's something he doesn't normally do when wonwoo's awake. wonwoo allows it, just this once, mainly because there's nothing he can do about it.

"see you." and just like that, the room's empty once again.

wonwoo feels his eyes grow heavier after a while, head filled with thoughts about the group's next show and thoughts of you. he wonders what you're doing right now, whether you're sleeping, keeping well, or thinking of him with the same desperation with which he's thinking of you right now.

wonwoo loves you, and knows you love him despite the erratic schedules of his work, but sometimes being apart from you is the worst thing that he has to do.

he's thankful for the thick comforter because he can feel the temperature in the room dipping, and he finds himself going back to sleep again.

the light sound of a conversation is what finally brings him out of his sleep. he hears some snorts from near the foot of his bed. when he opens his eyes fully, having slept better than he has the whole day, he sees someone exiting his room. minghao, probably, going by his build. and there's someone still sitting by the foot of his bed, accompanied by the sound of shoes being kicked off.

it's you.

wonwoo lets out a chuckle and turns around to bury his face in the pillow.

"that's all you're going to say? after all the distance i travelled to get here?"

wonwoo turns around to see you inching closer to him, till your eyes are at the same level.

"are you real?"

you stare at him for a moment before you laugh, and oh, he's in love. it's nothing new — he's already known he loves you, for a long time, but now it's something more, because you're not a dream, and you're really here.

(you're his dream, but that's another topic for another day.)

"absolutely real. here, see?" you say, pushing his hair away from his face. he can see you better now, but you're blurry.

"this is unfair."

"what is, baby?"

"i want to kiss you, but i can't even see you properly. after all the distance you travelled to come see me."

he sees you smile before you reach over him and beckon him to sit up, gently placing them on his face and pushing them upwards till he's comfortable. better.

and you're even better.

"hi," you say, smiling a bit shyly. wonwoo figures it's because he's staring at you unabashedly right now, but surely you can't fault him, not when it's been almost a month since he's been away from you?

"hey, sweetheart," he says, glad you're able to hear it in person and not through a tinny phone speaker. "kiss me?"

"did you mean to say miss me?"

you have a cheeky smile on your face now. wonwoo shakes his head. "of course i missed you. but i want to kiss you. right now."

"you have no idea how badly i want to, but i think you know it's for the best if i don't."

wonwoo frowns at that. just because it's true it doesn't mean it's okay.

"here," you say, before you press a kiss to his forehead. wonwoo feels the tension in his shoulders melt away, his head sinking back into the headboard. you hesitate before pressing a soft kiss to his lips that leaves him wanting more.

"you said—"

"i know," you groan, pushing yourself away immediately. "i'm sorry. but i'm going to kiss you so much after you get better, so you better be ready for that."

it's a threat he can't wait to experience.

"how're you feeling?" you ask, hand combing through his hair. "did you have the medicine mingyu got you?"

"mm."

"feel like having anything?"

wonwoo tries saying something, but his throat feels dry all of a sudden. he extracts a hand from the comforter and points to his throat.

"water? tea?"

"tea...?"

you nod, for the bedside table for a flask he didn't even notice was there before.

"minghao dropped it by before leaving," you explain, filling a cup with some of the tea and setting it on the table. "lemon and honey. he said it'll help."

wonwoo's thankful, but he wants to know more about what you're doing here. "sorry," he says, his hand finding yours. he traces the shape of your palm and fingers, convincing himself you're really here.

"for?"

"you're supposed to be at work. i'm keeping you here."

"pfft. i wouldn't be here if i didn't want to surprise you, okay? it just happened that you fell ill. i'm doing this for me as much as i'm doing it for you. plus, it's a saturday tomorrow."

"oh," is all he can say.

"this tea isn't going to drink itself, you know."

wonwoo sniffs and picks up the cup. he holds it for a few seconds before his hands tremble, and he would have spilled it all over the comforter if it weren't for your hands that immediately took the cup from him.

"hot," he mumbles. "too hot."

you tut. "it's normal, baby. i'm sorry. i thought you'd have been feeling a bit better by now."

wonwoo makes a sound of displeasure. "it hates me."

you laugh, and he feels a bit better again. or maybe he's just imagining it. but it feels good. "no, it doesn't."

"it totally does. i should be sleeping by now."

"you should sleep after you have something. did you have anything since this morning?"

"mm. some soup. and...soup."

you give him a look. he doesn't know what to make of it, but he doesn't want it to be on your face for any longer.

"want me to help you have the tea?"

wonwoo nods and sits up slowly, still weak. he hasn't been this drained in ages, but he's glad you're here. his eyes close when he feels the cup touch his lips.

minghao doesn't joke about when it comes to tea. you sit in silence while he finishes the entire cup, word finally dislodging themselves from his throat.

"it's unfair."

"again? what is?"

he wipes messily at his glasses with his knuckles to see you clearly. "these keep fogging up..."

you take them off for him gently. he watches as you wipe his glasses clean with the edge of your shirt, looking at them in the light before placing them back on the bridge of his nose. better.

but the next sip ruins it again. wonwoo lets out a frustrated groan that turns into a laugh and you join in, and he wonders how he ever expected himself to go through the night without you.

you make sweater paws with your shirt and wipe his glasses gently. "i'll clean them however many times you want me to," you say softly. "but i'll still be here tomorrow morning, so you don't need to worry about not seeing me."

wonwoo wonders if you know how much better you're making him feel by just being here. your hair's not in its usual near state, your shirt is wrinkled, and you look exhausted, too, but it's you. and your familiar perfume, the softness of your hands, the love in your every move. and you're here, is the best part of it.

"just some more," you say, filling the cup again. "then you can sleep."

"i don't want to sleep," wonwoo mumbles, taking a sip. it really is helping him; his throat feels so much better than it has all day. "i want to talk to you."

"we can talk tomorrow when you're feeling even better, baby," you say, resting your hand on his chest. "you need your sleep right now. and i'm right here, okay?"

he knows you're right, but it doesn't quell his want to make up for the past month of virtual conversations. as he takes slow sips of his tea, he notices you looking at him.

"what?"

"hm?"

"you're staring."

you look at him, then look away. "missed you."

he somehow feels it's more than that. "that's all you're going to say?" he asks, parroting your words from earlier.

you meet his gaze, but you're blushing this time. huh.

"it's just...you've been looking so...good, recently," you say. "i've been seeing your videos, and stuff the boys keep sending me. i've missed you a lot. and i'm glad you're...that you're mine, you know?"

"i know," he says, eyes shutting for a moment, a smile spreading over his face. i know how it feels to feel that way.

you take the cup from him and promise to be back in ten minutes after your shower. wonwoo starts counting the seconds again, this time to make you come back to him faster. he likes to think it's worked, when it takes less than 600 seconds for you to be back next to him again.

you switch off the lights and settle down next to him in bed, scrolling through your phone while wonwoo gets used to the darkness again. a series of poorly muffled giggles gets him to open his eyes and turn to you.

"what's up?"

you show wonwoo your phone, still laughing. it's a picture of mingyu looking up and to the side while perfecting his angle for the camera. wonwoo presumes it's from the place dino wanted to go to. when you swipe to the next slide, it's the same picture. so is the next one. and the next one.

"what a goof," you giggle affectionately. "and he's deleted the post. i'm so going to tease him about this tomorrow."

wonwoo smiles at that. of course you will, and wonwoo will, if you forget.

you set the phone aside before moving a bit closer to him, enough for him to drape an arm around your waist.

"better?"

"now that you're here," he says honestly.

he knows you're blushing. "sleep well, okay?"

"you too, sweetheart."

wonwoo gets to see you tomorrow. he gets to go home with you after his final show tomorrow and spend the next two months at your place because there's nowhere else he has to be.

being sick sucks in general, but maybe it's okay just this once. because it brought him you earlier than he would have thought.

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched

#WONWOO MENTIONED RAHHHH WHAT IS SANITY #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo fluff #wonwoo #wonwoo fluff #svt #svt fluff #seventeen #seventeen fluff #fluff #waldau writes

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hiimawarish · 10 months

Text

don't you ever grow up

s. ayato being a menace to your daughter while you're away for work. cw. fluff. domestic bliss. marriage. ayato being the best girl dad. established relationship. female/afab reader. tw. none? not proofread. wc. 1k a/n. i'm sorry, i'm a sucker for domestic scenes. have some ayato being needy and clingy with his poor daughter. credits. dividers by @/cafekitsune.

If only you could see them.

The scene unfolding seems almost too precious as if it had been taken out of a picture book. Your husband is seemingly asleep on a bed that feels too big, too empty for him alone—in his arms, your daughter is sleeping peacefully, one hand tightly holding onto her father’s robe, the other wrapped around that stuffed bunny you had chosen for her before she was even born. The scene is almost perfect.

Almost.

Until your daughter finally stirs, at least, and tries to escape her father’s arms.

“Daddy, stop,” The little girl squirms in Ayato’s arms, pushing against his chest in a desperate attempt to get away from her father. It does not work. It never works, you could have told her that, but seeing as you were out for the week tending to business, your poor daughter is left to deal with him on her own. “I really need to go!”

“No, you don’t.”

Needy as he always is, Ayato merely tightens his hold on her, holding her to his chest as if she were no more than a doll. It is a habit; he had learned to hold her like this when she was still a baby, parading her in front of the elders as if to torture them with the picture. His arms stay wrapped protectively around the six-year-old, her squirming limbs the only thing one could make out of her amidst the sheets and the embrace.

“Daddy!” She squealed again, louder this time, almost threatening. Ayato recognizes the tone—it is the one that says she is not scared to awake the entire household if he does not let her go. “The restroom!”

“You just want to abandon me like your mother did,” He says, in mock sadness, his arms loosening just a fraction in his embrace.

His daughter sighs. She sighs deeply, exasperated, and the unamused look she gives him reminds him so much of you that he cannot help himself—Ayato pulls her closer, butterfly kisses pressed to her forehead and cheeks. Under normal circumstances, she would be melting into echoing giggles, but this time his daughter remains unfazed. Not even a smile curved into her lips.

“Mommy didn’t abandon you!” She squirms again, trying her best to run out of his hold. “Mommy’s working!”

“If I let you go, you’re going to abandon me, too. I just know it.”

His daughter stays quiet, still, as if she has given up against her dad’s stubbornness. There are many things Ayato is not, but she has learned from an early age that her father has a knack for the dramatics. Even when you left early that morning, she had observed him as he held onto you, arms wrapped around you and refusing to let you go no matter how many times you reminded him that you were going to be late. He didn’t care. He didn’t let you go until he had given you more kisses you could count and reminded you that you had cursed him to sleep in an empty and cold bed that night—as if that would have made your work any less important; as if that would have convinced you to play hooky and stay with him.

That had been the beginning, hadn’t it?

Your poor daughter, who has always had quite the soft spot for her father, had felt bad. It wasn’t the first, and it certainly will not be the last time, but whenever she saw his face stained in agony as you left—be it for a week or an hour—she couldn’t help but sympathize. She missed you, too, whenever you had to leave. She misses you, even now, which would explain why she holds the bunny tightly even as she fight—or fought, anyway— to be free from her dad’s relentless embrace.

The bunny smells like you. It’s just that simple.

She wonders if her dad would be less needy if he had a bunny to hold that smelled like you, too.

Because that is the root of the problem.

Ayato, although dramatic, does feel quite lonely when you are away. His bed seems too big just for him, too empty, as if it refused to let him forget for a second that your body is supposed to be there, next to him. Thoma knows. Ayaka knows. Ayato barely sleeps whenever you are away—it is common knowledge within the estate, but he refuses to acknowledge it. He is lonely, and he had felt delighted when his little princess offered to sleep with him that evening.

An offer she is definitely regretting now, he realizes.

“You’re stuck with an annoying dad, huh?” Ayato asks, after a few seconds, finally unwrapping his arms. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

The effect is immediate; she sprints towards the door, and Ayato laughs. A few minutes later he hears the soft padding of her steps coming back. He stays there, on the bed, watching the ceiling. He remembers the first time he heard those little steps, the first time he saw her take them toward him, the way Ayaka had held her breath, Thoma trying his best not to burst into tears, and you… Well, you had been filled with pride.

He wonders if his daughter is actually coming back, or if she’d rather escape into Ayaka’s room to avoid her annoying dad. Her extremely clingy and needy father, as you always called him. Ayato would not blame her—even if he had been joking earlier, he knows when he has gone too far, and the little girl takes too much after you for her not to be upset. She might even tell on him with you as soon as you return, and he can almost picture the disappointment painting your face.

Nevertheless, in spite his growing worry, the soft padding of his little girl actually does approach his door. She slides the door open, her brows furrowed, and still she walks to him. Willingly, without him having to say anything, she gets into bed and takes his own arm to wrap it around herself without a word.

Ayato merely watches, with a smile.

“You’re not annoying, Daddy.” She finally says, rubbing her eyes with the ball of her hands. “I love you. And Mommy loves you, too. Can we just sleep?”

He chuckles.

“Of course, princess. Let’s go to sleep now.”

Ayato presses a kiss to her forehead, then—a silent wish for her to never have to grow up as fast as he did.

more works.

#genshin impact #kamisato ayato #ayato x fem!reader #ayato x y/n #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x you #ayato kamisato #genshin ayato #natsu writes

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yostresswritinggirl · 2 years

Text

Kintsugi (11)

: "to repair with gold"

Scaramouche / Wanderer x First Puppet! Reader

After his third betrayal, he stumbles upon the one thing that would never deceive him. Not a god, not a human; a broken puppet, discarded just like him. Part 1. Extras.

"This land has no place for us, thus we will find it somewhere else."

You've found yourself behind Kunikuzushi once again with his arm extended as a barrier between you and the world he so desperately wants to protect you from.

It was an unconscious habit, second nature by now to him. Something that once conflicted you now became your normal.

Your light touch on the hand that hovers over his blade eased the rising tension in his shoulders, opting to instead wrap his digits around yours with a reassuring squeeze. Too reckless; that and you'd always been more patient when it comes to humans.

After refusing the coat, Kuni would slightly turn to you and adjust the veil to cover you better despite claiming just now that the cold doesn't affect you both.

"I know of a place that would be beneficial to you, the same place where this boat is heading," the stranger that helped you both turns his head to you. "But this one here..."

Despite the mask, there is an undeniable look of scrutiny underneath it that unconsciously forced you to hide your exposed limbs beneath the veil.

You almost missed the way he tilts his head slightly in deeper contemplation when Kunikuzushi suddenly pulled you close to his chest, an arm circling your back to grip at your forearm.

There was an emphasized growl when he speaks your name towards the Harbinger. He was correcting this all-powerful man, all so he addresses you by your new name instead of some object. "They're with me. You take both of us or none at all."

"Interesting." He seems preoccupied with something else. That doesn't seem to be in response to Kuni's words.

A shock like shiver courses through your body as your eyes narrowed at him.

"Very intriguing." You cannot trust this doctor.

Turns out you DO need a coat.

Here in the land furthest north the cool wind bites at those who are fragile, and out of the two of you, the frost bites through your cracks and restrains you stronger than the vines back in your homeland. Over your haori lies Scaramouche's harbinger coat.

Yet despite its thickness, trips outside to barren lands of snow is still risky. You sigh, at least mimic the action, who would have thought you'd miss sitting outside under the shade of sakura trees.

You also miss Kunikuzushi, who was now busy with tending to his work as a Fatui Harbinger.

Like how Snezhnaya hides away the sun, Kunikuzushi was only spoken behind closed doors.

Lord Harbinger or Lord Scaramouche is what he goes by now, titled by the gracious Cryo archon herself in welcome of you two. The benevolent Tsaritsa that accepted your presence as much as Kunikuzushi.

Before you spiral into madness at the thoughts of her soft gaze of recognition, huge and heavy steps easily took your notice.

Your fingers wraps protectively around the sakura bloom by instinct, harder to do so than before, before you turned your head to see Sandrone already looking at you.

"Waiting for someone?" Her smile is as demure as usual, but the tilt of her head betrays her true intrigue.

Sandrone and Dottore, you were quick to find out their interests in you and Kunikuzushi for the simple fact that you are living puppets. You've heard various warnings from Kuni to not be deceived by their invitations and coaxing, and to only engage when he's with you.

She at least made repairs and gave useful pointers when your body started acting up. Albeit, under the orders of the Tsaritsa.

The robot holding the Marionette suddenly shifts to retrieve something from its pocket, and soon the both of them make their way to stand in front of you. "I'm positive of the inconvenience that petal in your hand brings." Without fear, you also narrow your eyes at this Harbinger. "How curious, but I am only here to offer a simple solution."

From a silent command, the huge gauntlet of the robot unfurls to reveal a small empty vial attached to a necklace chain.

The gaze on you was searing and hawk-like as the Harbinger watched your ministrations, your stiff hands gently nudging the petal inside the vial before donning the necklace. It hangs just over your chest. Yet Sandrone, the Marionette, still can't seem to look away.

Out of all the Fatui Harbingers, it was Dottore, Sandrone, and occasionally Tartaglia that actually paid attention to you.

And it's that fact that Kunikuzushi explicitly warned you to stay away, or at least not be alone in their presence. More for the crazed ones who are mostly interested in your anatomy and mechanisms than anything else.

The only time you were even physically close to them were when you had to be fixed upon your first malfunction in the cold, and that was due to the benevolence of the Tsaritsa, any harm on you would have broken more than just your joints.

It was only when you covered the petal with your haori did Sandrone finally look away, still that gentle yet seemingly malicious smile on her face.

"Say, how long have you had that sakura bloom?"

A cough and a call of your name had you eagerly turn to Kuni - Scaramouche, his eyes wide before redirecting a glare towards his fellow Harbinger. "Let's go, we have places to be." And with a protective hand on your shoulder, you left the Palace.

The Balladeer consists of two lords.

This was a fact that only those that worked under Scaramouche knows and something that other Fatuus would look at them weirdly for. Was this some kind of gaslighting beaten into them after all the trauma they deal with daily for unfortunately working for the Balladeer?

But they are none the wiser, after all, Lord Scaramouche had always been so careful and secretive when it comes to you.

When you came to Snezhnaya, you never had a title for yourself other than your name and aged folklore that died with your departure. Your affiliation with the Fatui is also superficial, as your ties are only with Scaramouche. Your loyalty lies with Kunikuzushi, and Kunikuzushi's loyalty lies with your safety.

Arrangements followed suit and you had your own subordinates to mobilize even if you had no need for them.

The Balladeer's other lord is a blessing - a vacation. When the underlings rotate to switch from serving Scaramouche to being under your command, it was always a massive relief for them. After all, Lord Scaramouche is ruthless and you were low maintenance.

They felt more like retainers and bodyguards, looking out for you and fetching whatever you may need. The only time it felt like a job was when Scaramouche was visiting, or you wanted to be outside for a walk. You always loved to look around and the awe of the frozen wasteland had always been baffling for the locals who had long grown tired of the weather and wither.

The job only ends up badly when you turn up 'sick' after a walk outside in the cold. Despite their warnings, it would be them that gets punished by Scaramouche.

You may be patient, a blessing in the Fatui, but you are no means inherently good. After all, you value fairness above all. "Please, my lord, don't send us back to Lord Scaramouche." One of the new recruits practically begged by your feet.

Everyone else were too late to prevent him, not when you stopped writing in your journal to look down at the kneeling recruit. "But we've always had this rotation set up ever since?" The softness of your voice, devoid of edge, must have urged the confidence of the soldier.

"You must understand, Lord Scaramouche had always been ruthless! I would rather serve you forever, you have my utmost loyalty, Lord -"

"Don't." The fatui soldier shuddered at your harsh gaze looking down at him, shakily forcing him to remove his hold on the end of your veil. "You wish to receive a different treatment? What about the poor soul who's supposed to switch with you? Are you fine with them staying in Kuni's command permanently so you could stay here?"

Turning back to your table, you refused to continue your writing as you gripped at your kimono, expression only visible to the masked-desperate soldier.

The coldness in the room bites with the addition of electricity. "Selfish... Selfish humans..." And you closed your eyes, refusing to acknowledge anything else.

Never had any soldier sighed in relief at the arrival of the Balladeer, but just this once, when he finally visited your quarters did the unnerved subordinates finally had a semblance of sanity after being subjected to silence so damning. No one had told them what to do when you went into this state after all - sitting stock still, unmoving, without a breath or a single word out of you no matter what they do.

The feeling of Kunikuzushi's hand adjusting your slipping veil finally roused you from your stasis, turning your head to look back at his thinly veiled worried gaze. "Kuni."

"I'm here." His eyes flickered to look at the fatui soldiers standing by. "Your henchmen reported you acting... Differently, are you feeling okay? Do you need check up again?"

This would go down in history as one of the events that the Fatui soldiers would never believe. Even as witness, the sight still felt like a fever dream from the harsh cold of the region.

The rarest sight of them all. Of their very own Lord Scaramouche speaking in such softness and gentleness only a mother to their child could mimic, matched with a worried gaze that looked so foreign and unwelcomed to his usually glared eyes. And that foreign name not even the most trusted soldier under his command is privy to.

So easy to fall behind just for you.

"Then let's walk, I have time." Urging you to stand, the harbinger himself took your (his) coat from the chair to drape over your shoulders. A second of silence passed before he suddenly pulled his hat down to hide your faces from the soldiers.

Incoherent whispers that had everyone intrigued, but when he leaned away, a smile on your face was revealed.

The walk was pleasant for everyone.

Scaramouche could see it in the slight purse of your lips and the furrow of your brows, that even your vow to silence, he knows you still do not have it in you to be as disconnected as him.

No matter the betrayals, their discrimination, their capability to harm - you still find it in you to sympathize with humans. You only stayed silent as it was an order.

But he couldn't leave you there, vulnerable in the presence of other Harbingers, and so you find yourself stepping foot on the very soil you've left behind years ago. It was a different experience in comparison to your trip to Mondstadt when he was investment the meteor shower.

Scaramouche had to take care of the delivery of the delusions first, and with the small freedom you had before you explore the current Inazuma once he was done, your feet carried you to a familiar sight. The calming sight of pink rain and the soothing scent of said blooms.

You miss the freedom you had wandering the lands of Inazuma, before the Tsaritsa swept him away. Despite still seeing each other almost daily, his duty had kept him from the same routine, the same freedom. And for what? To take the gnosis from the Raiden Shogun to match her power?

You had every right to be skeptical the moment he became clear of his intentions simply because you knew him. Better than anyone. Perhaps better than himself.

The puppet you knew, of Kunikuzushi, never once strived for power. From the stories of the humans he met, even if vile, not once did it cross your mind that he would turn out to be this way.

He's lonely, hurt, betrayed.

You feel the same way, but how would the electro gnosis fix that? The idea of godhood only brought him pain, would this really be the right course of action for him?

And what about you... What's your purpose in this world?

Ambitions... Your hand reaches out towards the Sacred Sakura as if it felt natural, one of its petals whisked away from the tree to slowly descend in front of you. Would keeping it safe be enough to be called an ambition? Is... Staying by his side enough of a purpose?

"To think that there would be more than one of you. More so, stepping foot in my shrine."

The feeling of an object lightly tapping on the back of your head had you distracted, the petal falling past your awaiting hand.

"I suppose I sha'nt make the same mistakes. Close your eyes now, little one."

A beautiful flash of purple and violets shrouded your vision.

Scaramouche is in a good mood - was in a good mood - before he arrived back in the Fatui hideout to look for you. He had gotten what he wanted, and with all his goals achieved, there was no reason to stay with this wretched organization that only sought to test his patience.

Yet he was greeted not by his companion but of tight-lipped subordinates who cannot speak even if he beats it out of their system.

It was only when a soldier he vaguely remembers to be under your command rushed in did he finally get his answer.

"My lord, we are in dire need of your assistance." The sourness of his expression becomes apparent, but the soldier persists in desperation. "It has happened again - an accident occurred with the other lord."

The sky overhead was as gloomy as the day he was discarded.

Yet despite the carnage of blood and bodies laying around, Kunikuzushi was fearless on approaching the familiar form with your back turned towards him. Not even the thunder and lightning would keep him away from you.

"(Y/N)." The discarded veil in his hand is frayed and scorched on the edges. "I'm here."

Without a word, the turbulent weather ceased its anger, leaving behind a deafening silence. Even as you slowly turned it was soundless.

Only when he dropped to his knees did the illusion of peace shattered.

"What..." Kunikuzushi's hands shook on its way to cradle your cheeks. "What have they done to you?"

He does not realize his tears, not when his thumb gingerly stroked at the lightning marks that burned your skin. It was still warm. It was warm anywhere he touched.

Yet this warmth brought him no comfort whatsoever.

Nothing is more insulting than to be this fragile, to be this desperate, to stoop so low, to back down on his very words to enlist the help of a human.

But he was his only hope, even if he so desperately wants to destroy him right here right now with just his glare. The effort would not be worth it - this isn't the real one, after all.

Dottore is at least a wise man to not say a word about this predicament. In his head, he scolds himself for not seeing this approach sooner.

No matter, he is getting what he wants either way.

Scaramouche falling into his hand with a simple promise was already a guaranteed success. But for the arrogant puppet to offer his most prized possession so easily? He has guaranteed at least one win on this trip.

"It seems you have been preoccupied during your absence, and this is what I see of you after escaping surveillance." Nevermind, he simply could not hold his tongue.

After making sure you're sat properly on the operating table, Dottore's segment took a step to the side to escape a bolt meant to strike him, instead hitting a Fatui Skirmisher. It would be no surprised if he was dead on the spot.

"I agreed to collaborate with you -" even if he was to benefit from it all, Dottore rolled his eyes in his mind. "And I can easily revoke my decision if you dare overstep, mortal."

"I am merely stating a fact, but know that this opportunity is indeed too great to be lost. I will take good care of them."

Scaramouche does not hide the way he rolled his eyes before turning to you, eyes immediately softening to provide assurance. So long as he lives, you would be safe, he assured you.

Removing the veil and folding the fan finally gave the doctor the full detail of the damage he's agreed to fix.

He can see now why the ever so prideful harbinger would come to him for help. The second had only ever admired you from afar due to the obvious hostility of the lord harbinger, but even now in your most vulnerable, there is still an eerie ethereal aura around you.

Lichtenberg figures - the scar runs along your face and reaches deeper, continuing under your robes and layers. It was akin to burned branches decorating your already deteriorating skin, flaking from time and damages.

Like a porcelain filled with cracks, ready to fall apart.

Sandrone would kill him for having this opportunity first.

As Scaramouche carefully lays you down to rest, you can't help but keep your eyes on his. When had he last been so unguarded with his emotions that you can easily see through them? The guilt, the anxiety, the despair - all laid bare for you to see.

In your fatigue you managed to take his hand, hand in crumbling hand, he lands a kiss on the back of your hand. Like a silent promise.

"I will be here when you wake up," Scaramouche gently caressed your flaking hand. "In a perfect form you've always deserved."

On your way to sleep, you cannot help but let the endearing thought occupy your thoughts: he seemed more hesitant to let go of your hand than you to his.

Your dreams were pleasant because of it.

"They have fallen into a deep sleep." The soon-to-be god gently settled your hand on the table. "I will uphold my end of our arrangement, so long as you do yours."

"Tch." Taking out the electro gnosis from under his kimono, he wasted no time placing it on the doctor's awaiting palm. "Here."

"And the second agreement."

And in here he hesitates, sending one last look on your form and one last glare to Dottore. "If I find out you've done something, I will end you myself." He spits with venom combined from eons of mistrust, before slamming the metal door on his way out.

Alone in this section of the factory, Dottore can't help but indulge in a triumphant laugh for a second as he rolls the chess piece in between his gloved fingers. It crackles to life as he walks closer to where the other puppet rests.

"Finally, I have found my answers." Holding it at its crown, Dottore slowly places the gnosis down next to your head. "Aren't you so fascinating? You've disproven all my theories, and yet I am not at all disappointed."

To think that a prototype had long overshadowed your light...

Waking up felt like leaving a warm embrace under the bittersweet accompaniment of a shedding cherry blossom tree, fallen leaves each rousing you to the path of consciousness with the softest of touches.

You leave your dream with the image of a smile, and wake up to one as you finally focused your vision.

"I'm here." Scaramouche stepped back when you quickly slid off the table, following closely as you made your way to the large mirror on the other side of the room. "It seems the operation was a success."

Success? "But - this is - " You touched the lines on your face. What modifications were you expecting beforehand? A new body? A new skin? You didn't expect it to be -

"Kintsugi." Scaramouche's hands slowly coaxed your hands off your face to show the golden lines clearly. You soon realize that your skin had been renewed to remove the flaking state, and the joints that were damaged were fixed. But there were no other changes, significant changes.

"I don't understand, the perfect form -"

His hand traced the branches of gold so lovingly, tenderly, with eyes of serenity you had never seen before. "You are already in your perfect form since the day I met you." The veil, trimmed to remove the damage from before, once again lays on your head. "There is no need to change you."

Watching yourself pull the veil close to your face, you can't help but admire how well the gold matches with the transparent purple.

To be looked at with such adoration from a beautiful doll like him.

"And once I become a god, I will create a perfect world for you too, one that you deserve and deserves you."

You close your eyes as he cradled your cheeks of beautiful scars.

"With this as my proof, I will walk this new life in my own terms." The Traveler does not miss the melancholic smile the Wanderer dons as he cradles the vision by his chest, even when he desperately tries to hide it under the shade of his hat. "For the both of us."

"Both of us?"

"Yes, I -" Locking eyes with the Traveler, his hopeful gaze from earlier dissipates to that of indifference. "Have you seen (Y/N)?"

"Huh? We've never heard of that name before." Paimon interjects, prying for clues on the image of this mystery person. "Paimon doesn't think we've seen anyone like that, even back in the port when we were with Dehya."

"Buer." Turning to the God of Wisdom, there was a sadness in her eyes that had only manifested now.

"I have the answers you seek, but... it may not be the answers you want." When his gaze doesn't waver, the dendro archon continues. "After negotiating with the doctor after the Traveler passed out..."

"While it is unfortunate that I was unable to see the results of this experiment, it at least gave way to another, more promising one." Lesser Lord Kusanali watched in apprehension and curiosity as the harbinger emerged from behind a pillar in the sanctuary, an unmoving form in his arms.

At that time, the dendro archon had no knowledge in her disposal to understand the direness in the situation, or the implications underlying it. All that she knew is that this was non-negotiable.

Even if she had the strength to fight, there was a possessiveness to the doctor that screams to her. This one, this puppet in his hands, is something he would not let go with simple bargains.

"Not only have you provided me with the gnoses, but you have removed the greatest obstacle to my newest magnum opus."

"This, is the only thing that was left behind." Placing the object she had cradled in her tiny hands on the Wanderer's palm, a familiar vial greets the puppet. "I'm sorry."

A necklace with a glass pendant. Inside lies a wilted petal that once shone a beautiful shade of pink.

Strong gale swirls around them as the Wanderer laughs, the glass exploding into shattered remains in his palm as he does so. "So this was your plan all along, Dottore? First, you take away my gnosis. And then..."

The edge on his voice makes the Traveler step back. But speechless when he raised his head to glare at the sky, his hat uncovering the hateful tears streaming down his cheeks. "You take away the only one that ever mattered to me. That vile, filthy -"

You must be so scared.

Clutching his vision close to his chest, the faint hum in the rhythm of a gentle heartbeat does not console him anymore.

Thank you for reading Kintsugi! This is the ending, folks! However I will be publishing another piece for this of all the different scenarios that got scrapped as well as in-depth explanation of the elements of this story. There were a lot of things changed and removed here in comparison to the original concept, and I will share them next time, but I hope you still enjoyed this one!

@deepdinosaurwizard @local-mr-frog @angryhope @rowielol @shoujishu @notyuki @asteriacos @willburzone @crystalcosplays @hxqlou @rolo-at-midnight @ireallylikehamsters @crxwned-mxnarch @reveltica @seddiepilled

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche #the wanderer #exile.flower #sumeru arc #gender neutral #genshin impact #kintsugi #Genshin impact angst

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