#2nd is from? maybe a week ago or two | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vnti-vnxiety-recs · 1 year ago

Text

Destruction In My Mind (M)

★ PAIRING: Toxic! Stalker!Jaemin Switch!Jaemin x Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 8.8k

★ GENRE(S): Smut, Thriller, FWB

☆ SUMMARY: The friends with benefits relationship with your coworker takes a turn for the worse as you realize he's been keeping secrets from you.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: Toxic relationship, Swearing, Various acts of sexual intercourse, Unprotected sex, DARK THEMES,YANDERE, STOLKHOLMISH?, KIDNAPPING. STALKING, MDNI

☆★ NOTES: This is the 2nd installment of THE POISON ARCHIVES! This series will contain toxic scenarios so beware. THIS ONE IS A LITTLE DARKER THAN THE REST! Each story is inspired by lyrics from the song poison!

PART 2

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦

♫₊˚.“Maybe you were just bored”♫₊˚.

Honestly, you don't know how you ended up in this relationship, if you can even call it that, with Jaemin. You're not really sure what you guys have going on anymore, but one thing is for sure: it's getting out of hand.

Jaemin isn't your boyfriend, not by a long shot, but you know him well enough to consider him a friend. You met him at work, and although you swore up and down you would never mix work and pleasure, he was too charming, and you were swept right into his current. You knew this was an extremely bad idea. Especially considering the fact that Jaemin was the grandson of the CEO, but you had always liked a little danger.

Work life was getting too boring for you. The constant rise and fall of waking up and going to work was starting to eat at you. You were still young! You should be a little more daring and adventurous! You think maybe that's the reason you took Jaemin up on his offer the night of the office party. You were celebrating the company's 30-year anniversary. Everyone had gone out for a drink that night but passed on the offer to join. You had a few papers you needed to submit by this morning. Your boss assured you it was ok to submit them late, but you knew after she had a few drinks she would completely forget she extended your deadline. You weren't taking any chances tonight. You were definitely getting that quarterly bonus. You don't notice that Jaemin has stayed behind to keep you company until he speaks.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude, but I just couldn't leave you here by yourself while we all had fun." Jaemin smiled, leaning against your desk.

You thought it was really sweet that he thought of you in a moment like this. That night, he helped you submit your paperwork, and you got the chance to talk to him a bit. Something between the two of you seemed to just click, and it was as you were on the elevator down to the parking garage that he made the proposal. He had noticed how tense you were and how tired you looked. He told you he could help you release your stress and relax.

You're not one for relationships, so when he assured you that it would be strictly pleasure, you jumped at the chance. This was exactly what you needed to spice up your work life. Every day, when you wake up for work, you can barely contain your giddiness. You were excited at the prospect of possibly catching Jaemin's gaze in the hallways, exchanging secret looks and flirty promises. At the beginning, everything was perfect. You guys would sneak away into the bathrooms or storage closets and get lost in each other's touch. Sometimes he would take you home after work in his Bentley, fucking you in the backseat just for the thrill.

But now things were starting to chart in territories you weren't prepared for.

It started about a week ago. Jaemin was his charming self as usual, flashing his perfect smile as a way of saying hello. You were certain that even if he wasn't the CEO's grandson, people would still bend over backward to please him. He was smart, handsome, sweet, funny, and caring. He was so perfect, it was almost scary. But that all changed when you were assigned to do a project report with Mark from the finance department.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡

Your days with Jaemin were cut short and your interactions limited as you and Mark busted your asses to meet the deadline of your report. This didn't bother you as much as you thought it would. You weren't dating, so it's not like you were required to give him your undivided attention. Plus, with all the planning you had in front of you due to the project, you had no choice but to put your lust on the back burner.

It was your first time working closely with Mark, but you two worked really well as partners. Plus, Mark wasn't too bad on the eyes, so you spent half your time working and the other half oogling your partner. His ass looked so good in his neatly pressed slacks. Although you wanted to take a bite out of Mark's ass, you liked what you had with Jaemin, so you dubbed him nothing more than a friend. A really hot friend that you use for eye candy when Jaemin is not around because it makes the day go by faster.

One night, Jaemin was finally able to steal a minute of your time. You and Mark had already finished up a few hours ago, but you were stuck staying late again because your boss needed you to organize some reports. She was supposed to do it herself, but she shoulders it off on you like usual. You want to curse her, but in a way, it's because of her stressing you out that you're getting dicked down.

"Prime minister! Miss busy prime minister, please give me just a second of your time," Jaemin jests, catching you at your desk before you pack up to go home.

"Im sorry sir you will have to try again tomorrow," you quip back as you wrap your arms around Jaemin's neck, pulling him in for a quick peck.

"Oh? Only have time for Mark now huh?" He tries to hide the bitterness in his voice behind a laugh, but you can see right through him.

"Oh? that so?" You reply with an amused smile and raise your eyebrow.

"You think I don't see the way you look at him?" He's leaning down over you, just a breath away, his eyes locked on you, making you squirm.

"Someone is jealous I see," you chide, lightly shrugging off his allegations. What was it to him if you wanted to check out other guys? There's no harm in looking.

"No, because That would be against our contract, right doll? I would never jeopardize what we have; I was just checking in on you, making sure you're not thinking of running away from me, right?" He tilts his head slightly, brushing his lips against yours as he speaks against your lips in a hushed tone. He pulls back to meet your eyes with a sweet smile.

"How could I when you treat me so well?" You barely have to lean into him to close the distance between you.

The office cleared out hours ago, so don't protest when his touches start to wander into dangerous places. You hadn't seen him all week and missed his touch. That night, you let him fuck you against the cool window of the 15th floor of the office building.

You were lucky to have had such a good night because when you go into the office the next morning, you're getting your ass kicked left and right. Mark didn't show up today, and since it was the last day of the project, you would have to present it to your higher-ups alone. You had arrived later than normal, so you only had an hour before the presentation to learn his cue cards. You were able to just barely pull it together in time, and when you finish your presentation, the room gives you a round of applause. The higher-ups had heard you were pulling double the weight as your partner was absent, and they were impressed by your ability to adapt to the situation. Your boss commended you for once as you made your way out of the conference room.

"You did amazing! I was really impressed by your presentation. It's a shame Mark couldn't make it today. I wish him a speedy recovery," your boss Sunhee said sincerely.

The last comment really piqued your interest. You were so busy scrambling around the office that morning that you didn't get the chance to ask why Mark was a no-show.

"Now that you mention it, I never got the chance to call him today. What happened?" Your brows knit up in concern.

"You didn't hear? He broke his leg. He said on the way to work this morning, as he was coming up the stairs of his apartment, his foot got caught in something and he fell. Lucky it was just his leg; it could have been his neck!" Your boss exclaims

You shudder at the image in your head and shake it away. "I'll have to visit him after work; he did so much for the project; he was the perfect partner." You bid your boss farewell and go to your desk.

The presentation was the only thing you had scheduled today, so you were packing up to go home. You spot Jaemin a few feet over, watching you from the vending machine. He hadn't said a word to you all day. You chalk it up to the fact that you were busy running around all day, so you walk over to him to update him on the presentation.

"Hey Jaem! Guess what? The presentation went well. It's a bummer though, that Mark couldn't make it today. They say he's going to be out for a broken leg," you say a bit solemnly.

The fact that he showed no sign of worry or surprise should have raised a few flags, but it didn't, because soon he'll be flashing you that award-winning smile and praising you for your hard work. It's almost like he didn't hear the last part.

"That's wonderful, baby! I'm so proud! We should go celebrate tonight," he says, raising a suggestive brow. You can't help but bite your lip in excitement. Your face lit up at the proposition but soon fell once you remembered you had already told Mark you were coming over.

"Im sorry babe! I would love to, but I forgot I had to stop by Marks. I need to check up on him. It's the least I could do after all the hard work he put into the project." You pouted at him.

Just for a second, you see unrecognizable emotion flash in his eyes, but just as quick as it came, it was gone, replaced with another warm smile.

"Should I drop you off then?" he asks sweetly.

"No, it's ok; I'm not sure how long I’ll be over there; I don't want you waiting up," you assure him.

This seems to trigger something in Jaemin, because next thing you know, he's grabbing your arm and dragging you to the old stairwell. It is currently under renovation, so no one comes out that way. You struggle to keep up, and his grip gets increasingly tighter until you yank yourself free from his grasp once you make it into the stairwell. He closes the door behind him and slams you against it; he's in your face now, the wild look from earlier returning full force. You can easily identify it this time.

Jealousy

"I thought you said you didn't like him, huh? Are you lying to me now, baby? You know, I don't like liars," he growls while maintaining eye contact.

"Jaemin, chill out. What's your fucking issue? The poor guy broke his leg!" you snap.

"So why do you need to be over there all night? Why can't I come pick you up? What are you hiding?"

"He's injured, Jaem! He probably hasn't been able to move around a lot. Who knows how much stuff he needs to get done? I'm just going to help out!"

"I don't give a fuck about his leg! He can fall off a bridge for all I care! I hate the way he looks at you; that's what he gets!" He snaps back before he can stop himself.

You were shocked. You had never seen Jaemin as anything less than a sweet man who knew only how to smile. This Jaemin is completely new to you. You push him away and stare at him in horror.

"Have you lost your fucking mind? Who do you think you are? There is nothing between me and him, and there's DEFINITELY nothing between me and you! You're just a good fuck, or did you forget that's all I signed up for?" you state harshly. You take a deep breath before you continue. "We need some time apart; I think you're forgetting yourself," you say composedly before walking back into the main hall.

Jaemin is left alone in the dark stairwell. On the outside, he's cool and collected again, but on the inside, a war is raging, and there's no way he would ever let you walk away from him again.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡

A few days have passed, and you see less and less of Jaemin around the office. Mark is still bedridden, and you stop by on your off days to check up on him. You used to go at night after work, returning home late. Some days you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up; it was almost like someone was watching you.

One night, on your walk home after bringing Mark some leftovers, you could have sworn you heard the shutter of a camera. You didn't want to freak yourself out, so you tried your best to rationalize it. You ignored it, hoping that your mind was playing tricks on you, but after another 10 minutes of walking, you could hear the soft thud of footsteps. You had finally summoned up enough courage to check behind your shoulder, but no one was there. You ran the rest of the way home and made sure to lock your doors and windows. You were so spooked that you even checked under the bed, still jumping onto it anyway, afraid someone might grab your ankle.

Since then, you have decided to visit Mark only during the day.

You wish you could say it ended there, but other strange things have happened since then. You noticed while doing laundry that a few of your favorite pairs of underwear were missing, and you also noticed your things moved just slightly off center from how you usually leave them. You're so shaken up that you hardly want to return home.

Today, when you go into work, you see a small teddy bear with a card attached that reads "I'm beary sorry," with a little sad face drawn next to it. Before you can even cringe at the pun, Jaemin pops out in front of you with an even bigger bear in front of his face.

"I'm beary sorry," he says as he tries his best to mimic the voice of a cartoon bear, moving the bear like a puppeteer. "Will you forgive me? I can't bear to be without you," he pouts as he reveals his handsome face from behind the plushy.

"Oh my god, Jaemin," You groan, "only if you promise to knock it off with the bear puns."

He smiles slightly before taking on a slightly more serious look. "Can we please talk? I really want to apologize."

You sigh and snatch the bigger bear from his arms, saying, "Fine, but make it quick. Also get rid of these; I don't want people getting the wrong idea," you whisper.

Jaemin smiles triumphantly as he looks for a place to shove the gifts. The last thing you needed was even more drama and gossip going around. You already had to deal with the whispers about how Jaemin always ate lunch with you. The last thing you needed was every girl in the office ripping you to shreds over him.

"Join me for dinner?" he says hopefully.

Alright, fine, but pick me up at 7. You demand.

"Of course, make sure you wear that dress that I like," he jokes.

"Depending on how much you grovel, I might let you take it off of me tonight," you say, eyeing him mischievously.

You can't help it; it's been too long since you felt his touch, and the quick glances that you steal whenever you think he's not looking aren't enough to satisfy you anymore. Sure, he was an asshole, but he was a sexy one who knew how to push your buttons. It's like he knows his effect on you. One day he's wearing his white button-down with the collar undone and his sleeves rolled up, revealing his toned arm. The same toned arms that used to pin you down on the bed while he fucks you from behind, or the same arms that show no signs of struggle as he hoists you up onto his hips and fucks you against the wall. He was driving you insane! You were supposed to be angry at him for being a rude, inconsiderate, jealous jerk, not fantasizing about him fucking you against every desk in the office. You mentally apologize to Mark for being so weak and try to reason with yourself. This could be a good thing; if you went over to Jaemin's house tonight, you wouldn't have to worry about sleeping alone in the dark, scary house that you once found comfort in.

Dinner with Jaemin is wonderful. He apologizes 100 times over for stepping out of line and also admits he was jealous. He had said that he was just being insecure; he was afraid you had found someone who could make you feel better. He explained that he was stressed more than usual; his grandfather had kept pestering him about taking on a more active role in the company because one day Jaemin was to take over as CEO.

You couldn't find it in yourself to be upset at him. You knew how it felt to have the higher-ups breathing down your neck. He was just stressed; he was having an off day. The Jaemin you knew would never say something so heartless.

After dinner, you hold steady to your promise, and Jaemin takes off your designer dress the moment you step foot through the door of his rooftop condo. His lips were stealing every little bit of air that you had left in your lungs as you both undressed each other, leaving a trail of clothes behind you as you tried to make it to his bedroom.

"I missed you so much doll," he barely manages to say between kisses.

You return his fever and trail your lips down his neck, sucking and biting as you go. He's quick to lift you up with his strong arms, and you take this as a signal to wrap your legs around his waist. He sits with you on his lap at the edge of the bed. You push him until he's lying flat, and you take a moment to look into his eyes. His eyelids are heavy with lust, and he is sporting a lazy smile.

In your haste, you only partially managed to unbutton his shirt. His chest was on full display now, and you groaned at the sight of his thick muscles. You could almost cuff him on the spot. How could a man look so delectable? You wanted nothing more than to bury your face in his chest, so you did. You leave bruises and kisses in your wake as you dot his chest with affection. Your kisses trail lower and lower, but your plan to choke on his cock is foiled as he grabs your face in his hands, bringing you back up to face him. He pecks you on the lips a few times, a little too lovingly for a more sober you, but you're so drunk off of his kisses and touches that you don't even care.

"Nuh uh doll," Jaemin tuts, "tonight is about you. Lay back and let me take care of you."

You mindlessly nod, lying in the center of the bed, unable to break eye contact, like you're under some spell.

He helps you peel the rest of your clothes off and wraps your legs around his shoulders. He takes your hand and rests it in his hair.

"I'm not gonna let up on you tonight, so pull all you want baby," he says alluringly.

His once doe-like eyes are sharp like a siren now. He draws you further under his hypnosis, kissing and biting up and down your thighs teasingly. You would be surprised if you hadn't already soaked through his expensive silk sheets. You pull harshly at his hair as a warning to stop his teasing and do something. He chuckles at your eagerness but keeps true to his word.

Tonight was about you, so when he dove in, he made sure to eat it like it was his last meal on earth. The noises that came from his mouth were filthy as he sloppily licked and sucked at your folds. He had just started, and he was already pussy drunk. He didn't even realize how loud he was moaning into you or how desperately he was grinding into the mattress below him. You tighten your thighs around his head and grind into his mouth. In response, Jaemin sticks his tongue out for you to ride. You fuck his face until your thighs are shaking and his face is slick with your juices. Jaemin backs away enough to push his middle and ring fingers into your slick-covered heat, only returning to suck on your clit harshly.

You're losing your mind just from his tongue alone. You don't think you can go back to regular life without riding this face. It doesn't take long for you to cum all his digits, and you can barely bring yourself back down to earth before he's shoving his soiled fingers into your mouth and lining himself up with your entrance. He slides in easily and fucks you like it was the first time. His head is thrown back, and he can barely contain his groans. You almost wonder if he's even touched himself while you two were apart. The way he desperately fucks into you, pinning you down like you would run away from him, stealing his long-awaited orgasm, you wouldn't put it past him. He fucks you so deep that it has you seeing starts. You grab and tug at his hair and use the last bit of your strength to try to meet his thrusts.

"Come on pretty boy, let go and make a mess of me," you pant.

You try to hold on; you want to cum together, but you can't help it when your walls tighten around him, signaling your second orgasm. Jaemin is finishing soon too, after a few more deep thrusts. He shoves his face into your neck when he releases inside of you, his hips stuttering to a stop. You both take a moment to catch your breath. He soon rolls off of you and takes another moment to recoup before he gets up to pamper you. He runs you both a bath, and while you're getting settled in, he changes the sheets and then joins you in the tub. After cleaning up, you both head to bed, unable to fight off sleep any longer.

Just before you could enter into a deep sleep, you swore you saw the bright teal color of your favorite pair of lace panties sticking out of one of his drawers.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡

The next morning, you awake to the smell of breakfast. Your eyes naturally fall to the same drawer you spotted last night, but there was no sign of your panties. Maybe you just dreamt that you saw them. You push the thought to the back of your mind, and you get up to find Jaemin in the kitchen, already dressed for work.

"Hurry up and get dressed or we're going to be late," He reminds you, mouth full of food.

"Ugh, can't we call in?" You groan as you pick off some bacon from the arrangement of food on the dinner table.

"And ruin your perfect attendance? No way sweetheart, come on." He insists

You go get dressed and meet him back out to finish breakfast. You two head into the office together but part ways after you exit the elevator. You're walking to your desk when your boss pulls you to the side.

"Hey, I hate to ask you for so many favors, but I need your help," she pleads. "Since Mark is out sick, our new hire orientation team is short a member," she pouts.

You already knew where this was going. Even though Mark was a part of the finance department, he would occasionally help out the hiring department since they were always shortstaffed. He's good friends with Doyoung, the lead hiring manager, and has agreed to be one of his orientation leaders from time to time.

"No ma’am, get somebody else to do it," you whine as you try to walk away.

The main reason why the OLs were always short-staffed was because everyone hated training the new hires. With a billion-dollar company such as this one, you would think they would hire a proper team to train the new people, but instead they resort to pulling people away from other departments and making them help out. Orientation leaders were always behind on deadlines because orientation lasted a week, and there's virtually no time to work on any assignments when you have to watch the newbies. After a week, the new hires are then sorted out into their own departments for their department leads to babysit.

"I'll add extra vacation time. Come on, I'll only assign you one guy!" Your manager tries again, hot on your heels.

You sigh; extra vacation time does sound like a steal. "Fine, I'll do it."

"Great! I'll bring him to you later for introductions," your manager says as she clasps her hands together in joy.

You settle in at your desk and boot up your laptop. After a few moments, you notice a figure looming over you. You peek up and meet eyes with Adonis reincarnate.

"Hello, I'm sorry, I was trying to peek at your name plate. Are you Y/N?" The handsome stranger asks

"I can be whatever you want me to be." You almost spilled. You scramble to your feet and offer him your hand in a handshake. "Yes, that's me, and you are?" you inquired nervously.

"Jaehyun," he adds. "It's nice to meet you; will you be showing me around for the week?"

You nod first before tripping over your words to add an overly enthusiastic "yes". Jaehyun chuckles at your antics, and you can't help but notice his cute dimples.

Maybe something good did come out of Mark breaking his leg. You would get to work closely with this literal god of a man. You could hear the ladies around the office complaining in jealousy at your luck already.

Unbeknownst to you, Jaemin is watching the entire exchange from across the room, eyes cold and jaw tense, snapping a pen between his fingers as his grip tightens.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡

It's day 3 of orientation week for Jaehyun, and by now you two have already grown close. Casually making jokes between the two of you, Going out to eat lunch together and exchanging phone numbers. You barely even spared Jaemin a glance, and when he asked you to accompany him to dinner after work, you made excuses that you were too tired from juggling orientation and your own projects, but Jaemin could tell it was a lie. Jaehyun isn't as incompetent as the other new hires and doesn't need much help when it comes to doing the tasks he's given. You just hover over him because you like his company and his handsome face. You could have finished multiple projects by now if you weren't glued to Jaehyun's side. Jaemin is no fool. Maybe you didn't have a thing for Mark, but you definitely had a thing for Jaehyun, and whatever it was that you were feeling, he was going to crush it.

The next day you go into work, you're not greeted by Jaehyun's smiley dimples. You try to call him, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. You decide to ask around the office to see if anyone has seen him, and you are met with devastating news.

"Haven't you heard? Jaehyun got into a car crash after work yesterday. They had to rush him to the hospital." Your coworker says it mournfully, her face pale.

"Is.....he ok?" You are almost scared to even ask.

"He's stable now, but it was pretty bad," your coworker Yena adds.

You finish up your chat with Yena. You get all the details of what happened and decide to visit him after work.

You run into Jaemin in the hallway. He looks as cheerful as ever. There's no way he hadn't heard the news yet.

"Why the long face beautiful?" he inquired when he noticed your deep frown and somber attitude.

"Jaehyun was hurt really badly yesterday; I don't think he will be able to return to work anytime soon," you say dejectedly.

Jaemin knows not to make the same mistake twice; he puts on his best worried look and tries his best to comfort you.

"I'm sorry doll; I knew how close you were with him. How about I drop you off after work to visit him?" Jaemin adds

You're surprised by Jaemin's reaction; this was a complete 180 from how he reacted last time you showed concern for a male coworker. Maybe he was telling the truth; maybe it was just stress last time. You grin up at him and agree to wait for him after work.

After work, you wait at the front of the building for Jaemin to pull his car around. You're waiting patiently when a Bugatti parks in front of you. You pay it no mind as you wait for Jaemin to pull up in his bentley. The driver rolls down the passenger window, and you meet face-to-face with Jaemin.

"What are you doing?" he laughs.

You hesitantly approach the car in confusion. "Jaem, you got a new car?"

"It's not new; it's just not one of my favorites," he shrugs, pressing a button for the passenger side to open, revealing the butterfly doors. You get in and can't shake the unsettling feeling in your chest.

"Jaem… Where's your bentley?" You try your best to sound as normal as possible, but your mind is running a mile a minute.

"It's in the shop; the transmission was fucked. Why? Did you like it that much?" he teases.

"Yeah, it was... It was my favorite," you try to tease back, but can't help but grow silent, letting the music fill in for the missing conversation.

After a 15-minute drive, he drops you off at the hospital. You tell him you'll catch a cab home and kiss him goodbye; he doesn't put up a fight and pulls off. As soon as his car leaves your sight, you rush into the hospital. You ask the nurse at the front desk for the room number and make your way through the hospital. You approach the room and stop to catch your breath. You peek in through the small window and see that Jaehyun is awake. You knock gently before letting yourself in; he turns to see who it was that was coming to visit and immediately freezes once his eyes land on you.

You smile at him. "How are you?"

"Don't talk to me!" he yells.

"Wha-jaehyun, it's me?"

"You can't be here; you need to go now!"

"I just came to see if you were okay."

"I'll be better once you're gone! I don't want to see you anymore!" he shouts.

The noise alerts a nearby nurse. The nurse enters the room and, upon seeing you, escorts you out, saying, "I'm sorry, but you're upsetting the patient; you need to leave."

Just before she can drag you out of the room completely, you lock eyes with Jaehyun one last time. His eyes are filled with terror. You left confused and hurt. You thought Jaehyun was your friend; what could have gotten into him? Every memory from the past couple of months comes rushing back to you as you try to piece everything together.

You flirt with Mark, and he ends up with a broken leg.

Stuff begins to go missing around the house.

You always feel like someone is watching you.

You form a friendship with Jaehyun, and he ends up in the hospital.

All of this, and now Jaemin's car is in the shop right after Jaehyun ends up in a car crash? It just isn't adding up.

You wish you could talk to Jaehyun to find out more, but you don't want to upset him. There is one person you could talk to, though.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡

You're paranoid when you finally flag down a cab. What if he was watching you? What if you get to Mark's place and find out something terrible has happened? The drive is short, and when you get out of the cab, you rush up the stairs to mark the apartment. It had been awhile since you last spoke with Mark; you were too caught up in work to visit him anymore. You pray that he's alright as you bang on his door, shouting for him to answer. You didn't want to cause a scene, but as each second passed, you grew more and more desperate, and thoughts of the worst-case scenario tormented you.

You had been losing everyone you cared about recently, and the one person you thought you could trust seemed to be hiding more secrets from you, maybe even living a double life. Your banging slows as you fall to your knees in tears.

"Please mark. Please be okay," you whisper as you try to fight back sobs. After a few more moments, you hear the door unlock quickly, and Mark pulls the door open.

"Jesus, give a guy a minute; you know my leg is broken," he scolds before he looks down and sees you a crying mess on his doormat.

"Dude… What's going on?" he asks.

You pull yourself together and enter his apartment, quickly shutting the door behind you. You engulf him in a tight hug as soon as you're in the privacy of his home.

"Dude, are you like... okay?" He asks as he awkwardly pats your back.

You hiccup into his chest and pull away.

"I'm fine; I just really needed to check up on you." You give him your best smile, your lips still trembling as you try to quiet your sobs. "I need to talk to you about something."

You fill Mark in on everything that's been happening at work since he's been gone. You tell him about Jaehyun, and you tell him about Jaemin's weird behavior. You ask Mark if Jaemin had ever done or said something to him that would have set off any red flags. He racks his brain for a few moments until a light bulb goes off.

"You know what? A couple days before I broke my leg, I ran into Jaemin in the coffee room. We just started making small talk. He was pleasant at first, but then he started asking questions about our project, how often I see you, and if I had ever been over to your house. He even asked what our relationship was," Mark finishes.

You both stare at each other, your blood running cold.

"You don't think he's the reason..." Mark hesitates.

"Mark, you need to be careful, ok? I don't think anyone was following me when I came here, but please watch your back, ok?" You shakily exhale.

"Alright, you too. If it makes you feel any better, I don't think he will hurt you." Mark tries to console you.

You're not afraid of Jaemin. You know he would never hurt you; you can tell he loves you in his own sick, twisted way, but you are afraid of what Jaemin will do to others.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

You returned from Mark's house that night with a new resolve. You had to get more evidence. You needed to prove that Jaemin was really behind all of this, but you needed a way to get into the house to snoop around to do that. There's no way you could sneak in; his security was too tight, and you had to find a way for him to let you in. The only problem with that was that whenever you two were together, he wouldn't take his eyes off of you. You wracked your brain all night until you came up with a not-so-solid plan. You were going to have to wing it, but you prayed that you could pull it off.

You finish your work week without a hitch. You keep up an act around Jaemin, not wanting him to catch on to the fact that you're suspecting him. He asks you out on a date on Saturday. This was perfect. This was the exact opportunity you had been waiting for. When Saturday comes, Jaemin takes you shopping. He buys you all sorts of things—practically anything you lay eyes on.

"Jaem, where am I even going to put all this stuff?" you chastise him. "I don't need all of this," you tell him after you two have left the fifth shop that day.

He kisses you softly on the cheek. "Won't you let me spoil you? Come on, who knows? You may need this stuff one day! And you can store it at my house!" He raises his eyebrows at you, challenging you to rebut his logic.

You look into his eyes, and a part of you wants so hard to believe that this was Jaemin and that there was no sinister Jaemin lurking behind those pretty eyes of his.

"Yea, but come on, Jaem, a flat screen? Since when do fuck buddies drop a band on each other?" You raise an eyebrow to match him.

"Well, call me your sugar daddy then~" he coos, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"Gross, get away from me, old man," you say, pushing him away. You know you're on a mission, but you can't help but fall back into the normal swing of things with him.

You arrive back at his house, and he has the concierge bring up the bags. Jaemin sets the things down in another room down the hall. When he returns to the living room, you're nowhere to be seen. He travels the short distance back to his room, and he sees you dressed down to your lace set sitting prettily on his bed.

"Whats this?" He licks his lips.

"I want to say thank you. For today." You look away in embarrassment. To him, it looks like you're just turning shy under his gaze, but In reality, you're scanning his room for clues.

"So polite baby," he whispers as he closes in on you. You hold out a hand in front of you, effectively making him stop. He leans into your palm, and you have to fight the urge to caress his chest. He takes a small step forward, your hand still on his chest, and he smirks and quirks a brow. It's almost like he's telling you that you can't do anything that he doesn't allow. He doesn't stop because you made him; he stops because he decided to.

"Let me take care of you tonight, Jaem," you sigh airily, sitting up onto your knees to meet his eyes.

He leans in further for a slow kiss. His hands caress your body, drinking you up. You pull away after a few moments and give him your best puppy eyes. He studies you for a few seconds before relenting as he sits beside you on the bed. You climb onto his lap, and you undress him. Pushing him back into the mattress and worshiping his body. There are moments when you think he's going to try and take back control, but that just won't do.

You need him to submit.

You pull his hair harshly and whisper into his ear. "If you're not gonna be a good boy, I won't touch you. Don't you want to be good for me?"

He looks up at you with doe eyes and spit-glossed lips as he nods. That's all he's ever wanted; he needs to be good for you. His breathing shallows, and you know you've got him right where you want him.

Your plan is to wear him out. You're gonna have to pull as many orgasms from him as possible so that you can put him straight to sleep. Call this pussy nyquil. You start off by making him cum down your throat. You were sitting on his face as you sucked him off; he loved this position because he got to smother himself in your pussy, so it didn't take him long to finish. Next, you pulled out a few toys and ordered him to use them to fuck himself. You held one of his fleshlights just a few inches above his length, making him work for his release. He whined each time you would tease him and pull the toy away before he could bury himself to the hilt in it. He was looking at you with those pretty eyes and batting those long lashes up at you, begging you to give him what he wanted, so who were you to deny him? You were gonna give it to him, alright? Over and over and over again. You fuck the toy down on him harshly, and he freezes, letting his back arch in pleasure as you fuck him.

"Did I tell you to stop? Fuck," you command simply.

He resumed his movements not a minute later, meeting you thrust for thrust. His head is thrown back as he cums deep inside the toy, his legs shaking and his chest heaving.

"No break?" he heaves, trying to catch his break.

"No break," you confirm as you swing a leg over his lap and sit on this length. "But you can handle it, can't you?"

When Jaemin nods in confirmation, you ride him until he's crying. He can't control his hands anymore, and they find purchase on your hips, gripping the flesh as he bites his plump bottom lip, tears staining his cheeks as he calls your name over and over.

"That's it baby,almost there?" you ask, grabbing his face and making him look at you. His lips begin to tremble again, and he releases deep inside of you without warning. He really wanted to tell you, but his brain was fried.

That's exactly what you needed.

"Lay down, baby; I'll clean you up, ok?" You say this as you stroke his face.

He tries to fight to stay awake, but soon enough, he's out like a light. You wait a few minutes for his breathing to even out, then you spring into action. You gently crawl off the bed and gather your clothes, throwing them on. You go to the bathroom, grab a towel, and wet it so that when you return, you can just pretend like you left to find a rag. You begin searching the house for anything that can clear the thoughts in your head.

If you find nothing, you agree to drop it all and just go back to normal. Maybe Mark really did trip, and Jaehyun was just being an asshole for no reason. If you did find evidence, though, you would confront him. You wanted to turn him over to the police, but you knew that with all the connections he had, he would be right back out in a day. Your best bet is to confront him so he doesn't feel betrayed. You don't want him to act irrationally.

The kitchen is clear, so you move on to the living room; nothing stands out. Next was the bathroom; again, nothing. You were growing frustrated. You check the spare bedroom, the one where he put all of your things. It's set up pretty nicely. There is a huge bed in the center of the room and a huge window that overlooks the city. There's an attached bathroom and even a small fridge. All of your things are laid out around the room. You wonder if this room is specifically for you. Maybe somewhere for you to hang out whenever you come over? You don't dwell on it too much and move to the master bedroom.

You quietly check to see if Jaemin is still sleeping. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, so you continue your search. You check under the bed and then the closet. You scour the shelves when something sticks out to you. It's a medium-sized box with your initials on it. You try to pull it down from the back of the shelf and clumsily stumble backwards, dropping the box in the process. It falls with a loud thud, the lid pops off, and all of its continents spill out onto the dark closet floor. You scrambled in the darkness to put everything back, but you couldn't see a thing. You're grabbing anything you can feel when the light flickers on. Jaemin doesn't say anything at first; he just watches you. When he notices what you're holding, he speaks.

"What are you doing?" Jaemin says it coldly.

Try to respond, but there's nothing you can think of to explain yourself. You take a look around you; now that the light is on, you can finally see the contents of the box as they lay spread across the floor. Photos of you from different angles, different days, and different locations All of which you had no recognition of. Among the photos, you see your missing underwear. You finally looked down to see what you were holding, and it was another photo. This one was taken directly over you as you slept in your bed at home.

"Jaemin…..what is all of this?" You shakily ask, barely able to meet his cold gaze.

He lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head.

"You weren't meant to see those pretty. Why did you have to go and ruin everything? Every time something is going great between us, you have to ruin it." He lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head.

The next thing you know, the room is covered in darkness again.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦

3 months later

Finally, after months of recovery, Mark's leg finally healed up, and he's able to return to work. He hasn't heard from you since the night you told him everything. He had been lying low, like you asked. He hopes that now that he's returning to work, he can get some more information about your whereabouts. He was greeted by the entire staff when he arrived, even a few new faces he didn't recognize. A party was thrown to welcome him back. He doesn't catch sight of you or Jaemin during the office get-together. He begins to worry, but everyone seems to be acting normal, so nothing terrible could have happened to you, right? As the day progresses, he's introduced to the new people in his department, one of whom is Jaehyun. Mark remembers you mentioning that name the last time he saw you. During lunch, Mark finds Jaehyun and asks to speak with him in private. They go to the stairwell, which has now been fully renovated.

"Hey man, by any chance do you know y/n?" Mark questions carefully.

"Yeah, she showed me around for my first two days," Jaehyun answers collectively.

"Why only the first two?" Mark asked even though he already knew the answer.

"I got hurt pretty bad in a car accident," Jaehyun says with slight unease.

"You know something similar happened to me after meeting her as well. I fell down the stairs and broke my leg after working with her for a few days," Mark said, gauging Jaehyun's reactions.

Jaehyun sighs in irritation before meeting Mark's eyes. sternly, "Look man, I don't know what you're insinuating, but it was just an accident. Leave it alone."

"Dude, I think something happened to her. I asked her manager, and they said she quit after not showing up to work for a week! That doesn't sound like her at all!" Mark argues back desperately.

Jaehyun grabs Mark's shoulder and pulls him in closer before looking over his shoulder. "drop it. You don't know what you're up against; just let it go; it's better that way." Jaehyun lets go of Mark to push past him, exiting the stairwell.

Mark can't let it go! He needs to know what happened to you. It's the least he can do for all the times you used to visit him, so he asked around, and he found out that Jaemin also left his department about a month ago. They said he got a promotion and is now working from home.

Mark takes it upon himself to pay him a visit after work.

When he arrives, his heart is beating out of his chest, and he can just feel it in his bones that something is not right. He knocks, and after a few moments, Jaemin opens the door.

"I see your legs better." Jaemin doesn't even bother with a hello.

"Yeah, thankfully," Mark replies, trying to keep up the formalities. "I'm back at work now, but I didn't see Y/N today? Have you guys spoken recently?"

"No I'm sorry; the last I heard from her was after she put in her two weeks." Jaemin replies nonchalantly.

"Bummer. Mind if I come in? I’d like to catch up with you." Mark knows it's no use but decides to take the chance anyway.

"Actually," Jaemin looks behind his shoulder, "right now isn't a good time. I'm sorry."

"It's ok, man, no problem. I'll be seeing you around." Mark waves as he bids Jaemin a polite goodbye.

Jaemin doesn't respond; he doesn't like the idea of running into Mark again and just watches as he retreats back down the hall.

Mark knows Jaemin is hiding something, and he was going to find out.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆

Jaemin shuts the door and locks it. He turns and heads down the hall towards your room. He unlocks the door from the outside and steps in. You're lying on the bed, reading manga. This was just one of the ways you spent your free time in your little makeshift prison. It seems like you really did need all that stuff he bought you on that Saturday all those months ago. Jaemin had this room fully furnished for you; the closet was stocked with all your clothes and more, and The fridge was full of your favorite foods and desserts. He had taken care of your lease at your old place and ended it. You don't need that anymore. The smart TV was now mounted on the wall, but you had already watched half of Netflix’s catalog by now. You have a nice view from your room. Jaemin allows some form of sunlight, but he had the windows altered so they don't open or break. You spend your time reading books. playing games or drawing. Jaemin spends a lot of time with you as well, but you still won't look at him.

"You had a visitor today; Mark came looking for you." Jaemin tells you casually, like he was just mentioning the weather.

This was the first time in 3 months that you looked at him for more than 5 seconds. Your eyes are hopeful as you sit up in bed.

"It seems like that caught your attention," he says humorlessly.

"Please don't hurt him, Jaem; he has nothing to do with this."

"I won't hurt him; I know how much you care for him. The same goes for Jaehyun. I love you, so I would never do anything to hurt you or make you sad," he pouts for the theatrics. "I just want you to love me back. You don't love me now, but time fixes everything. Until that day comes, you’ll be stuck in this room with me."

He's right in front of you now, softly stroking your hair as he smiles reassuringly at you. You want to move away from his touch, but his other hand comes up to grip your face, holding you in place. He lays a firm kiss on your lips, and this time you retaliate. You bite his lip hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn't pull away. He takes it. He smears his blood-covered mouth against yours and laughs as you whine in protest. Jaemin finally pulls away.

"Hurt me all you want; you're still mine."

You think he looks psychotic as he's standing in front of you, but even now, as blood trickles down his chin, you think his smile is still dazzling.

Maybe he's already destroyed you.

#jaemin smut #jaemin x reader #jaemin scenarios #jaemin fic #jaemin #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream smut #nct dream scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct fic #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #nct

1K notes · View notes

python333 · 11 months ago

Text

soft spot — python333

— — — —

synopsis you've been having a bad day, and ghost feels like being extra nice to you. plot twist you're an age regressor and him being so nice is NOT helping.

relationships platonic agere cg!ghost & gn little!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 6.7k.

warnings a victorious reference, age regressor reader, usage of c/n [call sign/code name], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself]

note please feel free to attack me as much as you want if this is inaccurate. i don't even care if it's not constructive criticism. i am begging for everyone's thoughts and opinions on this!! this is also the longest oneshot i think i've ever written!

“Having fun there?”

You turn in your seat and find Ghost leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and one eye slightly wider than the other—an indication that his eyebrow is raised.

“Not really,” You answer, setting down your gun. You’d been disassembling it, trying to take your mind off of the slowly growing headache that’s been building up for the past few hours. You don’t think it’s a migraine or anything, but it still bothers you greatly.

“Yeah, no, I can tell,” Ghost chuckles, pushing himself off of the door frame and walking over to you. He eyes your gun for a moment, the magazine already removed as well as any live rounds left in the rifle ejected, and the bolt locked to the rear. You were only maybe a quarter of the way through your disassembly, even though you started around thirty minutes ago.

For some reason, you woke up upset today. You were too tired, you felt awfully sluggish, and there was a throbbing pain clustered in the back of your eyebrows. So, in short—you were reasonably very upset. It showed visibly in the way your eyes twitched every so often, and in the way you felt the need to pinch the bridge of your nose to distract you from the pain that was still building up behind your brows.

“What’s going on?” He asks, leaning on the table.

“I have this headache that won’t go away,” You respond, sighing as you move your gaze from your gun to Ghost. You can barely see it, but from his eyes you can tell that his face scrunches up beneath his mask. He knows a thing or two about bad headaches, being someone who frequently gets migraines himself.

“Have you taken any meds for it?” You shake your head ‘no’. Ghost holds up a single finger in a ‘one moment’ motion and rummages through the pockets on his tactical vest for a moment, before he pulls out a small bottle of ibuprofen no bigger than his palm. He hands it to you.

“Here.” You blink at it for a moment.

“Thanks,” You take the bottle gingerly and Ghost nods, watching you as you struggle with the child-proof lid for a second before getting it open. You shake out a small tablet, one the size of a low-dosage aspirin, and pop it into your mouth. You don’t have much of an issue dry-swallowing it, and it only takes one attempt before you successfully swallow the tablet.

“You’ve been feeling pretty bad this whole week, haven’t you?” Ghost frowns underneath his mask.

You think for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I guess. I think it’s mostly just stress.”

You know it’s not just stress.

For a while now, you’ve used something called ‘age regression’ as a form of stress relief. You don’t know exactly when it started, but you do know that it was before you were recruited for the 141. And originally, you made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t regress while on base, and you kept that promise for maybe a month before you broke it.

You think it was Ghost that was the trigger, actually. You can vividly remember the first time you regressed while on base; you had just finished talking to Ghost, and he called you something—you think he called you something similar to ‘kid’—that made a flip in your mind switch immediately. You can remember excusing yourself from the conversation quickly, leaving your lieutenant slightly confused but otherwise unbothered by the strange action.

And, worst of all, you can remember being in your quarters and practically burrowing under your blankets. You were curled up into a fetal position, trying to fight the urge to suck on your thumb or at least chew on something, but ultimately lost the fight and succumbed to your urges. You spent maybe a few hours like that, wide awake when you just wanted to try and sleep it away, thinking about that interaction you had with Ghost over and over again.

You’re not stupid. You know that Ghost has some sort of soft spot for you—albeit, you don’t know exactly how soft that soft spot is, but it’s definitely soft. Soft enough that he goes the tiniest bit easier on you compared to other recruits, soft enough that he spares you more time than he does for others, and the most obvious of all—he initiates most of your conversations.

Contrary to popular belief, he’s not the scary super-soldier most people think of him as. Sure, maybe he is kind of scary, and maybe his mask does jumpscare you when you’re doing missions in particularly dark spaces sometimes, but other than that he’s not scary in the slightest. If anything, he’s awkward. Awkward enough that he’s almost never the first person to talk to someone—except for you, of course. You don’t know why he acts so differently around you, but you don’t complain about it.

“That’s rough,” Ghost looks down at you with concerned, empathetic eyes, “Sorry you’re so stressed. Mind me askin’ why?”

“I don’t, but I also don’t know why I’m so stressed,” You huff out, even though you know the answer completely. You stand up, “I think it’s just me being sleep deprived. I’ve been having the tiniest bit of trouble falling asleep lately.”

“You should’ve told me earlier,” Ghost tuts, “I have melatonin.”

You give him a confused look. “You do?”

“‘Course I do.”

You blink at him for a moment before sighing, “Could I have some then?”

“What’s the magic word?” You give him an unimpressed look, ignoring the way the words make your stomach twist, and his eyes crinkle in a way that lets you know that he’s grinning under his mask.

“Could I please have some melatonin?”

“The magic word was lotion, but I’ll let it slide,” Ghost hums, “There’s some in my office. I’ll grab it for you later.”

“M’kay,” You look over at the door, unintentionally zoning out as you do. Your vision goes unfocused as the throbbing pain behind your eyebrows grows and something else grows inside of you.

Jesus. Why can’t you choose any other time to get the urge to slip into a younger mentality? Why does your headache have to make everything worse for you? Why does Ghost have to be so nice and helpful?

“Hey,” Ghost frowns, tapping a finger on your shoulder to snap you out of whatever trance you’re in, “[c/n]?”

Oh God.

Your eyes—that you try desperately to keep neutral—meet Ghost’s, his eyes soft and his eyebrows dipped downwards in a confused manner. His eyes are searching, flitting over you, trying to find something. The way he looks at you makes you want to squirm, and you can’t help but just slightly shuffle in place.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, voice as concerned as his look. That should be the breaking point for you, but you remain as big as you can be, and nod affirmatively.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You try to assure him, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel, “I think I’m just a little tired.”

Ghost doesn’t look convinced.

He puts a hand on your shoulder, the act like a hammer putting another dent in the wall you had put up. The leather of his glove is warm even through the thick material of your shirt, and it feels like hot metal against your cold skin, the clothing covering your shoulder be damned.

“You can tell me if you’re not okay,” He tells you—what is he doing? Does he know something I don’t?—while his thumb starts rubbing circles into your shoulder, “I feel like you’re more than a little tired.”

You stay silent for a little bit. You don’t know how to explain yourself, the words seeming to liquify and leak right out of you, making you speechless. He seems to notice this, sighing and letting his hand slip down to your hand, holding it and giving it a quick squeeze.

“I think,” He looks around for a moment before turning back to you, “that we should head to my office so that nobody can bother us, and then you can tell me all about how you’re feeling right now. Does that sound okay?”

You nod wordlessly, not trusting yourself to talk with how heavy your tongue feels, and you let Ghost lead you back to his office. It’s only a hallway away, but that’s still enough time to overthink everything that could possibly happen. How does he know something’s wrong? What gave it away? Did I do something bad? What did I do? Wh—

The creak of his office door opening snaps you out of your thoughts, and Ghost steps aside to let you enter his office first. Hesitantly, you take a few steps inside, and you hear the door click shut behind you as Ghost walks in. He takes your hand again, making you look at him as he guides you to a chair.

You sit in the chair that’s in front of his desk, and he quickly drags out the chair that’s behind it so that it’s right next to yours. He sits down.

He’s looking at you expectantly.

“Uh.” You’re not sure what to say. He’s looking at you so reassuringly, it’s hard to keep yourself sitting upright.

“I know something’s wrong,” Ghost says, leaning forward the tiniest bit, “I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”

He’s got to have at least some idea of what you’re experiencing, You think, trying to form some sort of explanation, He’s being so… weird?

You swear there’s some other word you could use, but your vocabulary feels so limited, and you would mentally curse if you could because you know that now your explanation is gonna sound weird. You can’t use the words you want, you’re gonna be forced to use simple words, ones that can’t convey exactly how you feel. Words that—and it physically pained you to admit this—were childish.

You can explain your situation. Just, now it would be more… blunt. And short. And also you’d feel like killing yourself afterwards. You won’t, obviously, but you can predict that you’ll come very close to doing so.

Okay, I have to say something because Ghost is looking more and more worried the longer I stay silent.

“I feel…” You trail off for a moment, trying to get your thoughts in order for the next two seconds to actually say something that makes sense, before continuing in a far less confident tone, “… small.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. Ew. Ew. Ew. What. Why? Why that word? It leaves a sour taste on your tongue and yet you can’t think of any other word that would better suit how you feel. Still. Ew.

Your thoughts are a jumbled mess ranging from fleeting thoughts of disgust to thoughts lodged in the back of your mind begging you to go anywhere else just so that you can stop having to have this conversation. This conversation requires words bigger than you have access to, and a sort of control over yourself that you can’t grasp. You can feel your hands twitching, wanting something to hold onto, anything to keep you distracted from the overwhelming urge to just regress.

Ghost blinks. He didn’t expect that answer.

“Small?” He repeats in a questioning tone, eyebrows furrowed, “I mean, compared to me, I guess you’re kind of short—”

“No, no, not like short small,” You try to clarify, feeling just slightly discouraged by Ghost’s confused words, “Like…”

You struggle to find the words that properly describe how you feel, only finding words like small and little in your current vocabulary. Your findings are making you increasingly upset, and you can feel your face start to grow hot with frustration and embarrassment.

Oh my God.

“Like…?” Ghost nudges your knee with his, trying to encourage you to talk, “I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

There’s still a level of care in his words, no matter how confused he seems, and that adds all the more struggle to your predicament. Not only do you not want to tell him, but you can’t describe how you feel in a way that’s acceptable for someone your age to describe anything. At least, not in a way that you deem acceptable for yourself to describe anything.

You’re far too old to be describing yourself as small.

“[c/n]?” Ghost nudges you again, and you blink at him. Your eyes are flickering all over his mask, going anywhere but his eyes, since eye contact with anyone would make everything significantly worse for you right now.

“It’s just—” You try to take a deep breath but your breath hitches. Everything is starting to make you feel so frustrated, and you’re starting to think that you might just throw a tantrum if you can’t do at least one thing right. You try to find the words you want to use but your throat is disobediently closing on you. Your mind feels like straight mush, and the quickly softening look that Ghost is giving you isn’t helping you at all.

To your horror, in your inexplicable inability to talk in the way you normally do, you let out a small whine. It sounds obnoxious to your ears, and worst of all, sounds like something a little kid would do.

You put your head in your hands, the quickly reddening skin of your cheeks getting cooled by the cold of your palms as you try and hide your face from Ghost. You can picture how he looks right now—somehow more confused than earlier, possibly annoyed, weirded out—and all those mental images make you bite your tongue to prevent another noise.

“What was that?” You don’t answer him.

To your non-answer, Ghost sighs, and you think, This is it, this is where he kicks me out of his office, oh my God I’m gonna get dishonorably discharged and he’s gonna give me a really mean look on my way out—

“Look at me.” You shake your head negatively.

“Why not?” He sounds so confused, it makes you want to cry. There’s still a level of worry in his voice, and it adds to the fog that builds up in your brain.

You move your face just slightly up so that your eyes peek out from above your fingertips, your hands covering the rest of your face. Ghost reaches out both of his hands, and ever so gently removes your hands from your face, uncovering your red cheeks and your lips—the lower of which quivers, like you’re about to cry. He notices this quickly, and you can practically feel the level of his worry shoot up.

He doesn’t say anything, instead just holding your hands in his for a moment, before he sets them down into your lap. He looks at you, concerned, and asks, “Is it hard to talk right now?”

You nod. His gaze shifts to his computer, and then back to you.

“I’m gonna go look a few things up really quick, okay? I’ll just be right over there,” He nods over to the space behind his computer, “and I’ll be right back here in a few seconds.”

You reluctantly nod again, and Ghost gets up from his seat. He grabs the back of the chair and drags it back around behind his desk, sitting down in it and powering on his monitor. It turns on almost immediately, much to his relief, and he goes to his browser and searches up a few things. You can’t tell what he’s searching up, only hearing the clacking of keys and the occasional final click that indicates that he’s hit the enter button.

He stays there for maybe a minute or two. It’s a long few minutes, and you can feel yourself slipping more and more the longer he stays at his computer. And the more you feel yourself slipping into that younger mindset, the more you start to crave Ghost’s attention.

The way his eyes are glued to his computer starts to irritate you. You’re aware that he’s doing something important, he must be, because why would he be so intent on looking something up otherwise, but still—you manage to feel the tiniest bit jealous of the computer. You know you’re too far gone when you can’t find it within yourself to realize that you’re jealous of a computer.

Your eyes linger on him and he must notice this because he looks up from the screen of his monitor and looks over at you. As if he can read your mind, he reassures you, “Just a few more seconds.”

But you said you were gonna be back in a few seconds a few minutes ago.

You don’t voice your thoughts. Instead, you nod, because God forbid you annoy Ghost with your need for attention now when he’s being so patient with you. He looks at you for another moment before going back to his computer and looking something else up, this time with a little more fervor.

Another few seconds pass and, true to his word this time, Ghost stops and gets up from his chair. He walks over to you, and your eyes follow him intently. He kneels down in front of you.

He looks hesitant to say something to you. That’s a first. That adds to the exponentially growing blob of fear that lives inside your mind, one of the only things that’s still prominent in the fog that conquers your brain.

“Are you…” You feel like you know what he’s gonna ask you. You’re bracing yourself for the question, and he looks like he’s bracing himself just to ask it.

“How, uh,” He’s trying to find the right wording, and you’ve never been able to relate to him harder than you do in this moment, “How… do you feel right now? How old?”

How old? You don’t really like that question. As much as you like that you’re now getting attention, you’re starting to remember how little you actually enjoy this type of attention. The question is pretty vague, but at the same time so specific, and you’re almost ashamed to know exactly what the answer is. Or, at least, you would feel ashamed if there was room in your mind to feel so.

“You said you feel small, right? Not like short small, just small?” He sounds more unsure of himself now, and you don’t think you like seeing him so reluctant to say something, “I looked up what it means to feel like that. Took some time, but I got to some person’s… website, and the person who wrote it was talkin’ about feeling like that. Something about regression, feeling a little bit younger than usual?”

He’s being so awkward about it, and while you typically find his awkwardness funny, now it’s anything but that.

“Uhm,” Your voice comes out as a mumble and you see Ghost perk up at it. You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you’re silent again, before you get over your embarrassment for a quick two seconds and force yourself to say, “Four.”

“Four?” Ghost asks, before quickly realizing, “Right. Four. You feel four?”

You nod, and your hands instinctively start moving back up to cover your face. Ghost swiftly grabs them, keeping his grip gentle as he keeps them from reaching your face.

“Hey, don’t try to hide again,” He says, tone softening as he holds your hands, “everything’s fine, okay? Do you— what, uh— do you need me to do anything? Do you want me to leave you alo—”

“No!” You quickly answer, a little surprised by your own volume, before you clear your throat and answer in a much more quiet voice, “Don’t leave me alone.”

“Okay, okay,” Ghost’s thumbs rub across the back of your hands, a soothing gesture that makes you the tiniest bit more relaxed, “what do you need?”

You sniffle, and you can see an immediate look of panic cross Ghost’s eyes. You don’t know how well he is with crying children, and don’t want to impose such a situation on him, but you also can’t stop the tears that begin to well up in the corners of your eyes.

“Hey, don’t cry,” He borderline begs, “everything’s gonna be okay, okay? Please do not cry. Take a deep breath.”

You try to take a deep breath, you really do, but your breath just hitches and gets caught in your throat. It only makes you more distressed, adding to the urge you have to just disappear. Ghost notices your failed deep breathing and lets go of one of your hands, before taking the other and holding it to his chest.

You can just barely feel his heartbeat, his thick tactical vest and gear in the way of it, but you can still feel it. Ghost takes a deep breath, holding it for a second or two before slowly exhaling.

“You copy me, okay?” He tells you, his words an order but his tone suggesting otherwise. He takes another deep breath, this time hoping you’ll follow his lead, and you do.

You try to breathe with him, your hand on his chest helping, but your breath keeps getting caught in your throat. Ghost notices this, but continues his breathing anyway, hoping you’ll catch on soon. You do, thankfully—after a few more attempted breaths, you finally manage one almost identical to Ghost’s. The next few after that go similarly, and that’s when Ghost decides you’re alright to take your hand off of his chest.

“I need you to tell me what to do,” He says, keeping your hand in his hold, “or at least tell me how all of this works. I want to help you.”

You really don’t want to tell him what you need right now, but you also don’t think you have a choice.

Wordlessly, you stand up from your seat, balance just slightly off-center before you quickly get your footing right. Ghost watches you, not moving, before you tug on his hand to try and urge him to get up as well. He obliges, getting up.

“What—” You interrupt him by taking another step forward and letting your head thump right into his chest, ignoring the itchy uncomfortable feeling of his vest against your face. You don’t bother to wrap your arms around him to at least try and form some sort of hug, preferring to just smush yourself into him and hope for the best.

After a moment of stunned silence, he wraps his arms around you.

“You mind if we move behind my desk so I can look up some more stuff on all of this?” He asks, voice quiet, “Unless you want to just tell me?”

“Desk,” You simply mumble into his vest, making him nod.

“Alright, but you’re gonna have to stop hugging me for a second,” Ghost warns you. You reluctantly step away, and Ghost smiles softly down at you, bringing his hands away from your back and instead holding one of yours.

He leads you behind his desk, and lets go of your hand before sitting down in his chair. Pausing, he quickly realizes you have nowhere to sit, and thinks for a moment before getting back up. He drags his chair just slightly to the side and looks back at you.

“Sit down,” He nods to the chair, “It’s only gonna be a minute or two, alright?”

You nod, hesitantly moving to sit in the chair, not really liking how far away from Ghost it is. It's not that far, You try to rationalize, I’m gonna be fine.

Ghost can see your hesitation and tries to work as quickly as he can, grateful that he didn’t turn his computer off earlier, typing away on his keyboard. You don’t care to see what he’s looking up, more focused on looking at the time on his monitor. 21:44. 21:45. The time ticks by and even though it’s only been a few seconds you already want Ghost’s attention again. His attention has actually turned into good attention, and that’s the type of attention you’ve been craving for the past week.

The clock reads 21:47 once Ghost is done, and he powers his monitor off this time, the small whirring the device makes dying down to a low hum before going completely silent. He turns to you, and somehow can sense that you need more attention.

“Am I not paying enough attention to you?” He teases you, making you conflicted on whether you should be annoyed by the teasing or happy you’re finally getting attention. As if he can read your mind, he chuckles, and kneels down to your level.

“I’m gonna give you as much attention as you need, alright?” He promises, “I just need you to stay in this room.”

—

Ghost watches you nod non-verbally, and it only adds to his softening expression.

He’s always had a soft spot for kids. He knows that you aren’t technically a kid, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still see you as one. You’re young for someone in the military, much less someone in this 141, and now that he’s found out that you’re an age regressor, that you’re a little—well, that doesn’t help how he sees you at all.

He thinks that maybe the reason he has such a soft spot for kids is a few encounters he’s had with them in the past. He’s seen far too many in compromising positions while on missions; positions like being held hostage, being held as prisoner, or just generally being mistreated or even just living in bad conditions.

He looks at you, and he just sees another one of those kids.

He sees how you act around him. He’s not stupid. When he talks to you, you’re actually engaged in the conversation, compared to when anyone else tries to talk to you—maybe excluding Price, or Soap, or Gaz, heavy on that maybe—you’re more likely than not brushing them off every chance you get. You’re standoffish with everyone else, but with him, you’ll always accept any conversation he initiates.

He can also see the way you look at him. It’s like you’re looking at your idol, or your savior, the way you look up at him. He can see that curious glint in your eyes when he tells you about a recent mission, or when he tells you anything, really. He can see when you try to mimic how he holds his weapons, and when you try to copy his techniques.

He remembers catching you one day in the shooting range trying to mimic how he aims at the targets—looking through your scope with one eye closed, the other focused only on the dot centered on the scope, taking a deep breath in and out before shooting, and keeping the gun exactly like that even seconds after the shot’s been fired.

In fact, the copying has gone from guns to melee weapons recently. Ghost swings only his forearm when he uses a knife, thumb resting on the very end of the knife’s handle, and entire arm stiff as he does. He does a slow windup when behind someone, a fast one on the off-chance that he’s in front, and buries the weapon to the hilt in whoever’s flesh he’s penetrated. He’s already seen you do the same on a recent mission. Not only that, but he caught you using a knife almost identical to his.

And now, you’re still looking at him like that—except, different. Sort of like how a kid might look up to their parents.

“What do you feel like doing, kiddo?” He asks, hoping the pet name isn’t too much.

From the way your eyes light up, he suspects it isn't.

“Mmm…” You hum, thinking for a moment, before requesting, “Coloring?”

“Coloring, huh?” Ghost looks around for some blank paper and some sort of marker or pen thick enough to act as one, but can only find some highlighters. He turns to you, frowning, “Sorry, but I don’t think I have any paper, kid. Anything else you wanna do?”

You shake your head, and Ghost is just about ready to jump off of a bridge before you point to his arm and repeat, “Coloring.”

He looks at his arm for a second, confused, before he remembers a conversation the two of you had a month or so ago.

“If you ever wanna get tattoos, I know a guy in Brighton,” Ghost said, reclining his chair back so that he can lay down in it. You were sitting across from him in front of his desk, fiddling with one of his pens.

“Good to know,” You hummed, “You have any tattoos?”

“Yeah,” You perked up at his admission, and he sat up for a second to roll up the sleeve of his shirt. He wasn’t wearing his usual gear, only one of those standard issue army-green shirts.

“Here,” He pointed to a large tattoo covering his whole arm like a sleeve, a few designs you could point out to yourself being a skull, a few Roman numerals, and some kind of scythe.

“Very emo,” You commented, making Ghost snort, “I like it.”

“I’m glad,” He rolled his sleeve back down.

There’s a lot of blank space in the tattoo, despite it being a sleeve, and he can already tell that you mean you want to color in that space. He thinks about it for a moment, a fleeting thought of is that even safe? crossing his mind before he ultimately decides that he doesn’t care and would rather kill himself than see you disappointed because he denied your request, his own health be damned.

“Alright,” He hums, grabbing a few highlighters from a mesh cup on his desk in the colors pink, yellow, and blue, “Go for it.”

You give him a small smile and if he cared about if he’d get ink poisoning two seconds ago, he sure as hell doesn’t care now. You gingerly grab the highlighters from his hand, your grabbing not too secure and sort of clumsy but secure enough that the markers stay in your hand.

You hold them with both hands, and it makes Ghost realize how small your hands are—sure, you could hold the highlighters with one hand, but he’s glad you aren’t because now he can admire just how small you are as a whole.

You set the yellow and blue down on his desk, making sure they don’t roll off for a moment before uncapping the pink and hesitantly holding out a hand for Ghost’s arm. He rolls up his sleeve and obediently holds out his arm for you, watching curiously as you press the cold tip of the highlighter to his skin. You’re starting by coloring in the skull a neon pink, much to his amusement, and you’re starting in the dead center of its forehead.

You’re so much more quiet than you usually are when you’re little, and you’re so much more hesitant, it makes Ghost want to just wrap you in a blanket and keep you safe and in his sight forever.

Your tongue slightly pokes out from between your lips as you concentrate on coloring in Ghost’s tattoo, making him grin beneath his mask. The ink of the highlighter doesn’t stay within the black bounds of his tattoos at all, but he doesn’t care one bit, and he doesn’t think you care either. You finish up the skull quickly, and move onto the scythe that’s right next to it, this time capping the pink highlighter and grabbing the yellow.

Ghost is pretty sure this is gonna stain his skin for a day or two, but he couldn’t care less.

He can’t help but notice how much more relaxed you look in your regressed state. More at peace, he should say. There’s no longer a hunch in your shoulders, your eyes aren’t twitching from your headache, and you’re not bouncing your leg like you usually do when you’re sitting down somewhere. It’s like any anxieties you had pre-regression had evaporated, like slipping into a younger mentality had taken away most of your worries, if not all of them.

He also can’t help but wish he could see you like this more often. Not necessarily the regressed part, but the relaxed part. Well, maybe the regressed part too. You’re being such a sweetheart right now, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to live through this experience.

“You having fun there, darling?” Ghost asks, his grin evident in his voice. The corners of your lips quirk up at the pet name and you nod silently, and now Ghost is starting to think you’re actually trying to kill him. You’re being so uncharacteristically shy, and you’re being so quiet, and you’re just being so sweet.

It seems you’ve moved onto the blue highlighter now, coloring in the last bit of his tattoo. He doesn’t think he’ll ever wash it off—or, at least, he wouldn’t if he had a choice. He knows that he has to shower sometime soon, but surely he can put that off for a bit, right?

Once you’re finished with your coloring, you cap the highlighter, and set it down next to the others you’ve discarded. You turn Ghost’s arm the tiniest bit towards him so that he can see your work better.

“‘s it good?” You ask quietly, watching intently for Ghost’s reaction. He looks over your coloring job and hums approvingly.

“It’s amazing, I love it,” He assures you, smiling down softly at you, “You did great.”

You seem to preen at the praise, and you take your hand off of Ghost’s arm, moving to put in your lap. You’re keeping yourself very contained, Ghost notices, Why?

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when he hears you yawn, and you quickly move to cover your mouth as you do. He’s reminded that it’s almost twenty-two hundred, and while that usually wouldn’t be an issue for him, it’s an issue for you. You originally came to the 141 as someone who had a sleep schedule almost as fucked up at Ghost’s, but soon developed a habit of going to sleep somewhat early considering the training you had in the morning. So, now you get tired anywhere from eighteen-hundred to twenty-one hundred. After that, your only goal is to find somewhere to sleep.

“Sleepy?” You nod tiredly, making Ghost coo, Ghost, the man who quite literally haunts some people’s nightmares, coos at you, “Aw, of course you are, sweetheart. Pretty sure it’s way past your bedtime by now.”

“Nuh uh,” You deny, making Ghost chuckle.

“‘Nuh uh’?” He asks, amused, “What d’you mean ‘nuh uh’?”

“No b’dtime,” You shortly elaborate.

“Ohhh, okay,” Ghost feigns realization, “You think you’re too big for a bedtime, huh?”

“Mhm. Way too big.”

“I dunno about ‘way’ too big,” Ghost hums, checking to see if the highlighter on his arm has dried before he pulls his sleeve back down. “You seem pretty little to me.”

“No,” You whine, dragging out the ‘o’, “Not lil’.”

“Hmm… you sure, kiddo?” Ghost asks, “So if I ask you if you need to go to bed, you’re gonna say ‘no’?”

That makes you hesitate, and Ghost almost thinks he’s won, before your own pettiness wins and you nod affirmatively. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Alright, well, you’ve gotta sleep at some point,” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair.

You think this over for a second, and he watches as you look over him for a moment before looking down at his lap, then looking back up at him. He can already tell there’s some sort of plan forming in your mind. Wordlessly, you get up, and Ghost does nothing to stop you as you decide to just plop yourself down into his lap. You straddle his thighs, moving until you’re sitting comfortably on him, and then let yourself slump forward so that your face is resting in the crook of his neck. It takes him a moment to process what just happened, before he laughs lightly and wraps both of his arms around you to keep you in place.

“Oh, okay,” He grins, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you just wanna cuddle with me until you fall asleep? Is that what this is?”

He feels you nod against his neck, and his grin grows as he rubs one hand against your back, trying to soothe you to sleep. He doesn’t say anything else, not wanting to distract you from your attempts to sleep anymore, simply letting you stay slumped against him. Your breathing wasn’t too fast-paced to begin with, but as you relax even more in his arms, he can feel your breathing even out.

You’re falling asleep fairly quickly, and the only complaint he has is that he didn’t get to spend nearly as much time as he wanted to with you while you were awake and regressed.

Once he’s sure you’re barely awake, he murmurs, “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?”

—

You don’t know how long it’s been since you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by the slight rustling of clothes, and then you feel yourself moving up.

Your mind still feels foggy and you can tell you’re still somewhat in that younger mindset of yours, but now you’re significantly less bothered by it than you were before. You’re awake enough to be aware of what’s happening, always having been a light-sleeper, but not awake enough to know exactly what’s happening. You don’t dare open your eyes, and try to keep your breathing even—though that isn’t much of a challenge.

That headache that had been building up earlier has fully disappeared, thank God, and you no longer feel the tension in your shoulder that you’d been unconsciously carrying.

You can sort of feel someone’s arms snaked under your back, and you know that you’re being moved somewhere. Quickly, you remember that it’s Ghost carrying you, and that you had fallen asleep on him, much to your embarrassment. Or, at least, it would be much to your embarrassment if you had the mental capacity to feel embarrassed about that right now. But you feel so comfy and so safe that it really doesn’t matter to you right now.

You can hear the clicking of Ghost’s boots against the concrete floors of the hallway, and he’s carrying you off somewhere; you imagine that somewhere to be your sleeping quarters. He’s walking pretty fast, not hurriedly but still at a somewhat fast pace.

Soon, he reaches a stopping point where he has to awkwardly put one leg up to support your back on his thigh as he quickly reaches one arm out to turn the knob of the door to your sleeping quarters and pulls that arm right back to support your back again. He sighs as he puts his foot back down, kicking open the door and walking in.

He’s quick to reach your bed, and he pauses as he considers what to do. You can practically hear him thinking, wondering how he’s gonna get you under the covers while he’s still carrying you, and for a second you think about showing him you’re awake so that things are easier for him before he sets you down on the bed.

He pulls the covers up and stops when he reaches the part your body covers, and picks you back up, before dropping you right back off where the blankets have been pulled away. He pulls the covers back over you.

After a few moments, you think he’s left the room, before you hear the rustling of fabric and feel him leaning down. He gently presses his lips to your forehead and pulls away after a second or two, before quietly mumbling, “Night, kiddo.”

He stays there for a moment before you hear his footsteps leave the room, and then the door clicking shut behind him as he leaves the room entirely.

You’re quick to fall asleep after that.

#cod #cod hcs #hcs #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #ghost #age regression #caregiver ghost #ghost x reader #platonic ghost x reader #platonic ghost #i find him so lovely #hes my dad guys trust #i was literally meant to be his kid #trust that if i ever get any cod games with him in it i will spend the whole time admiring him #dad pls come back home #i miss u #python333

437 notes · View notes

tyunkus · 2 years ago

Text

amazon wishlist — kang taehyun

pairing: roommate!kang taehyun x afab!reader summary: your roommate and best friend, taehyun, finds a dildo on your amazon wishlist.

wc: 5.5k

warnings: masturbation, dry humping, dirty talk (praise, some degradation), pet names (princess, angel, baby, pretty), like One spank, teasing/humiliation?, penetrative, safe sex, mention of cunnilingus and handjob, also unrealistic because taehyun games here but. let me live my gamer bf dreams ok?

note: originally wrote this in 3rd person and then had to manually change it to 2nd person so sorry for any mistakes ! also still figuring how this site works so sorry for the plain formatting. i dont actually know if amazon sells dildos, and if they cost $30? probably not but yk... artistic liberty... capitalism...

There’s no chicken.

You notice this one Friday afternoon in the middle of July, while the pavements outside sizzle from the heat and the sun spills through the windows and warms up your back. You’re in the kitchen, sifting through a pathetic heap of frozen food. Usually, you head to the nearby supermarket after pilates class to pick up a pack of bacon; other times, Taehyun comes home after a day with Kai bearing a bag of frozen wedges. Either way, it’s clear that neither of you have bought anything edible since your last grocery run two weeks ago.

Frozen french fries. Korean corndogs. A half-empty pack of fishcakes. No chicken.

You open the fridge, eyes skimming over its meager contents, as if it would be there. It isn’t. You open the freezer again, wondering if the gods above would be so gracious as to summon some chicken breast into your freezer to feed you and your roommate tonight. They don’t.

“Maybe we should go grocery shopping.”

You’re fresh from a long, elaborate shower. Your hair falls in wet tresses over your shoulders and you’re clad in dolphin shorts and a big shirt that might have been Taehyun’s but you borrowed so often and for so long that he probably forgot it ever belonged to him. It’s your turn to cook dinner and you’re grumbling over the fact that Taehyun cooked your only remaining pack of chicken breast last night when you hear his bedroom door click open.

Just in time. A shitty rap song follows the sound of the soft padding of his footsteps against the floor. “Hey, you home?” he calls from halfway down the hallway, but you cut him off before he can say anything else.

“I told you I would cook chicken and you still finished it last night, and now there’s nothing for me to cook, asshole,” you say, more exasperated than angry. You turn around just as he walks in, wearing nothing but black joggers and his obnoxious RGB headset. His eyes are wide and bashful. You wrinkle your nose and turn around again. “What happened to your shirt?”

Taehyun has the decency to sound sheepish. “Sorry, I was playing with the boys,” he mumbles, like that wasn’t painfully obvious already. You have no problem with seeing Taehyun or shirtless guys by themselves, but a shirtless Taehyun has you torn between wanting to throw up and throwing away your clothes. Maybe to other people having a first-class view of his washboard abs sounds like a blessing, but to you, it’s only a level below mental distress.

“Tell Kai I said hi,” you say absently, now going through your drawers for restaurant flyers (if worse comes to worst, you’ll order takeout for tonight). “Anyway, what’d you come outside for?”

“I needed to talk to you about something.”

At this, you peer over your shoulder, studying Taehyun’s face. He doesn’t look particularly upset, just stoic, which is a dangerous sign in itself. Taehyun’s usually calm, but he’s not stoic—at least, not in this stage of your friendship, when Taehyun has known you long enough to stop pretending that he’s some sort of tsundere.

“Is something wrong?” you ask softly, turning around to lean against the counter.

“I saw your wishlist on Amazon. Why do you have a dildo on there?”

The words fall on you like a bucket of hardened cement. You feel your heart rate increase by about a thousand beats.

“I—you what?” you sputter in disbelief. There are a few seconds in-between this moment of horror where you want to scold him, yell at him, do anything, but it’s not like he’s in the wrong. It’s your Amazon wishlist. But why was he snooping around on it? And why did you put a dildo on it? Fuck. Your mind searches for an intelligent response, but all that falls out of your mouth is, “Other people can see that?”

Taehyun raises his eyebrows. “Yes? I hope you didn’t share it with your parents or anything, ‘cause it’s like, the first one on the list.”

You grip the counter, suddenly feeling very ill. “Oh. Shit.” You had not done anything of the sort—you kept your parents away from your online presence for that very reason. But if anyone was to stumble upon your questionable wishlist on Amazon dot com, you weren’t expecting Taehyun of all people. Your best friend? And roommate? Really? Fuck Jeff Bezos, for real.

“But that’s besides the point,” Taehyun says, advancing towards you, and you back up a little. Between his tall, wide-shouldered frame and you being a good bit smaller, you discover that it is very, very easy to feel intimidated, almost trapped, by him. “Why do you need to buy one? You know I got a dick, right?”

It’s like another punch to the stomach, except someone also crushed your head with a boulder. If you weren’t red before, you definitely are now, sweat pooling at your palms at his implication. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

Taehyun shrugs and reaches behind you to grab a glass from the dish holder. “I’m just saying,” he says, making his way over to the sink. “Why waste thirty dollars on some plastic when you can get the real thing for free? And better?”

Are you even hearing him right? “Genuinely what are you on,” you say, still aghast. “I wanted to buy one because—because—I mean, I-I don’t know, it’s normal! Shit, Taehyun, does it really matter? Don’t tell me you’re being serious.”

He shrugs again. “Why not?”

You say the first thing that pops into your mind. “What if it sucks?”

Taehyun only laughs. “You really have that little faith in me?”

“I don’t know!” You think briefly on the sex talks you two have had—some you had sprawled over each other on the couch, glasses of soju in hand; others you had during movie nights, clay masks smeared over your faces while you struggled not to laugh too hard. They were fun, sure, but it’s one thing to hear Taehyun talk about fucking other people and another to hear him talk about fucking you. To your knowledge, Taehyun’s pretty good in bed, but… But why are you even considering it? You both have been best friends for years. If you have sex, it’s only going to ruin your friendship. There are other ways for you to feel good—ways that don’t risk a seven-year friendship and getting kicked out of the apartment.

“I don’t know,” you say again, suddenly terrified at yourself for not giving him a straight answer. It should be a hard, flat no! You shouldn’t be considering it all! Yet here you are, your brain suddenly full of the thought of Taehyun and his dick.

“Hey, I’m just saying. Trying to open up some options for you here. I’m one hundred percent willing, but only if you are.” Taehyun puts up his hands like that settles it. He flashes you a smile. “Just tell me, okay? And if you still don’t want to, that’s chill too. We’ll both act like this never happened.”

Is that even possible? “Right,” you say, feeling faint. “Okay, yeah.”

Taehyun’s smile doesn’t fade. You can only watch as he takes a swig of water and shuffles happily to his room.

You think about it. Probably a bit too much.

You have an essay to write for your class, and it’s due in a few hours—but you can’t stop thinking about it. It being Taehyun fucking you. In your defense, you’ve been pent up all week, trying to balance your academics and health and social life and Taehyun all without having any time for yourself, so it makes sense, you think. You hope it makes sense that you’re fantasizing about your roommate, considering everything that’s happening to you.

You shut your laptop and sigh, lying back down on your bed. Taehyun has been acting completely normal in the three days between now and when he had first made his offer, which you are endlessly grateful for, but also bewildered by. He had even paid for takeout that same night, and you had eaten it together on the floor of your living room, and it was like nothing had even happened. Still, you’ve been mulling it over ever since. Pondering it, if you will. And it’s not your first time. Many nights you have found your tired, worn-out brain wandering to your roommate, his pretty face, great body, cute personality… How it would feel. What he would do. Taehyun, leaning over you, kissing you, running his pretty hands up and down your skin. Nipping at your collarbone with his sharp, perfect teeth. Grazing them along your neck, sucking at the soft parts.

Fuck. You’re wet.

You feel crazy.

Your hands slide down your panties, face burning with shame. The only thing you can think of is Taehyun, his soft skin and pretty brown eyes, his lean arms and chest. You picture him above you, caging you between his arms, a glittering smile on his face as he touches you, his back muscles flexing. Do you like that? he whispers, his voice low and raspy. You don’t even have to work hard to imagine what he sounds like during sex—the walls here are awfully thin, he’s a twenty-one-year-old guy, and you’ve thought about it more often than not.

“Fuck,” you keen, your hips rolling up as you dip your finger into your folds. Your free hand trails up your torso and into your mouth; you roll your tongue around your fingers and wish, crazily, that you were sucking on Taehyun’s instead. “Shit, oh f—”

“About your offer.”

You’re sitting at the dining table. Taehyun is halfway through his serving of pancakes that you made for him in a partly-tired, mostly-horny daze. After a particularly busy morning, you can’t remember much of last night other than the fact that you fucked yourself sore and came three times in a row, no refractory period, and now you can barely hold your fork.

Taehyun looks up at you. He’s shirtless again. If you were any crazier you would be disappointed that he never left much room for imagination before your first time together. “My offer,” he echoes.

“From a few days ago,” you clarify, poking your fork through your slice of toast. “The. You-fucking-me thing.”

“Ah.” Taehyun leans back and you can tell he’s fighting down a smile. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Well. I’ve been kinda… you know, lately,” you begin, staring hard at your plate, “and I was gonna buy the… you know, but then I realized my shipping address is still at my parents’ house and I really don’t want to wait for another week or pay extra to get it the next day or pay thirty dollars for a plastic dick so—”

“So you want me to fuck you?”

You let out a breath and brave a glance at him. “Yeah,” you mumble.

“That’s all you had to say,” Taehyun says with a smile. He pushes his plate away and fixes you with a look. “When do you want to do it? Kinda weird to be planning this out, no?”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to do it,” you groan.

Taehyun laughs, reaching over to touch your arm. “Don’t worry about it. What about later tonight? After you’re finished with your homework, I can help you unwind,” he suggests, and he sounds like he’s just telling you about the weather—but his voice has dropped about three octaves and normally you would find this shit cringe, but. Holy fuck.

You aren’t one for slutshaming, but perhaps you are one yourself. You squeeze your thighs together and nod, your gaze falling to the table. “Sure. That sounds good.”

“Good. You can come to my room once you’ve finished. I won’t be playing tonight, so don’t worry about interrupting. Well, you might be interrupting something, but—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Nooo need to elaborate,” you spit, standing up and picking up your plate. Taehyun laughs as you walk over to the sink and put away your dish. When you return back to the dining table, he continues eating like nothing happened. “I’ll go study now.”

“Study well, pretty.”

You make a vague sound of affirmation before slipping inside your room again. You back up against the door and take a second to breathe, then shuffle over to your closet.

Your panties are wet. Again.

“Come in.”

You step inside his room. It’s dark—his lights aren’t on, save for the RGB strips on his setup. He sits on his chair, legs spread, lap looking awfully inviting. For once, he’s wearing a hoodie, and he looks like he just got off a game.

“I expected to catch you at a more… compromising time,” you say, carefully.

“Funny way to say you wanted to see me jerking off.”

“I didn’t say that,” you say with a frown, and you stop walking in front of his chair. Taehyun pats his lap. He’s smiling so, so wide.

“Take a seat.”

You’re grateful when his hands reach up to cup your waist, guiding you as you slide a leg over him and sit down. It’s weird—oddly comfortable, but your tits are pressed up against his chest and your faces are really, really close. Like, close enough you can see each of his eyelashes. He’s so, so pretty.

Taehyun looks you in the eye. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice soft. When you nod, he hums and squeezes your waist. “Alright. Tell me about your day.”

“Huh?”

“Foreplay, baby. That’s like, the whole essence of a hookup.” Taehyun raises his eyebrows at you. “Would you just play along?”

“Fine, fine. I didn’t do mu—oh,” you gasp, as Taehyun’s lips latch onto your neck, pulling you into him. “Ah, fuck. I didn’t do much. I—I woke up early and did some assignments. Got a ninety percent on my mock exams.”

“Woah,” Taehyun says, pulling away. His eyes are bright. “Really?”

“Yeah. All of them.”

“Damn. Good job. Sometimes I forget you’re smart and hot,” he murmurs in between kisses. “Perfect girl.”

Holy shit. “Um—and then I went to the gym and this guy asked me for my number,” you continue. Taehyun licks at your throat and bites down hard. “Ow, fuck you. I said no thanks and then went back home and showered.”

“Did you do anything in the shower?”

You scoff as he licks along your jaw. “No. I’m not a perv like you.”

“Not a good idea to make fun of the guy who’s about to fuck you.”

“Sorry. Can’t help it.”

“And then what?”

“And then I had breakfast with you and after, I… I fucked myself a little.” Taehyun groans and your breath hitches in your throat. “I thought of you.”

He chuckles. “I would have been a little confused if you hadn’t. You must have been so pent up, baby, huh?”

You grab a fistful of his hair and pulls him away from your neck so your eyes meet. “I’ve been thinking of you. For a long time. Even before you made the offer,” you say, barely breathing. Your grip loosens, and you watch as his eyes grow dark. “Anytime I got h-horny, I—I imagined you. And I… was going to buy the toy ’cause I never thought I’d get the real thing with you.”

Taehyun seems taken aback, but his face of faint surprise melts into his usual cocky smile and he presses his lips against yours.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but the real thing is a little bigger than five inches, baby.”

If you weren’t wet before, you’re drenched now. You feel a little bad for his grey sweatpants, the front all smeared with your precum. But knowing Taehyun, he’d probably like that.

You continue kissing for a while, Taehyun’s gaming chair creaking incessantly underneath your weight, but you’re too turned on to be bothered. He’s still playing with your panties, rubbing you over them. You honestly, truly might die.

“Taehyun,” you say, pulling away. He looks like a mess, lipgloss smeared all over his mouth, hair messy from your constant running your hands through them. “Can you touch me?”

“I am touching you, baby.”

You whine. “No, no, like—like inside me, please, fuck.”

“Use your pretty voice to ask me nicely.”

You take a deep breath but it’s let out as a whimper. “Please, Taehyun. Fuck me with your fingers,” you mumble, burying your face in his neck. “Please, please. Please.”

“Good job, princess. Of course. Anything you want.”

And you—you almost die, and it shows with the way you squeezes your thighs together and nuzzle your face deeper into his shoulder, letting out a soft moan when he finally moves to comply.

Taehyun seems to notice, because something in his eyes shifts and he leans in, kissing your cheek. “Do you like it when I praise you, baby? Come on, tell me everything. Tell me what turns you on. Want to make you feel good.”

“I like praise, yeah,” you say, your voice trembling as he moves his hands down to the hem of your panties. “Praise and… And some degradation, too, but mostly praise. I like pet names and—fuck—biting and spanking and k-kissing, fuck, even just kissing turns me on so much.”

“I can tell, baby.” Taehyun glides a finger over your cunt and smiles. “You’re fucking soaked. So cuuute.” He coos it, like you’re some sort of cute doll and not his fucking roommate whose pussy he’s playing with.

It makes you whimper, your fingers shaking where they should be holding onto Taehyun’s shoulders. “Ugh, fuck,” you squeak. “Fuck you.”

“Let me do it first. Grind down on me, pretty.”

You comply and gasp a little at the hardness underneath you. “Fuck. You’re so—”

Taehyun hums, his hands moving to your waist, helping you rock harder against him. “Just for you. I’ve been hard all day just thinking about you.”

You make a pathetic sound at the back of your throat and kiss him, your mind suddenly flooded with images of him touching himself right here in his chair, the slick sound of his hand wrapped around his cock, all while he thinks of you. Without warning, he reaches up his free hand and lightly taps at your cheek; you don’t even have to think about it before your mouth falls open and his fingers slide in.

“Perfect,” Taehyun breathes, and your heart skips in your chest. “You’re so good, fuck. Didn’t even have to ask, what a good girl.”

You grind down harder. Taehyun throws his head back and lets out something between a sigh and a groan. “Fuck, princess,” he rasps. “You’re so cute.” He reaches up with his other hand to caress your flushed face. “You feel really—ugh—really fucking good.”

“Oh my god, wait, fuck, wait—” You whimper around his fingers and slow to a stop; your hands clutch at the back of his hoodie. You whine into the cloth, breathing him in, feeling him all over you. His hands move down to your waist, squeezing gently. You can hardly breathe. “I… I was getting close. I don’t wanna come yet.”

Taehyun shifts a little under you; you huff when his hands slide under your ass and he moves to stand up, lifting you with him. “Let’s move to the bed, then,” he grunts, and your legs close around his waist as he carries the both of you to his bed.

He preoccupies himself by kissing you—your lips don’t move away from each other’s as you tumble onto the mattress. Your mind is racing. You’ve imagined kissing Taehyun so many times before, fantasized about how it felt, and these past few days it was all you could think about. His lips are so warm, his hands even warmer where they wander on your skin. You want him close, closer. Inside.

You break the kiss. “Taehyun,” you murmur against his lips. “Taehyun, please.”

Thankfully, Taehyun seems to understand what you’re getting at, and doesn’t make you beg for it—he’s shimmied out of his sweats and hoodie in record time, with only boxers and a wife beater left. He smiles down at you, gentle, loving. “Could you undress for me?”

You don’t need to be asked twice. You pull your dolphin shorts down and kick them off your ankles, trying your best to peel off your shirt as you do so. Taehyun is fully shirtless now, shadows cast across his toned muscles, and his hands probe at his boxers, but his eyes are fixed on you.

You have never felt so exposed wearing your favorite set of lingerie—you fight the urge to cover your stomach with your arms and instead opt to look up at Taehyun from under your lashes and hope he’s as horny as you are right now.

It takes a moment for Taehyun to recollect himself, but when he does, his hands are immediately on you, awed at your softness. “Damn,” he breathes.

“How eloquent of you.”

Taehyun laughs, running his hands down your waist. “No, I—” He breathes out another chuckle, his eyes trailing down to your belly. “No, you’re just perfect.”

Your cheeks heat and you feel yourself throb a little at his praise. “Says you. Know how many guys would kill to have your body?”

“Know how many guys would kill to have such a beautiful, sexy, smart girl like you?”

You press your lips together. You can’t help but think about how nice he looks, seated between your legs. “A lot of guys would be after you, it seems.”

“Can’t blame them. Fuck, your thighs,” Taehyun groans, moving his hands over them. Your breath catches in your throat. His hands look—are—huge. “Oh my fucking god. Promise me you’ll let me eat you out.”

You blink. “Of course,” you say. “Could you get to fucking me already?”

Taehyun laughs. “Right, sorry. Let me take my boxers off first.”

“Do you have a condom?”

“Yeah, it should be in the hoodie pocket.”

You retrieve the hoodie from the other side of the bed and feel around in its pocket before your fingers graze the plastic; you immediately pick it up and throw the hoodie on the floor. Meanwhile, Taehyun is finally fully naked and stroking himself; you turn even redder. Fuck, you want him so bad.

You tell him so. “Hurry, hurry, please,” you gasp, tossing the unopened condom packet to Taehyun, who chuckles.

“On your hands and knees, angel.”

You obey and whimper impatiently as Taehyun opens the condom and puts it on.

“Jesus, baby, you’re such a mess already and I haven’t even put it in,” Taehyun mumbles. You feel the bed dip where he climbs onto it again, and moans when he gives your ass a smack. “Needy. That’s what you are. Needy and impatient.”

You whimper. “Please, pleasepleaseplease, just put it in, put it in—” Taehyun pushes the small of your back so you drop face-first onto the mattress, cheek squished against the blankets. It smells like him. Everything smells like him. For once you fall silent when he announces he’s sliding in and you feels it poking at your entrance. Your eyes squeeze shut.

He slides in the first inch and you can’t help but whine. “Pleeeease, Taehyun,” you gasp, your voice high and reedy. He complies without an answer, sliding in more, slowly, until he’s almost halfway. You let out a squeak.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyun coos. “Don’t think you can take it?”

You make a small, pathetic noise at the back of your throat. “Nonono,” you cry. “You’re just… really big. Bigger than that—that dumb f-fucking dildo.”

“Aw, am I r-r-really?” Taehyun grins and eases another inch into you before you get the chance to retort. You suck in a breath instead, bunching the sheets into your hands. In a moment of guilt, he uses his other hand to give your waist a reassuring squeeze, then leans over to push back your hair for you. “Damn, you’re tight. You can take it, though, can’t you?”

You whimper. “Ah, shit, yes.”

“That’s it. There you go. Doing such a good fucking job, taking my cock.”

Taehyun kisses your shoulder as he slides in the rest, a string of pathetic whimpers and cries leaving your mouth as he bottoms out. Once his thighs touch the back of yours, he stays very still, letting you adjust to the size.

To both your surprise, you are the one who breaks the almost-silence with a short huff as you prop yourself on your elbows. “You… you can move now,” you grit out, sounding almost pained.

Taehyun hums. “Tell me first. Which do you like better? The toy or my cock?”

You’re silent, but he can see your knuckles whitening as you grip the bedsheets. Taehyun scoffs and grabs both your arms with his hand, pulling them behind you with a grunt. You yelp as his cock hits a different angle inside of you.

“Tell me. Which one is better? I won’t move until you tell me.”

You whimper for a few moments, but Taehyun doesn’t let up. You take a shaky breath and let your head hang. “Y-you,” you mumble.

“Louder, pretty.”

“I like your cock better—hmf—better than the toy,” you say. Taehyun can hear the tears in your voice and his belly flip-flops. So fucking hot.

He might have said that out loud—you might have heard him—but he doesn’t have time to think about the possibilities, because at once he’s drawing his hips away from yours and slamming back inside again. The reaction is immediate. You keen, chest heaving at the intensity.

“Fuck,” you croak, clinging onto the bedsheets.

“God,” Taehyun breathes, holding you up to his chest, “I’m obsessed with you.” He mouths at your neck and you whimper.

“Don’t bite too hard,” you plead. Taehyun bites down harder in response.

“I’ll bite as hard as I want,” he says, but there’s no heat in his words, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder right after. His hands snake up your body, from your hips to your waist until they stop comfortably at your tummy. He thrusts in and out of you at a steady pace, kissing mindlessly at any sliver of skin he can get his lips on. “Been dreaming about this for ages, you know. I’ve been wanting to fill you up for the longest time.”

Fire stirs within the pit of your stomach at the thought. “I do, too. Fingered myself thinking it was your cock,” you mumble back, delirious, and you can feel him smile against your shoulderblades. Suddenly, he slides out, flips you over and enters you once more in a single swift movement. His pace picks up and you exhale slowly, melting into the pleasure, your eyes trained on the array of faces he’s making above you.

“You’re perfect, angel.” Taehyun’s voice drops into a murmur, his bangs falling perfectly around his face. “I’ve always wanted to do this with you, baby. Not only because you’re really hot, but”—he lets out a moan here—“also ’cause I really, really like you, and I don’t wanna fuck the shit out of you for no reason, I—I also wanna take you on dates, and—” He pauses and groans when you squeeze down on him, eyes twisting shut. “Ah, shit, and I wanna fuck you not as a one time thing, but—fuck, but as like, a boyfriend thing—mm—you know?”

You let out a moan, your eyes cracking open incredulously. “You’re telling me this now?” you pant.

Taehyun laughs but goes even faster, his hands still tight around the softness of your waist. You cry out and latch onto his strong arms, wondering if this is happening, if this is real, if Taehyun really just confessed to you in the middle of rearranging your guts. You can’t believe this. Your heart flutters. Your pussy throbs. God, what is wrong with him?

Taehyun’s hand moves up to your jaw. He tilts your chin up and presses your lips together in a slow, slow kiss. “Fuck, baby, you’re gorgeous. Shit,” he says, kissing you again and again. He looks almost desperate, moving inside you, his entire face flushed red. “I love kissing you. Such a pretty girl, my baby, aren’t you? I—oh, fuck, you feel so good, I like you so much.”

“Shit,” you mewl, reaching up to cup his face. He kisses the corner of your mouth, moving almost desperately now, moaning loudly against your skin. “Fuck, Taehyun, you’re crazy—fuck—”

“Tell me how beautiful you are,” Taehyun rasps, not sounding like himself at all, but he moves his hips impossibly faster, and his hand trails down to your neck. “Tell me how pretty you look while your pussy chokes this dick, fuck.”

You wail, your hands flying up to grasp at his wrists. “I’m—’m a puh-pretty girl, fuck, ’m so pretty—”

“That’s right, princess. Are you close? You wanna come?” he rasps, reaching down now to rub your clit. “Go ahead, baby, come on my cock, please, fuck, come on—”

“Taehyun,” you gasp, your breath hitching, as you feel the waves of your oncoming orgasm.

“—cream on it, sweet girl, make me proud, wanna feel you coming for me, ’cause of me—”

You cry out from underneath him and you jolt so suddenly it startles him; your back arches off the bed and your thighs clamp around him and you go very, very still. You come for a long time, breathing and whining throughout it; Taehyun keeps moving, easing you out of it, his hands rubbing and squeezing your waist until finally your muscles relax and you go slack, melting back into the mattress.

“That’s it, pretty, good job,” he murmurs, running feather-light touches up and down your torso. “Good job, princess, what a sweet girl.”

He slides out of you after a minute, and you make a noise; you crane your neck to watch as he peels off the condom. “Did you come?” you ask, your voice awfully quiet. He looks up at you and smiles.

“It’s fine, baby.”

You move to sit up. “No, no—”

“Angel, I’m good.”

“You’re still—”

“Shush.” Taehyun scoots closer to you, settling on his elbows between your legs. “I still want to taste you.”

An hour later, you find yourselves lying in bed together. After making you come another time on his tongue and finally coming after the world’s best handjob, Taehyun had scooped you up and seated you in the bathtub, where you took turns washing each other’s hair and giggling deliriously about what had just happened. You smell overwhelmingly like his shitty male body wash, but you find it hard to care that much when he’s buried his face in the crook of your neck.

Seeing that your friendship was effectively ruined in the best way possible, you find it hard not to giggle a little, wrapped in his arms. Taehyun’s hands, sliding smooth and gentle across your torso, stop abruptly.

“What are you laughing at?” he asks, sounding affronted.

“You. You’re ridiculous.”

“What? I wasn’t even doing anything.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just ask me out on a date? As opposed to offering to fuck me. You came off a little strong with that, you know,” you mumble. “Now that I think about it, it was kind of a dick move.”

“Sorry,” Taehyun grumbles. “I’ve asked you out to dinner multiple times but you kept calling them friend dates so I gave up on that.”

“You were trying to flirt with me? I had no idea.”

“Clearly. That’s why I had to stop trying to make romantic advancements and just settled on asking to fuck you instead. The dildo was the perfect incentive.” His fingers move up to tangle in your hair. “I had—I have, like, the biggest, stupidest crush on you. It’s embarrassing.”

You smile. “Lucky you. I like you, too.”

He breathes out, presses his forehead to your shoulder. “Thank god. I was waiting for you to say it,” he says quietly. “We don’t have to talk about it now, though. Let’s talk about it in the morning.”

“Fine with me. Why were you even looking at my Amazon wishlist, anyway?”

“Well.” Taehyun stills his hands and clears his throat. “I was trying… to pick out… a birthday gift for you.”

“A birthday gift?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t laugh.”

You start to laugh. “Oh my god,” you say again, in between giggles. “My birthday isn’t for another two months, dumbass.”

“I wanted to be prepared!” Taehyun protests, pinching lightly at your waist. “I told you, I have the biggest fucking crush on you. I was gonna give you a bunch of little gifts. And actually, I was planning to ask you to be my girlfriend. I was so excited, too. Asked the guys for help and everything. Soobin was going to hold up the sign. And Beomgyu was in charge of finding a nice place.”

You snort, twisting around to kiss him. “Sorry for laughing. You’re just an idiot sometimes,” you mumble, and kiss him again. “If it makes you feel better, I would have said yes. And anyway… I kinda knew you liked me. The walls are very thin, you know.”

Taehyun tenses up behind you. “What?” he asks after a beat of silence.

“I hear you jacking off all the time. I’m sorry to break it to you. At least you sound pretty.”

Taehyun groans and presses his nose between your shoulderblades. “Fuck you,” he says, muffled.

You hum. “We’re even.”

tyun: pussy so good i professed my undying love for her

#taehyun hard hours #taehyun x reader smut #taehyun smut #taehyun x reader #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #txt x reader #txt smut

3K notes · View notes

themotherofhorses · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: bodyguard!aemond targaryen x president's daughter!reader

warnings: explicit language. secret relationship. some sweet fluff. a highkey dark & obsessive aemond (as usual, that’s basically my brand). babytrapping. mentions of tiddy sucking but that’s rlly it.

notes: hi my little loves, long time no write. several months back, @welight-theway asked for a continuation of the bodyguard!aemond fic, so here it is! hope you enjoy it !! 🫶🏼

also im literally walking out the door as i post this, to walk the graduation stage and get my bachelor's hehe. 2nd gen college student over here 🥰

masterlist

As funny as it might sound, it was your breasts that tipped him off to the little one in your belly.

Sergeant Aemond One-Eye Targaryen is unashamedly a boob man — one so incredibly obsessed with your boobs, as much so as he is with the rest of your body, heart, and soul combined. He actually remembers this particular shirt (a low-cut halter top in his favorite color) you wore to a close friend’s birthday dinner; it looked absolutely stunning on you, showing off the perfect teasingly amount of cleavage that left his mouth watering and pants painfully tight. He helped you sneak out of the house with it, knowing that your father would’ve busted the vein in his forehead if he saw. It was three weeks into his new job as your personal bodyguard and four long years into his infatuation with you.

But that was around four months, and now he has you, and knows you — both inside and out.

So when your pretty face scrunches up in obvious discomfort when he sucks on your right boob and gnaws at your nipple, he is left raising an eyebrow. He has your boobs in his mouth all the time… the short hiss that soon follows between gritted teeth is a bit concerning as well. What is wrong, baby? he coos. It feels sore, you whine, hiding your face in his neck. Hurts too, daddy. Don’t like it. And you’re right, he realizes. Both your breasts and nipples appear more swollen than usual, puffy and tender, and maybe even … a bit plumper too?

Aemond thinks he has a faint grasp of what might be going on with his sweet girl.

He spends the following week eyeing your every movement around him, studying the way you walk and talk, eat and sleep, and how often you might visit the restroom. Frequent urination, odd food cravings, some complaints of minor backache here and there, and midday fatigue … when he googles ‘signs you might be pregnant’ later that evening, his suspicions are correct.

You are pregnant…with his baby. Oh. OH! Aemond is simply over the moon. He wants to cry and shout and pound his chest in happiness, manners and etiquette be damned. And he didn’t think it was actually possible, but he feels himself falling deeper in love with you, his mind constantly muddled with the sight of you fucked so full of him.

This … this is what you were made for, he knows — carrying all his babies, giving him the family he deserves.

“You’ve made me a daddy,” he mumbles against your stomach, careful not to stir you. You’re cuddled around a silk body pillow, exhausted from the four orgasms he gave you, fisting the sheets in a tight grip. “Good girl.” He then presses a tiny, feathery kiss above your belly button, gently dragging his lips across your soft skin, before closing his eyes. Aemond remembers a dreamlike fantasy he had around two years ago, back when he was stationed overseas at Ali Al Salem in Kuwait. He had been napping in an army tent, your picture clutched between his thumb and index finger.

(His favorite picture. Your father had posted it on Instagram as a birthday post; you were sitting at the dinner table with a strawberry shortcake cupcake centered in front of you, the 18-shaped candle poking out of the thick frosting.)

In his dream, you were his pretty little housewife, fingers laced together as you anxiously awaited your husband’s return. Once his laced-up combat boots stepped inside the American airport, you flung yourself into his arms, pleading with him never to leave you again. And he promised. Gods, did he promise. You were everything and more, how could he possibly neglect you again? He woke up only five minutes later, just when you were shyly spreading your legs open, and he was catching a glimpse of your wet cunt; he could’ve cursed the world and murdered someone at that moment.

Aemond almost wishes he could tell that younger sergeant that it’ll all be worth it. All that fucking fixation and hard work would play out in the end, and his ship would arrive at the right dock, and she’d be there to greet him.

Two months in, he notices all the small changes in your body. You’re none the wiser, of course, but your breasts are fuller, and your pretty face is carrying a new glow that shines along your cheekbones and smile. And the baby bump isn’t quite obvious yet, although that doesn’t stop his attention from constantly straying down to your tummy, in hopes of seeing something — anything — poke out. How could he not admire his beautiful and pregnant woman?

I know you’re in there, he sometimes thinks to himself, mostly in amusement. You might have fooled your mother, but not your daddy.

Three and a half weeks later, he kisses the tip of your nose and lips before whispering the news in your ear. Your head tilts in equal shock and confusion while your eyes widen and eyebrows furrow. “I’m…pregnant?” you breathe out. You then squint down, watching as your palm flattens across your lower belly. “Are… are you sure?”

He nods. “The signs are all there, baby.”

“What signs?”

“Remember when you were complaining about your breasts earlier?” You nod. He continues, “-sore and sensitive breasts are usually a sign of pregnancy. Haven’t you noticed that they’re a bit… fuller as well? Cup ‘em, baby, feel them.”

You do as he says, cupping your breasts. Around your nipples is a little tenderness that does hurt a bit, and they do fill out in your hands, but you didn’t think much of it before. You chalked it up to PMSing but now… now you’re left speechless, unable to process anything else but the fact you might actually be pregnant. Chuckling, Aemond rests his hands on your shoulders before pressing his forehead against yours. In his lone eye — both happiness and pride.

“I’m so sure of this… but if you’d like, just to be on the safe side, we can always have you take a pregnancy test.”

“Yeah!” you perk up. “Yeah…yeah, um, I think that is a good idea. Just to be positive, y’know.”

Aemond runs a quick trip to the local CVS, and forty-five minutes later, the pregnancy test displays two pink lines, side by side.

You’re pregnant with Aemond’s baby.

He’s completely overjoyed. You’re just trying to mentally plan out how to break the news to your father.

So it is quite hard to hide a swelling belly; this you learn throughout the next few months. You got lucky during the first trimester, having barely shown with some minor symptoms. But now halfway into your second trimester, there are only so many oversized sweaters and graphic t-shirts you can wear until it arouses suspicion.

But Aemond, he is simply so gentle and loving towards you, providing constant naked cuddles and belly strokes. He feels more like a husband than a lover, or even a retired decorated sergeant hired as your bodyguard.

You’re a bit worried about public reaction, and your father’s response to your unexpected pregnancy. Your father loves you so much, but at the end of the day, he is still your father, and you are his little girl. “What are the chances he might blacklist you?” you ask Aemond one afternoon, the two of you in the kitchen cooking lunch. “And send me to a nunnery in Switzerland?”

Aemond laughs. “Very unlikely, baby.”

“He’s going to be so upset…”

“It’ll be fine, quit worrying so much.”

“AEMOND!” you snap, bracing against the kitchen counter. Your temple falls into your hands, and you feel that sudden rush of stupid pregnancy hormones overcoming your thoughts. “It won’t be fine! Don’t you understand?! He’s going to hate me! HATE ME! He’s going to be so disappointed with me. I’m still young, in college, and unwedded. Can you imagine all the shit the public will say? All his political rivals, the media, people in school…”

I’m done. In the public’s eye, I’m ruined.

Aemond pauses his mixing of the salad greens, nuts, vegetables, and cheese, setting the bowl to the side. His head drops, and he lets out a loud sigh. “No one is taking you away from me,” he states, in a low and raspy voice. “Especially your damn father.” You blink, taken back a bit. “I don’t give a shit that your dad is the damn president of this fucking nation. You’re mine. That kid in your belly is mine.”

“Aemond…”

“I’ll marry you if I need to. Is that what your father wants? Would he be happy if his pregnant daughter was married to her baby daddy? Would it make all this unnecessary drama shit better? Cause I’ll fucking do it.”

You glance down at your bare feet, wiggling your painted toes. The mauve-colored nail polish is chipping along your big toenail. If you’d ask, Aemond would definitely repaint them.

“Do you want me to marry you?”

Your tongue wets your bottom lip before you press your mouth in a tight line. “I don’t know if my daddy will let me marry you…” you admit, toying with your fingers.

Aemond then leans against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. “Oh? Is that so?” In his mind, he is freshly eighteen and enlisting in the army, attempting so hard to ignore the snarky comments made toward both his nose and chin and quiet demeanor. All the doubt and torment, the constant undermining and discouragement, and being told he’d never amount to a higher ranking.

His eye drops to your baby bump poking out from behind your shirt, and the delicious way those cute booty shorts hug your hips. You’re everything and more. “I can’t lose you,” he says, shaking his head. “I will not lose you.” He is so incredibly in love with you, driven by obsession, and deepened by the fact that you’re carrying his child.

“I’ll marry you. Next month, next week, even tomorrow if you’d like. Just say yes, and I’ll handle the rest.”

He has the ring in his bedroom, tucked away in the back of his top bedside table drawer — a love knot, glittering with a French pave’ set of diamonds that cover the band halfway in 18k white gold. A symbol of everlasting love, he was told by the jeweler. It’s been in his possession for well over a year now, he just needed to find a reason to use it.

And a baby seems like the perfect reason, doesn’t it?

(creds to the loml my literal everything @chainsawsangel for the banner above <33)

taglist for everything aemond: @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @moonteas @chompchompluke

#aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #dark aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

595 notes · View notes

fear-less · 10 months ago

Text

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 jump then fall

pairing: harry potter x reader

warnings: tooth rotting fluff:p, no use of y/n, that’s all I think !!

1.6k words ^_^

You and harry had been friends since 2nd year, when you were both in the hospital wing alone, leading to a conversation. You and harry had accidentally fallen asleep in the cozy, warm common room after talking the previous night about random things, you had fallen asleep on Harry’s lap.

You had woken up before Harry, admiring your sleeping best friend, too engrossed by his ethereal face, you didn’t notice him stirring and waking up until he talked.

His raspy morning voice getting you out of trance, him laughing softly, the laugh that makes one’s heart flutter, the laugh that made your heart flutter. That exact moment was when you realized his laugh was the best sound you have ever heard. You had dug yourself in a hole far too deep to get out of.

You then realized he was talking, about who knows what, you heard the words but you were only thinking about how you two should be together. As he smiles while re-telling a story that happened to him last week (he already told you what happened a week ago) you also smile.

You never knew when these feelings for Harry started, but you never really fought them; it’s not like they could disappear. The thing is, you really wanted them to disappear, scared one day you’ll slip up and admit your feelings for Harry and ruin your friendship.

There were so many girls that wanted Harry, many that you thought were prettier, better suited for Harry. But oh how you wanted Harry to jump and fall onto you.

Too entranced, again, Harry had softy nudged your shoulders.

“It’s 6:30, breakfast just started, hurry and get ready so we can eat together.” With that, Harry had left to go get himself ready for the day.

You and Harry met up in the common room again, talking softly together making your way to the great hall. Ron and Hermione already there, food on their plates. You and Harry made your way to them, sitting across from them.

Harry’s hair couldn’t be anymore messier but oh how you loved the way falls on his face.

Not wanting to think of Harry anymore, you quickly grab food to put on your plate, Hermione lifting her eyebrows and smirking at you, she knew about your feelings for Harry. She had caught you staring at him for nearly 3 minutes straight in transfiguration, you later confessed that you indeed liked Harry.

You just loved how Harry was everything you ever wanted. His beautiful green eyes, soft raven hair, his personality. Oh you could just die from how perfect he is.

Realizing you’re zoning out again, you try to join into the conversation Ron and Harry were currently having.

However, your attention was immediately drawn to Harry, who seemed unusually subdued as he picked at his breakfast, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

Concern gnawed at your insides, and you leaned in closer to him, lowering your voice to a whisper. “Harry, is everything alright?”

Harry looked up, his emerald eyes clouded with worry. “It’s nothing, just… a headache. I probably didn’t get enough sleep last night. You know how noisy the common room can be. Maybe it’s more of a nap zone than a sleep spot.”

You had felt bad, knowing you were the reason he slept in the common room last night.

You studied him carefully, noting the faint lines of exhaustion etched across his features. “Are you sure? Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey, just to be safe.”

Before Harry could respond, a sudden commotion erupted across the hall, drawing everyone’s attention. You turned to see a group of Slytherins huddled together, casting furtive glances in Harry’s direction.

Hermione’s gaze hardened, her instincts kicking into overdrive. “What are they up to now?” she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

You felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach, a sense of foreboding settling over you like a heavy cloak. With tensions already running high, the last thing anyone needed was another confrontation with the Slytherins.

Harry’s hand tightened around his wand, his jaw set with determination. “I’ll go talk to them,” he said, his voice steady despite the unease swirling around him.

Before you could protest, Harry was on his feet, striding purposefully towards the Slytherin table. Your heart pounded in your chest, the fear of the unknown clawing at your senses.

As Harry disappeared into the throng of students, you exchanged a worried glance with Hermione, silently praying that everything would turn out alright. In times like these, the bonds of friendship were more important than ever, and you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

————————————————————————

As you and Hermione made your way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, the castle corridors echoed with the sounds of students bustling to their respective classes. The air hummed with anticipation, and a nervous energy seemed to permeate the stone walls.

Glancing sideways at Hermione, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh, your thoughts inevitably drifting to Harry. “I hope Harry’s doing alright,” you said, your voice laced with genuine concern.

Hermione shot you a knowing look, her brown eyes warm with understanding. “He’ll be fine, you know Harry. Always manages to come out on top, even in the trickiest situations.”

You nodded, trying to shake off the worry gnawing at your insides. “I know, it’s just… with everything going on lately, I can’t help but worry.”

Hermione placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, her touch grounding you in the present moment. “We’re all in this together. If Harry needs us, we’ll be there for him. That’s what friends do.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, grateful for Hermione’s unwavering support. “Thanks, Hermione. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Hermione returned your smile, her expression softening with affection. “You’d manage just fine, but it’s nice to know you have someone to lean on when things get tough.”

With Hermione’s words echoing in your mind, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you. No matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew that as long as you had your friends by your side, everything would be alright.

Harry hurt, is what you are now thinking of, if he was hurt, what would you do?

In moments of darkness, when the weight of the world bears down on Harry’s shoulders, you find solace in the simple act of being there for him. If ever he’s wounded, aching with the scars of battle or the burden of destiny, you stand ready, arms outstretched like a fortress against the storm, ready to catch him before he falls.

And if there comes a time when Harry’s anger threatens to consume him, when the weight of injustice presses down upon his soul until he feels like he might shatter, you offer him sanctuary in the embrace of your arms. You hold him through the night, his tears mingling with the soft whispers of solace and reassurance, until the darkness recedes and he finds solace in the light of dawn.

In these moments of vulnerability, you see Harry as he truly is, a soul forged in the crucible of adversity, yet tempered by the warmth of friendship and the enduring bonds of love. His laughter, once a rare and fleeting thing, now echoes through the corridors of your heart, a melody of hope and resilience that speaks to the depths of your soul.

And so you pledge to stand by him, unwavering and unyielding, through the trials and tribulations that lie ahead. For in Harry, you see not just a friend, but a kindred spirit—a beacon of light in a world shrouded in darkness, a reminder that even in the bleakest of times, love will always find a way to endure.

————————————————————————

As you and Harry sat by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, the crackling of the flames providing a comforting backdrop, you both found yourselves engrossed in conversation. The air between you was charged with a palpable tension, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Harry glanced at the you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary, before turning away with a faint blush coloring his cheeks. You felt your heart flutter at the intensity of his gaze, a warmth spreading through them like wildfire.

“I can’t believe it’s already our fifth year at Hogwarts,” Harry remarked, his voice soft with nostalgia. “Feels like just yesterday we were wandering the corridors, trying to navigate our way through the maze of secrets and mysteries.”

You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Time flies when you’re having fun, I suppose. But Hogwarts wouldn’t be the same without all the adventures we’ve shared together.”

Harry’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that took the reader’s breath away. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And… I’m grateful for every moment we’ve spent together.”

Your heart skipped a beat at Harry’s words, the weight of their shared history washing over them like a tidal wave. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the common room and the flickering glow of the fire, you realized just how much Harry meant to you.

As they sat in companionable silence, the air charged with unspoken longing, it became clear that your feelings for each other were anything but one-sided. In the quiet intimacy of the moment, you and Harry found solace in the knowledge that this bond was deeper than friendship, and that love had found its way into both of your hearts when none of you expected it.

With a whispered promise and a love that knew no bounds, you and Harry surrendered to the pull of destiny, hearts beating as one in a symphony of love that would endure through the ages.

Jump, then fall, baby

Jump, then fall into me, into me

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter oneshots #harry potter fanfiction #harry james potter imagine #harry james potter x reader #harry james potter x y/n #harry james potter x you #harry potter x y/n

262 notes · View notes

ilguna · 1 year ago

Note

Could I please get #1 from the 2nd list with finnick? Maybe it could be him leaving his SO in 13 while he goes to the capitol but this time he lives?

☼ broken promise (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, ehh gore, gun use.

wc; 2.6k

prompt; 1. "Just close your eyes. I will be here when you open them again."

—

A scream lodges in your throat, waking you, rocketing you into an upright position so that you can breathe. With one hand, you grab your throat, gasping for the air that’s been deprived of you, heart beating wildly in your chest. The other is reaching out to his side of the bed to make sure that he’s still there, that he hasn’t left you like the nightmare led you to believe.

Your fingers come into contact with his thigh, you slide your hand over his skin, fingers slowly digging in. You close your eyes, and try to remind yourself that it wasn’t real, and Finnick’s not going to slip through your fingers. He’s here, he’s right next to you.

“(Y/n)?”

You look over at Finnick, finding his eyes on you. His head is turned over his shoulder, one eye closed and the other one barely open to keep himself awake. You loosen your grip on his leg, most likely the cause of his wake.

“Sorry, Finn.” You murmur.

“What’s the matter?” He mumbles, beginning to roll over to face you.

“I’m fine.” You brush his hair out of his face. It’s getting long, he hasn’t cut it since the reaping.

“You’re not.” He says, voice raspy but sounding more awake. He grabs your arm, tugging at it slightly. “Come here.”

“It was just a nightmare, Finnick.” You tell him.

“I don’t care.” He says, pulling again.

You sigh, but scoot down in the bed, anyway. Finnick lifts the blanket up, arms out to make it easier for you to lay in them. He’s got his eyes closed, waiting for you. As soon as you’re as close as humanly possible, he drops the blanket and pulls you closer, chin on top of your head.

He’s warm, the exhaustion returns to your body slowly. It’s one of the curses of sleeping in the same bed as him. There will be times where he’s tired and needs a nap, but you’re fully rested. He’ll force you to cuddle him, and the next thing you know, the whole day has been wasted away because his body heat has made you drowsy.

However, this time, it’s different. It doesn’t take long for you to get to the brink of sleep, yet you never fall over the edge fully. Each time Finnick adjusts, you’re jolted awake. There’s something keeping you from reaching bliss, and you know exactly what it is.

How are you supposed to sleep when you’re afraid that Finnick’s going to join that stupid Capitol mission? You heard him talking about it with Haymitch a few days ago, and when you asked about it, Finnick told you that it was nothing to worry about. Except, you’re not that stupid.

You might have been caught up in your own problems here in District Thirteen, but that doesn’t mean you hadn’t noticed his schedule changed a couple weeks ago. He’s not where he’s supposed to be during the day. You did a little prying, some sneaking around, collected the clues and had it put together by his own best friend.

Johanna admitted to you that they had been training the entire time. They found out about a rebel mission to storm the Capitol and seize President Snow’s mansion. It turns out that Finnick isn’t the only one that has been getting ready for this. Katniss, Johanna and Gale have been, too.

Only, Johanna can’t go because she failed the final test. Finnick passed.

You didn’t know how to react to the information she told you, besides standing there and staring into her eyes. She knows how much Finnick means to you—what the two of you have been through to get to this point. She didn’t think, throughout all these weeks, that it might’ve been smart to give you a head’s up that your fiance would be leaving on a suicide mission?

Is he ever going to tell you, himself?

Johanna knew you were mad, and she didn’t have any defense. She simply told you that she had advised Finnick to let you in on it, but the conversation never went on any further than that. Since then, you’ve been waiting for him to tell you. Especially since the hovercraft should be leaving any day now.

“You’re not sleeping.” Finnick suddenly mutters, you jerk slightly at the sound of his voice. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it, my love?”

You press your lips together. “Promise me you’re not going to leave me, Finnick.”

“What makes you think that I’d leave you?” He asks, pulling you closer into his body. “I would never want that.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You whisper. “I want you to promise that you’re not going to leave this bunker to go on that mission, Finnick. And then I want you to keep it.”

“I promise I’m not going to go on the mission.” He says without hesitating. You can feel his fingers combing through your hair. “Just close your eyes, baby. I will be here when you open them again.”

The heavy feeling in your chest keeps you from believing him.

–

You cross your arms over your chest, teeth tightly grit together to keep from saying anything that might get you in trouble. Although, no words need to be said. The hard glare you’re giving Haymitch speaks a thousand words.

“Oh, (Y/n), what a pleasure.” Plutarch says, coming through an adjacent door. Behind him is President Coin, hair neatly straightened, eyes landing on you when Plutarch moves out of the way. “How are you?”

You give him a sarcastic smile. “The pleasure is all mine, Plutarch, really. It’s always fantastic to be around you. You simply have the best and most charming personality in this entire cement coffin, you know that?”

“(Y/n).” Haymitch warns.

“And I’m doing great, actually. I would be doing better if someone explained to me why the hell my fiance was allowed to get on a hovercraft to District Two.”

“I don’t believe you have clearance to be in here.” Coin says, coming down the steps.

“I should.” You tell her. “I don’t see a reason why you’d want to keep me out of here. Oh right, how else would you then go behind my back after everything I’ve done for you?”

“Who let you in this room?” Coin asks.

“I did.” Haymitch says. “She’s got a point. Why was Finnick allowed to train and she wasn’t?”

“That’s because Katniss and Johanna found out about the program we have, and then told Finnick about it. We didn’t have anything to do with him joining.” Coin stops a few feet away from you. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Miss (L/n).”

“And it didn’t occur to you once to let me in on something like that?” You ask her, not moving from where your feet are planted.

“If it helps any, Peeta wasn’t allowed to, either.” Plutarch says.

You press your lips together into an angry smile. “No, that doesn’t help.”

“We can’t do anything for you.” Coin has her hand outstretched toward the door.

Your jaw goes slack. “Is that right?” She doesn’t say anything. “Get Finnick Odair on the next hovercraft back here, now.”

“That’s not possible, (Y/n), and there’s no need to.” Plutarch tells you. “Finnick is part of a group called the Star Squad. They’ve already traveled to the main camp outside of the Capitol, it’ll take a full day for him to get back to District Two. Their jobs aren’t to fight, though, they’ll be traveling behind the main rebel lines. They won’t be put into any direct danger.”

“You better hope not.” You tell Plutarch. “If anything happens to him, I’ll make sure it haunts you for the rest of your fucking life.”

—

“Let me see!” You shout, slamming through the Command room’s doors. “I want to see it for myself!”

Several heads swivel in your direction, daring to remove their eyes from the screen in front of them to see who’s intruding. When they’re met with you, they look away, uninterested.

No one makes a move to escort you out of the room, despite the fact that Coin made it very clear that you weren’t going to be allowed into Command ever again. The doors swing shut behind you, locking you inside.

You drag your feet forward a couple of steps, watching a replay of what’s just taken place in the Capitol. It’s a video of the Star Squad, the group that you were told wouldn’t be put into any danger. There’s a voiceover from the Capitol, explaining to you what’s happening.

They had been trying to film a propo, when they set off a bomb in the middle of the colorful apartment’s courtyard. It blows off the squad leader’s legs, and you watch as they all scramble to regroup, and descend into chaos when black gel shoots from the street.

They make a run for it, trying to get into an apartment before the oil gets to them. A previously level-headed Peeta turns rabid, trying to kill Katniss. One of the trained squad members tries to save her, and in return, he gets kicked into another pod, where barbed wire strings him up above the street.

From there, it takes two people to get a hold of Peeta, where they drag him inside. You catch sight of Finnick, carrying someone over his shoulder, alive. Then, everyone else files in, except for Gale, who tries to shoot the soldier down from the wire. This is the last glimpse you get of the situation, before the camera goes black.

The Capitol reporter is able to identify Gale, Finnick, Peeta, Cressida, Katniss and a man named Boggs, by first name.

You watch in horror as the next clip begins to play. Peacekeepers line up on the roof of the building across from the one the squad ran into. Bombs are launched into the row of apartments, setting off a chain of explosions, and then the building collapses in on itself.

You can feel your heart drop.

It cuts away to a reporter, standing on the same roof the Peacekeepers were. Behind her, the apartment building is aflame. The firefighters work hard to control the flames. The reporter pronounces each person that was inside of that building, dead.

“Oh my god.” You breathe, hand clutching at your chest, beginning to hyperventilate.

They play this scene over and over, proud of their victory. The only time they stop is when a montage of Katniss begins. They talk of her rise to rebel power, and then proceed to tear her down, claiming that she deserved such a violent end.

The room begins to spin around you, an icy feeling spreads from your head down your chest and back, reaching for your legs. You try to hold back the tears that build in your eyes, but once the first one falls, it’s over. A loud sob escapes you as you take a step forward toward the screen.

You quickly change direction, stumbling to a desk with a computer and keyboard on it. You’re barely able to pull the trash can out from underneath it, before you’re vomiting up your entire breakfast and lunch. You can’t breathe. Between the hyperventilating, the tears, and the puke, you struggle to get more than a breath of air in you at a single time.

You sink to your knees, hands coming into contact with the cold cement. You cry for a few seconds, until it dissolves into a coughing fit, that has you gagging.

He’s dead. Your fiance is dead, and it’s been less than a week since he left for the Capitol.

The doors to Command open behind you. The sounds of boots scuffing on the ground is hardly audible over your sniffling. You tilt your head back, letting the tears roll down your chin, to your neck.

“(Y/n).” Someone says, coming to crouch next to you. A hand is placed on your back, between your shoulders, rubbing gently. You think it’s Haymitch. “You have to get out before Coin gets here.”

“I don’t care.” You whimper, “Let her. It doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters to me without him.”

—

Finnick survived.

He’s in the Capitol, waiting for your hovercraft to land so that he can be the first person you see when you step off. From what you’ve heard, he’s not even significantly hurt from his time navigating the streets and the sewers.

When they had first told you that he wasn’t dead and he’d successfully made it to the mansion alongside Katniss, about twelve hours ago, you thought they were playing a cruel joke on you. It wasn’t until they pulled up pictures of him in the aftermath, helping navigate the wounded around him, did you believe them.

There was no question about it, Coin didn’t even bother to put up a fight against you. You, Johanna and Haymitch were put on the first hovercraft that would be traveling to the Capitol. And you haven’t been able to sit still in your seat the entire time. It’s driven Johanna crazy enough to have Haymitch switch seats with her.

You reach for your engagement ring, twisting it on your finger. You should be landing any minute now. It’s only been a week or so since Finnick left you in Thirteen, but it’s felt like months. You went from having him, to losing him, and getting him back only a couple days later.

The hovercraft jerks suddenly as you land. Your fingers fly to the belt they advised for you to have on during the landing. You pull it off, getting to your feet. The pilots shout for you to stay back while they open the rear door. Nothing happens for the longest second, and then the door begins to creak and groan, sunlight flooding in through the cracks.

You start forward, eyes adjusting to the sunlight. When it’s about halfway down, you’re able to get your first glimpse of the hovercraft runway, and the people coming toward you. His bronze hair is shining in the sunlight, and he’s changed into street clothes, instead of wearing the bulky armor that he’d been pictured in.

The second the door touches the concrete, and the pilots tell you it’s safe to leave, you’re out the door and running in his direction. The people he’s with move away, expecting a large impact, while Finnick opens his arms widely, ready to embrace everything you have for him.

You slam into his body, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you against him so tightly, that you’re sure you’ll become one person. Finnick presses kisses on your forehead, temple, cheek, neck—anywhere he can touch skin. When you tilt your head back, he seizes your lips in a long kiss, that you have to force yourself to break apart from.

His face twists, eyebrows drawn in, about to ask you why you’ve pulled away like that, but you’ve already grabbed a hold of the front of his shirt, beginning to shake him. He grabs your arms, eyes widening.

“If you ever do that to me again, Finnick, I’ll leave you!” You shout at him, jerking his shoulders. “Do you understand? I will leave and never come back!”

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n).” Finnick says, holding onto you. “I’m so—”

“How could you do that to me?” You sob, “You could’ve died!”

“I know.” He tells you, “It won’t happen again, honey. I promise you. And I’m going to keep it this time.”

You cup his face, pressing your lips to his.

431 notes · View notes

milaisreading · 1 year ago

Note

Crossdresser!Y/N having a bunch of fangirls flocking them when there out in shibuya post U-20 match, and the other bluelock players getting jealous

🌱🩷: thanks for the request! Here u go, I hope u like it🫶🏻

Warnings: Reader is she/her, just crossdressing as a guy. The boys address her as he/him tho. Requests for this series are open

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura ⚽️

"Can you two stop daydreaming and concentrate?" (Y/n) and Isagi looked at each other, then watched as Ego scolded Bachira and Otoya for not listening to him.

"They can be funny at times." (Y/n) noted with a soft smile as Isagi agreed, laughing a little as they went to warm up. The stadium was already filling up with people, which made the Blue Lock team more nervous, even the ones who were usually more confident or laid back.

'I hope my parents aren't here...' (Y/n) thought as she stretched. Isagi looked over at his training buddy, a little bit concerned for the way she was acting.

"Everything alright?"

"Oh? Yeah, I am fine. Just pre-game jitters." (Y/n) said simply as Isagi raised an eyebrow.

"You sure? I have seen how you act during the 2nd and 3rd selection, even during the game against the World 5. You were a lot calmer than you are now."

'Busted!' (Y/n) flinched.

"Well... I am just hoping my parents won't be here... or my brothers."

Isagi tensed up a little, having heard about the strikers family weeks ago. They left a sour taste in his mouth, the way they forced his friend to be someone she wasn't.

"Don't worry." (Y/n) looked up at Isagi he held his hand in front of her.

"They won't come near you. You have the team and me to protect you." The girl smiled at the ace, not regretting letting him in on her secrets... even the one about her crossdressing.

'Isagi.' She was about to grab the boy's hand, when another's hand grabbed hers and quickly pulled her up.

"Gagamru?! You scared me!" (Y/n) shrieked at the goalkeeper, who nervously smiled at her.

"Sorry, but we need to get in line." The goalkeeper said, ignoring the glares he was getting from Isagi.

'Serves you right for hogging all of (Y/n's attention. He should be focusing on me- I mean, the game!' Gagamaru thought as he let go of her hand.

"Let's go you all. Ego will be on our asses if we don't hurry up." Otoya said lazily as he grabbed one of (Y/n)'s shoulders.

"Oh? Yeah, you guys might be right-"

The striker spoke, and then got interrupted by a bunch of screams from the benches.

"What even?!" Isagi yelled in surprise as the four saw a group of girls waving at them.

"Does anyone know them?" Gagamaru wondered.

"No... maybe those are your fangirls, Otoya-" but Isagi's suspicions proved to be wrong as the girls finally yelled out (Y/n)'s name.

"Ahhh! (Y/N)-SAN LOOKED AT ME!"

"GOOD LUCK, (Y/N)-KUN! I BELIEVE IN YOU!"

"THE BLUE LOCK UNIFORM LOOKS GREAT ON YOU!"

"CAN I PLEASE BE YOUR GIRLFRIEND?!"

The (h/c) haired girl was left in utter shock and embarrassment as he heard the girls, trying to laugh it off nervously. But Otoya and Isagi, who were agitated by the words took each of the striker's arms and started pulling him away from the girls, Gagamaru was left behind to send them a distasteful look.

'What a group of weirdos... (Y/n) deserves better.' The goalkeeper thought.

'No way will I let a bunch of nobodies get to him...' Otoya's glare deepened.

'I will protect you, (Y/n).' Isagi thought, deciding to make some small talk as they approached Niko, Chigiri, and Karasu, who heard the commotion and were all equally annoyed.

"Oi, donkey." Barou approached the group, scowling at the (h/c) haired striker.

"What?"

"Focus on the game. Not the girls." Barou said, sounding a little jealous as he got out of Otoya and Isagi's grips.

"You act like I asked for the attention." The girl rolled her eyes.

"Stop being mean to (Y/n)-kun, Barou. It's really unwarranted." Bachira said with an agitated smile.

"Yeah, tyrant king. Come on, (Y/n)-kun, I should tie your hair before the game starts." Chigiri said excitedly, pulling the girl to the benches.

"Slow down, Chigiri." The girl warned as Niko trailed after them.

"Can I brush your hair?" The youngest asked timidly as Otoya and Bachira ran after the trio. This left both Isagi and Barou staring down at each other.

"What are you trying to do, donkey? (Y/n) has been my partner since day one, why are you so fixated on having her for yourself?" Barou whispered the last part, fully aware that Isagi was the only other player who knew (Y/n)'s secret.

"You might have been her partner during the 1st selection... but don't forget who she picked in the 2nd and 3rd. She picked me, and I would pick her as my partner any day. Besides, king, she trusts me with way more secrets than you." Isagi said smugly as Barou grew more and more agitated.

'Just what does he mean by that?!'

After the game ended with Blue lock's clear win, the team was given a few weeks off and they decided to spend one day together in Shibuya... well, nearly all of them. Hiori, Kurona, Nanase, and Niko sadly couldn't join them. And Rin flat out refused after everything went down. After the attention he should have gotten from his brother went towards Isagi and (Y/n), the captain couldn't stand being around them for a while. But, the duo paid him no mind, too lost in their own world.

The day itself started off calmly, as they all went to a nearby arcade, and everyone was lost in some form of game. (Y/n) was playing a dance game with Yukimiya, Karasu and Otoya as a group of girls approached them... well, they were more there for the (h/c) haired striker.

"E-excuse me." (Y/n) tensed up as someone pulled on her hoodie and she turned to look at one of the girls.

"Yes?"

"Can... can we take a few pictures with you, (L/n)-kun? We are huge fans!" The blonde girl and her friends nodded their heads. Shyly, the striker nodded her head, still a little uncomfortable with all the attention.

'Wonder how this will end once it comes out I am girl.' She thought as each girl took a picture with her.

Meanwhile, Karasu, Otoya and Yukimiya stared at them in jealousy. Nobody should have the striker's attention now, except for them that is. Karasu pouted as one of the girls touched the other's hair, complimenting as to how soft it was.

'Stop touching him!'

Otoya's eye twitched as another girl asked (Y/n) what her ideal type was.

'Definitely not you.'

Yukimiya fixed his glasses as another girl how the two of them would make a beautiful couple.

'Absolutely not.'

The trio looked at each other and nodded their head. They made their way to the group, then Karasu and Otoya stood on either side of the flustered striker as Yukimiya decided to stand protectively in front of him.

"I am so sorry, but we need to go now." The model said as politely as possible as Karasu and Otoya started dragging her away while a satisfied Yukimiya followed after them.

"That... that was quite something..." (Y/n) laughed nervously as the trio softly smiled at his laugh.

"Yeah, it was~" The trio said.

The 2nd incident during the day happened at

a local karaoke bar in Shibuya. It was a pure coincidence that Chigiri opened one of the rooms of the karaoke bar, only to find the U-20 team inside. So now Chigiri, Bachira and Isagi were having either some sort of arguments with them or trying to calm everyone down... well, more like Isagi and Miroku were.

"Aiyah... what a day..." (Y/n) muttered as she watched everything unfold from the outside, when a door from behind her slammed open, revealing to her surprise two enraged women yelling at someone inside.

'What the hell?!' She thought, shaking a little as the women kept on yelling, not noticing her and the others staring at them in disbelief. They didn't look older than 20 by (Y/n)'s observation, then she turned to look around the hallway. And to her horror, everyone was looking at them.

"P-please, calm down." (Y/n) started speaking softly, causing the two women to stop and look at her on confusion.

"I... I am sure whoever is inside did mess up, but they aren't worth your yelling or anger." The girl said nervously, hoping she didn't offend them.

"Huh?" The shorter haired girl stopped for a moment, observing the striker's face. The long haired one widened her eyes for a moment and walked up to (Y/n).

"You are that striker from Blue Lock? (L/n)-kun?"

"Uhm? Ye-yes, ma'am." She said nervously and bowed. The two women squealed at that and were now on each side of her.

"The goal was amazing! The way you knew your way around the U-20 team was very interrupted to watch."

"Why didn't you give an interview? We would have loved listening to you!"

"A-ah... there was nothing much for me to say... besides, Isagi was the one who brought us victory." (Y/n)'s face flushed from how close the two women were and she backed away a little.

"So humble~" The sighed dreamily.

"How are you still single?"

"Well-" (Y/n)'s words got interrupted as Bachira wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling the girl closer to him as Chigiri and Isagi tried to play it nicely while shielding her from the two girls.

"Please don't make (Y/n) nervous... he is very shy around girls." Chigiri smiled as kindly as possible, but inside he was fuming.

'Back off.'

Bachira kept quiet, but intensely stared at the two older girls as his grip around (Y/n) tightened.

'My monster won't allow any of you to take him from me.'

Isagi was the only one somewhat calm, as he knew that (Y/n) wasn't looking for anyone yet. But the starstruck gazes she was receiving from the two were quite annoying.

'She is my training partner...'

The 3rd incident that day happened at a nearby bowling alley, where the Blue Lock team and U-20 team agreed to have a final friendly match for the day. Although (Y/n) wasn't much found of the sport, she agreed anyways as the boy's were excited for another friendly match. During the preparations, Aryu, Tokimitsu and her walked into Barou, who was bowling by himself as a group of girls was watching him.

"Barou? What are you doing here? I didn't know you were a bowling freak." (Y/n) asked in amusement as Tokimitsu panicked a little from the irritated stare Barou was sending the trio.

"Shut your mouth! I just like playing it from time to time."

"Now now, Barou. Yelling at someone as glam as (Y/n)-kun isn't really nice." Aryu sent him a warning glare.

"Yeah... it's really unwarranted." Tokimitsu added in, and to (Y/n)'s surprise he didn't stutter.

"It's ok, you two. I don't mind."

"How I speak with my training partner is none of your concern, Aryu." Barou said calmly as Aryu glared at him more.

"P-please calm down. We shouldn't fight in front of him." Tokimitsu warned them and the two looked at him for a moment.

"You are right..." Aryu sighed and flipped his hair.

"I can't lose my cool in front of (Y/n)-kun. He looks up to me-"

"He does not." Barou rolled his eyes. Tokimitsu sighed and looked back at (Y/n), only for his face to fall as he saw the girl's surrounding her. They were either asking him quite personal questions or just asking for a picture. Aryu and Barou's looks also fell a little as they saw the scene. Neither of the 3 liked this. After all, (Y/n) was their teammate. The trio looked at each other and nodded their heads, deciding to save the obviously uncomfortable striker from that mess.

"That was an eventful day." (Y/n) yawned as her, Nagi and Reo were on the train back home. The two looked at each other and nodded their heads.

"It was quite fun, but I think you should sleep for a bit. We still have a long way till we get home." Reo suggested as (Y/n) slowly nodded her head. Nagi used the opportunity and pulled his friend closer to himself. The duo watched as the striker slowly fell asleep.

"Reo... do you think we are losing him to Isagi?" Nagi mused as Reo frowned at that. Although he didn't like what Nagi said, he couldn't deny the close bond (Y/n) now shared with Isagi.

"I think so... but, we need to bring an end to this." Reo concluded as Nagi slowly nodded his head.

"We didn't spend all this time stealing those love letter aimed at him, and shooing fangirls away, just for us to lose him." Reo said, looking down at the sleeping striker.

"We need to make him remember who his actual partners are." Nagi grumbled, his hold on (Y/n) tightening.

"We need to see how close he is with Isagi... I need to know why it looks like Isagi knows more about (Y/n) than we do. Then, we can start destroying whatever bond they share." Reo concluded as Nagi slowly nodded his head.

#bllk #blue lock anime #blue lock manga #isagi yoichi #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock requests #reo mikage #chigiri hyoma #nagi seishiro #bachira meguru #gin gagamaru #otoya eita #karasu tabito #yukimiya kenyu #aryu jyubei #tokimitsu aoshi #barou shouei #crossdressing

469 notes · View notes

fruitmins · 1 year ago

Text

Agust Dad—Two

➭ summary: Your a producer from another company that he happened to be collaborating with on his 2nd album D-2. At the release party— one drunk action leads to another, you do the worst thing you can do in the industry and change your fate forever.

➭genre: short series, pregnancy au, idol au, angst, dad au

➭warnings: mentions of vomit and throwing up, pregnancy, one singular cuss word, talk about self hate, hints of abortion

note: i have such big plans for this, I just hope my writing comes in clutch. this is a little shorter, the next one will be longer I swear

Taglist: @welcometomyworld13 @tatyhend @jiminiesunicorn @littlestarstinyseven @baechugff @thelilbutifulthings @tearykth @familiarlikemymirror3 @coree730 @prajusstuff @wobblewobble822 @choisoorin @manuosorioh @0funsite0 @whipwhoops

“What are you doing here?”

You ask, eyes widening when Yoongi shows up in your office one morning, effortlessly closing the door behind himself and stepping up to your desk before you can even finish your sentence.

You should have guessed that you’d have a visit from him, but you thought he was more rational than showing up at your office in broad daylight. He was supposed to be one of the more professional members.

“Is the baby mine?” Yoongi asks point blank, his tone neutral, perhaps even slightly stern.

His question hangs in the air, the answer being obvious – if slightly daunting and it catches you by the throat.

Instead, you continue to remain silent, your gaze fixed on the computer in front of you that faded to black a long while ago. You don’t know how to respond, or even what to say. And you were afraid that answering him would make everything more real. That reality would finally set in and you’d have to face the consequences.

Yoongi sighs and runs his hands through his long black hair frustratedly and decides to ask another question instead.

“How many weeks are you?” He asked this time and you know you can’t give him silence twice, not if you wanted to get him out of your office as fast as possible. You suck in a breath before you speak.

“Six weeks..” You whisper, your voice barely heard. Yoongi thinks back to six weeks ago, and realizes that the timeline added up. That he could possibly the the father.

Yoongi remains quiet for a few moments, as if letting your confirmation finally sink in. As he processes your words, his expression softens, but it’s visible that he was hit with a wave of thoughts. A mixture of emotions seems to dance across his features – uncertainty, fear, maybe even a hint of joy but you can’t find the strength to stare at him for too long.

You look at your computer, having your own wave of conflicting emotions and thoughts wash over you. Disbelief, shock, guilt – all of it, all at once.

But the longer there is a stalemate between the two of you, the more uncomfortable the atmosphere gets.

Just like you had thought. Reality set in the more silent you sat through.

You were pregnant with Min Yoongi’s baby.

“So…” Yoongi starts, breaking the heavy silence once and for all, “what do you plan on doing about it?”

“I plan on having a baby..” You state firmly but your voice is still small and quiet. You still can’t look up at him and stare at the black screen, feeling overwhelmed by the whole thing. You couldn’t believe you were having this conversation with him of all people, in broad daylight.

There’s a long pause after your declaration. Yoongi takes a step back, his expression shifting into one filled with worry and concern. When he speaks his voice is in a whisper and filled with emotions.

“Why?”

You could guess in what direction this conversation is heading, and you don’t like it.

“You know I work in music. People wouldn’t be pleased to know I have a kid, let alone with a co-worker. Not to mention that I’m a public figure. Hell, we’re not even married.” You know it makes sense, you know that this baby would only make problems but something deep inside you urges you to object anyway. You know I’m your heart that you can’t just abandon and give up on this baby.

“I don’t need your help raising it.” You dare to say, your voice firm. You knew the risks of people finding out you were pregnant with Yoongi’s baby. The media would go crazy and you would likely lose your job. Still, you didn’t want to abandon your baby like he did you. Like he would do this child. You didn’t need his help, in fact, you rather he stay away all together.

The silence is stretched out until Yoongi finally speaks, his words measured.

"I see," he says slowly, the words sinking in, "so, you plan on raising the baby by yourself." He clarity’s to himself and you nod, staying firm.

He runs his hands through his hair again, this time with more tension. He thinks through your words and tries to process them, all while struggling to keep calm. He looked visibly stressed about the entire situation so you’re half expecting him to just give you a check for your silence and walk out.

He lets out a long sigh, the tension between you two reaching its breaking point.

"This is my problem too. I'll help you however I can," Yoongi says, his tone shifting into a more level- headed one. “But you can’t just decide what happens to this baby if it’s mine and leave me out. This affects me too.”

You roll your eyes and scoff at his choice of words. If it’s he’s. Like you were always so unprofessional and just slept around. He was calling it a problem for God’s sake. Calling you a problem.

“It’s not like you would risk your whole career for a woman you don’t even know.” You say sternly, trying to control your emotions but it’s hard when your stomach and your throat are burning.

“I’ll raise this baby alone just like how you left me alone after we did it. You don’t get to decide anything.” You say and the words sound harsh but you’re just looking out for yourself. You didn’t need Yoongi and all the package he came with.

“So you’ll just have Jin help you though the whole thing.” He says and it earns him a scoff and a glare.

“I didn’t want to get Jin involved he was just there.” You say firmly, feeling your blood boiling even though you know you should calm down. “At least he was there.” You say harshly.

“Why do you keep saying shit like that?” He finally asks clearly getting worked up as he looks at you in disbelief and confusion.

“Because that’s what you did! You lured me in and then left me! I put my entire job in jeopardy and you didn’t even care.” You state, memories of being alone in the hotel, wallowing in self hate over your mistake.

You wanted to tell him how much he made you hate yourself. How much he damaged you on the inside. How he took your pride and dignity with him when he left.

“You made me feel terrible,” your voice cracks slightly as you try to hold down the tears in your throat. “And the worst part is that at the end of the day. It didn’t even affect you. You’re still famous and rich and loved by many.”

Your stomach turns as you think back to when you first heard BTS. When listened to his first album. How excited you were when you got to work with him on a song.

Yoongi's expression is blank, his eyes boring into you from the opposite end of the desk as he contemplates your words. This is indeed new information for him, and it might take some time for him to wrap his mind around.

Something changes in his eyes as he stares at you, his eyes never leaving you. He opens his mouth, looking conflicted as he tries to build a sentence but your to embarrassed and ashamed to even hear what he wants to say.

So before he can say anything you stand up from your desk and rush out, holding your stomach as you feel morning sickness coming. You know that he still has more to say, but you refuse to look back. For now at least, Yoongi will just have to stew in his own conflicted feelings.

You get to the bathroom, tears finally falling from your lids as you bent over the toilet and throw up the little breakfast you had. You felt like a mess all over again. Your head is spinning and your eyes are hazy. You’re so exhausted and tired you think you might faint.

You know that seeing Yoongi again would likely break you completely, and you’re to scared to go back to your office because you don’t know if he is gone or not.

You decided to go home early, stating that you’re sick and all it took was one good look at you and they gave you permission to leave. No doubt you looked a mess, even with a mask on.

Once you're home, you slump down on your bed, exhausted after the events of the day. You’d really need some rest after today's events, not to mention the persistent nausea and fatigue that have been plaguing you. You feel tired but can't seem to fall asleep, thoughts spinning around your head about your pregnancy and what's to come.

When you finally manage to get in a short nap it doesn’t last as long as you needed. You check the clock on your phone and see it's late at night, and that you have a new message from a number you don't recognize.

The text is completely anonymous. From an unsaved number you had never seen before. But despite this, know how exactly who it’s from and it sends you into a spiral.

i’m here now

812 notes · View notes

daisynik7 · 2 years ago

Text

Give You Blue

Chapter 5: Dreams

Pairing: Eren x f!reader, Reiner x f!reader (past relationship)

Rating: Explicit (for mature content)

cw: switching POVs (reader is in 2nd person, Eren is in 3rd), implications of a panic attack and anxiety, language, angst, mature content, sexually explicit content

Word Count: ~3.9k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Give You Blue Masterlist | ao3 | Give You Blue Taglist

Summary: Your friendship with Eren is taken to the next level. You have a sweet dream that turns into a nightmare. Eren tells his parents that he is considering changing his major. Author’s Note: What do we think of this chapter? I know it’s a bit of a slow burn, so I appreciate you sticking with this! Likes, comments, and/or reblogs are always appreciated. If you want to be tagged in the next chapter(s), please let me know! Divider created by @/mikeykuns.

You press firmly on the strings of the guitar, stretching your pinky as far as you can to reach whatever note Eren instructed you to. With a gentle strum, you play the chord. Well, sort of. It definitely doesn’t sound the way it did when he showed you. You drop your head, sighing. “Okay, it’s official. I suck at guitar.”

Eren sits crossed legged in front of you. “You don’t. Try again,” he encourages, a small smile on his face.

“I can’t get my hands to bend the right way!” You hold your palm out in front of him, twisting your fingers in all types of misshapen claw formations. “Admit it. I suck.”

“You don’t suck.”

“It’s okay, I’ve accepted it! And as my mentor, you should too. Say it.”

“I will not,” he refuses, folding his arms over his chest, smirking.

“C’mon, Eren! Look,” You play the broken chord again, louder this time, trying to prove a point. “See?! Say it!”

He chuckles, responding quietly, “Okay, maybe you do suck at this. Just a little bit,” pinching a small space of air between his thumb and index finger.

You set the guitar back on its stand, laughing. “Ha! I knew it. This tells me that I should leave this to the professionals.” You grin at him, hugging your knees to your chest as you sit across from him on the carpeted floor.

Ever since the game-night Eren hosted a few weeks ago, the two of you have grown closer. More often now, you find yourself in his room, chatting about life, listening to each other vent, watching a movie, or indulging in his wonderful guitar skills. He even attempted to teach you the stringed instrument; the key word being attempted. Being with him makes you almost forget the misery that you suffered at the beginning of this semester. Almost.

Reiner remains relentless in his efforts to contact you. While you’ve managed to avoid any personal confrontations ever since the last one outside your dorm, he hasn’t stopped reaching out through text. A few times throughout the week, he’ll call you, leaving a short message that’s along the lines of, “Hey, it’s me again. Call me when you’re ready to talk.” You never pick up, nor respond, and still, he tries.

You wish you were unfazed by it, but parts of you cling to the past. Deep down, it pains you to ignore him. Sometimes, you see him as Reiner, your best friend, the kid you grew up with. Protecting you on the playground, confiding in you during his lowest moments, picking you up during yours. And as much as you want to preserve those memories of him like a delicate treasure, one bad breakup is enough to shatter it. To make you realize that maybe the two of you should have stayed friends all along, and nothing more.

Surprisingly, you’ve been able to talk about this easily with Eren. Annie has always been your main confidant throughout, but her less than gentle approach sometimes leaves you defeated, as if you’re wrong for having these conflicted feelings for your ex. As much as you’d like to be completely, one hundred percent over him, it isn’t that simple. And with Eren, he understands that. Having no stakes in it, or knowing who Reiner is, he listens to your inner turmoil without judgment. He makes you feel normal.

He's been opening up to you, too, sharing his on-going struggles with his pre-med major and the impossible expectations of his father. He maintains that pleasant smile on his face, despite being crushed by whatever weight that’s been forced on him from an early age. A victim of suffering he’s been subjected to inherit, without any say. It’s his father’s burden that was passed on to him, to continue whatever legacy he thinks will help the world. Dr. Jaeger is always looking out for the greater good of society, never about his own family.

It’s been nice confiding in each other, not having to hold back for the sake of each other’s feelings. When you were with Reiner, you always had to be extra cautious around him, wanting to avoid saying anything that might hurt him. In Eren’s case, he’s never been able to be honest with his father. While he has his mother, he can’t always be completely honest with her, not wanting to cause any rift amongst his parents.

Eren is actually considering changing his major. He’s been in contact with Erwin Smith, getting an idea of what the process would look like. The senior has been more than helpful, alleviating any concerns he might have about the transition, even setting up a time to meet with his father, who works as a teacher at a nearby elementary school. Still, he’s apprehensive to make the final step, as expected. It’s a big decision, one that changes the course of his future. It might cause drama between him and his family. No matter what he ends up deciding, you’ve made it clear that you’ll support him through and through.

You check your phone for the time. “It’s getting late. I should probably head back to my room now before Annie gets worried.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, wouldn’t want her getting an ideas about us.”

“Oh, believe me, she already has. She’s convinced we’re dating,” you say, standing up.

He follows, stepping towards the door, fingers at the handle. “How scandalous! I can picture the headlines now: Anxiety-ridden RA whisks beautiful resident off her feet to run away into the sunset together.”

You beam at him. “Now that’s a story I’d love to read.”

He smiles back. “Me too.”

Recently, there’s been a shift in energy between you two. There’s no denying it: you are attracted to him, both to his magnetic personality and his charming looks. But there’s this everlasting guilt in the pit of your stomach, preventing you from pursuing anything romantic with him. Simply imagining it brings you shame, like it’s inappropriate to think about. Obviously, you and Reiner are over, maybe for good. And you’re almost certain he’s been with other women since, at least, that’s what your self-conscious mind theorizes. So what’s stopping you? Is it fear? Fear of working hard at another relationship, only for it to crumble before your feet, like it did with your ex? You can’t take any more heartache. It’s easier to avoid it all together.

As you’ve said before, the easier road isn’t always better. And the optimistic, love-sick fool in you believes there’s a chance at a happy ending, this time with Eren instead of Reiner. It’s new, foreign territory, a journey filled with the unknown. Is it worth the risk?

For now, you keep these thoughts buried in the back of your mind. You value your friendship with Eren, enough to not ruin it. Besides, you’re unsure how he feels about you. Maybe you’re better off as friends and nothing more, just as it should have been with Reiner. And while this hurts to realize, it’s better for everyone in the long run. There’s no room for heartbreak if you don’t give your heart to anyone. It’s that simple, right?

He holds open the door for you, leaning against the frame. “Sweet dreams.”

“You always say that,” you giggle.

“Well, that’s because I mean it. I really hope you have some seriously sweet dreams tonight.”

You step out into the hall slowly. “Thanks, Mr. RA. I wish the same for you, too. Goodnight.” With a final wave, you head into your room, cheeks pleasantly warm with a bright smile on your face.

~~~

“You’re beautiful.”

Eren lays beside you in bed, cupping your face in his hand, thumb brushing delicately along your cheekbone. He leans closer, lips brushing yours into a gentle kiss. A rush of heat radiates to every inch of your skin, electricity buzzing through your veins. “I want you to feel good,” he whispers, mouth grazing your ear, fingers sliding down your throat and to your chest, resting his palm over your heart. You hold your breath as he touches you, nervous to be vulnerable with him.

Sensing this trepidation, he pulls away to look at you, tipping your chin towards him to meet his gaze. With a comforting smile, he says, “It’s okay. You’re safe with me.”

And you believe him. At his words, you’re at ease, letting his hands caress your body, stripping you naked. He scatters kisses on your neck, trailing down your stomach, slowly making his way between your thighs. Peering up at you, he asks, “Can I taste you?”

You nod, eager to feel his tongue on you.

He latches his lip on your arousal, licking and slurping at your clit. Your fingers are bunched in his hair, feeling his head thrash side-to-side against your pussy.

“Fuck, Eren. Feels so good,” you moan, indulging in the pleasure.

At the mention of his name, he suddenly stops. When he raises his head to look at you, it’s Reiner. He crawls up to face you, nose-to-nose, sneering. “How could you do this to me, Coco? Cheating on me with your fucking RA? You fucking bitch.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed and in shock, limbs rigid at your sides, unable to move. You’re trapped beneath him, the air growing thin, making it difficult to breath. As you suffocate, he grabs your face in a rough grasp, seething the words, “Cheater, cheater, cheater” over and over again…

You wake up with sweat beading on your forehead, blanket twisted around your limbs. Guilt weighs heavily on your chest as you take deep breaths to calm down. It was a dream, thankfully. Reiner’s never called you a bitch before. It was the worst version of him your mind could think of in the form of a nightmare.

Sitting up in bed, wiping the perspiration from your face, you recall Eren’s uncanny farewell to you hours earlier. It definitely started as a sweet dream; the idea of you and Eren being intimate with each other has you flustered. All the times you’ve been alone with him in his room, elbows grazing, hands brushing, the shared looks that last seconds longer than they need to. It’s a leap of faith, to cross that line. And fear is what holds you back. Fear of failure, of falling in love to only stumble out of it again. Fear and guilt. It’s silly to feel guilty about it, especially since you’re the one who got your heart broken. But nightmare Reiner calling you a bitch and a cheater haunts you.

You lay back down in bed, fitting your head comfortably in your pillow. It takes a while longer for you to fall asleep; eventually, you do. And deep down, you’re disappointed when you don’t have another dream about Eren.

~~~

Eren sits in an alcove on his favorite beach, watching the sunset on the horizon. He managed to catch this beautiful sight before he has to meet his parents for dinner. It’s their semi-annual visit; his father managed to squeeze him in on his very busy schedule. Lucky him.

He takes this time to lose himself, pretend that it’s just him and the sea, basking in the day’s last moments of sunshine. It’s too pretty to indulge in all alone. Suddenly, he has the urge to share this with someone else. Without thinking, he scrolls through his contacts, finding the one person he wants to talk to. The resident from Room 104. His friend.

It takes two rings until she answers. “Hey, are you okay?”

He smiles to himself, amused at her immediate concern. He realizes now that he’s never actually called her before. They’ve texted plenty, exchanged funny tweets, greeted each other good mornings and goodnights. But to hear her in his ear, as if she’s sitting beside him, feels right. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just called to say hi.”

There’s a beat before she responds with a simple, “Hi.” He can practically hear the rounded cheeks on her face. His chest swells, happy he decided to dial her number. “Where are you right now?” she asks.

“I’m watching the sunset on the beach,” he replies, wiggling his toes into the sand.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s beautiful here. It puts my mind at ease.” He wants to add that her soothing voice has the same effect; he decides to keep that to himself.

She hums. “Sounds like paradise. Where is this, exactly?”

“It’s my super-secret spot. No one knows about it, not even Armin or Mikasa. You have to be really special to know about it.”

She laughs. “I guess I’ll have to charm it out of you, then.”

Too late. He unsure exactly when it started, but lately, Eren has been seeing her in a different light. From the first time they met, even though snot and tears as she cried over her ex because of a cupcake, he was drawn to her. In a weird way, he felt a connection; she’s going through her own struggles like he is. Everyone around him is having a fabulous time, nailing their classes, partying like there’s no tomorrow. And he never resented his friends for enjoying their college experience. He felt left out. Different.

And maybe it’s true: misery really does love company. However, being with her is far from miserable. Although they confess to one another their strife in life, it’s cathartic, like a cumbersome burden gradually easing away. When they’re not complaining about annoying exes or overbearing parents, they’re sharing new memories together, learning more about each other, solidifying that bond. That connection.

He likes her, enjoys being around her. Sacrifices precious study time to teach her guitar, though she really does suck at it. He forgets about the unending quizzes and tests he has to constantly prepare for because he’d rather sit on his carpeted floor, snacking on Pocky Sticks or eating Chinese takeout with a movie playing on his laptop. He’d choose her over textbooks any day because being with her is like an escape. A breath of fresh air when he’s otherwise suffocating from the pressure.

Before he realizes, he’s saying, “I’ll show you this one day. You’ll love it.”

“Does that mean I’m special?” she teases. He pictures her on the other line, smiling with the phone pressed to her ear, lying in bed. All cozy in the sheets, probably in some dainty pajamas. The hem of her shirt riding up, exposing that cute belly. Maybe she isn’t wearing a bra, nipples peaked through the fabric…

He’s officially lost it. Face hot with shame, he rattles his head, as if doing so will eliminate the naughty thoughts occupying his mind. Swallowing hard, he answers, “You are special. Very, very special…” It comes out awkwardly. His cheeks are sweltering with both guilt and embarrassment now. What’s going on with him?

Luckily, she seems to think he’s still normal, replying, “You’re special too, Mr. RA. Thank you for being such a good friend to me.”

Friend. He has to remind himself that they’re just that, and nothing more. If only she knew the effect he has on him. Would she give him a chance?

His phone vibrates in his hand, and he knows it’s his mom texting him that they’re on the way. It’s his cue to head back into town. He reluctantly says goodbye, nothing else incriminating coming out of his mouth. With one last glance at the ocean, he turns around towards his car, dreading what’s to come.

~~~

Less than an hour later, Eren and his parents are sitting around a table at an Italian restaurant downtown. The waiter serves their drinks, iced water for Eren, two glasses of red wine for his parents. His mom is holding over most of the conversation, catching Eren up on all of the family news. He doesn’t care, but he likes listening to her talk. It’s relaxing for him, allows him to not think about anything else. That is, until his father starts speaking.

“Eren, Zeke’s been telling me you haven’t been performing well in Organic Chemistry. Is that true?”

What a fucking snitch. It doesn’t surprise him; Zeke’s always knocking Eren down a peg so he can look taller in the eyes of their father. And while he says he means well, he actually doesn’t. However, this is a good opportunity to segue into what he actually wants to discuss. “Yeah, dad. That’s true. Ochem is really kicking my ass right now.”

Dr. Jaeger takes a swig of his wine. “Do you need a tutor? I’ll give you money to hire one.”

Eren tips his water into his mouth, gulping slowly. He’s getting nervous, second guessing himself if he should really say what’s been on his mind for the past couple weeks. Before he chickens out, he decides to go for it. “Actually, I’m considering changing my major.”

The silence is loud, even with the other patrons clinking their dishes and chatting away. His mother stares at him, eyes wide and mouth parted open. His father swirls the alcohol in his hand, staring at the liquid whirling around the glass. It lasts for at least a full minute, or at least, that’s what it seems like to Eren. He’s tempted to add, “Just kidding!” to make this painfully uncomfortable quiet disappear.

Finally, his father speaks. “If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not very funny, Eren.”

“I’m not kidding.”

He leans forward, inspecting his son’s face carefully. “What would you change it to?”

Eren taps his foot nervously beneath the table, responding, “Education. I want to be a teacher.”

His father barks a cruel laugh, startling your mother and the neighboring table, who stares, intrigued. “Teacher? You want to be a teacher? Eren, this is ludicrous. I’m not going to waste my money on your tuition for you to become a teacher.”

“What’s wrong with being a teacher?!” Eren snaps.

“I’m paying for you to become a doctor. Teachers don’t make any money.”

Eren mumbles, “Not everything in life is about money.”

“That’s a very naïve mindset. How will you support a family without a decent income?”

“There are plenty of teachers who can afford to raise a family, so I don’t see how that’s relevant.” And besides, making more money doesn’t automatically mean you’re a better parent. Prime example is Dr. Jaeger himself, but Eren knows better than to throw that back to him.

His dad shakes his head, massaging his temples as if he’s got a bad headache. “You need to hire a tutor, Eren. The courses are difficult, but getting a tutor will help.”

“It’s not just that, dad. I’m not happy. I don’t want to be a doctor.”

His mom chimes in. “Honey, are you sure you’ve given this enough thought? This is a big decision.”

He nods. “I have. It’s been on my mind for a while now. And I know in my heart this is what I want.”

She gives him a small grin, glancing at her husband, who’s reeling in his seat. “Grisha, it’s going to be okay.”

“Carla, this is his future. He’s ruining his life.”

Eren scoffs. “Dad, is it really that bad?”

He glares at him. “You were supposed to take over my practice.”

“You have Zeke.”

He continues to rattle his head, freaking out. “If you change your major, I will not pay for the rest of your tuition.”

It’s a threat. Eren’s prepared for the worst. “I’ll get a job, take out loans. If you don’t want to support me, fine. But that’s not going to change my mind.”

It’s silent again for what seems like forever. Suddenly, Dr. Jaeger stands up, tossing his napkin from his lap onto the table. “I can’t listen to this anymore. Carla, we’re leaving.”

“Grisha.”

He stares at Eren dead in the eyes. “You were supposed to be special. I had very high hopes for you, Eren. Now, you’re just a disappointment.”

It’s words. That’s all it is. Eren has to remind himself that. Sticks and stones, right? But the disdain on his father’s face, the contempt dripping in his frown, all of that combined with what comes out of his mouth so easily, without a hitch in his breath. It breaks his heart. He is not prepared to hear this. While it doesn’t completely surprise him, it still hurts. He fights the tears, gulping down the sorrow building in his throat. Drinking the remaining water in his empty cup as his father storms off, his mother chasing after him, pleading with him to come back. Eren waits a couple of minutes, hoping they return, that his dad apologizes and takes back what he said. It doesn’t happen. His phone vibrates and reveals a text from his mom.

Mom: I’m sorry honey

Mom: We’re driving back home now

Mom: I will talk to your father and I will call you later

In the worst timing possible, the food they ordered minutes before disaster is served. Eren asks the waiter to package everything up, no longer hungry. After he pays the check, he drives back to campus, grip tight on the wheel, listening to whatever music is on his playlist at full volume. Trying to drown his father’s words replaying over and over in his head. You were supposed to be special. I had very high hopes for you. You’re just a disappointment.

He parks the car in his usual spot, sulking in the driver’s seat for a little while longer until he exits, carrying the heavy bag of pasta towards his room. It’s a Friday night, and of course, the dorms are empty because everyone is out partying, not being a disappointment to their parents. He approaches his door, leaning forward to press his forehead against, feeling like he’s at the bottom of the barrel, trying to claw his way out somehow. He can’t call his mom because she’s probably too busy dealing with the aftermath. So, he dials the only other person he knows will listen. The only other person he can rely on.

She picks up his call quickly, after one ring. “Eren?”

He thinks he can hear her faintly down the hall from inside her bedroom. His feet shuffle towards Room 104, dragging the to-go bag of food along with him. “Hi,” he greets, sullen.

“Are you okay? Where are you?” She sounds concerned, and in this fucked up state he’s in, it’s what he needs. Someone who cares.

“No, I’m not,” he sniffles, tears rolling down his cheeks. “It was a mistake. I should have never said anything.”

“Where are you?” she repeats, more frantic this time. From outside, he can hear her bed squeak as she hops off it. The swish of a jacket. The jingle of keys. Seconds later, she opens the door, finding him already standing there, begging for comfort.

And it’s not weird when she hugs him, wrapped around his torso, her face nestled into his chest. She fits into him like a puzzle piece, a missing one he never knew he needed. This is the closest they’ve been, probably the most they’ve ever touched. Yet something about this is familiar. Maybe it’s the warmth radiating from her affectionate embrace. Or the way he instinctually bows his head to nuzzle his nose at the top of her head. This is what he’s yearned for, dreamed of. Someone who looks at him like he’s worth something, even when other’s see a failure. Someone who holds him tightly with every fiber of her being to make sure he knows he’s loved. It’s in the way she presses her ear to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. How her hand massages small circles onto his back, chanting, “It’s okay, Eren. It’s going to be okay.”

And with her in his arms, he actually believes it.

Taglist:

@batafuraikisu @bloompompom @monirei @filunara @katestrophes @ichinosejager13 @hoperenae @zellskz @e-ayyy @liliorsstuff-blog @maliakealoha @holdmeclosebutdontloveme @chrollohearttags @sailorputa @squickkk @dnyllmh @hellomeow12 @s-cream-ing @potofstewie @conniesbbymama @erzascarlett28 @lem-hhn @roronoazorosbxtchh @ichigostrawberry15 @rhaelrence @lilshades @bigmoodyjoody @icansmellsouls @aangsupremacy @ashsauroras @bakuhoes-bxtch @mrs-wolfwood @si-kamo @jmtherula @imaddicted-b @monkemanjeager @neesiewrote @large-juice @chiinni @belovedackerman

595 notes · View notes

ilikestuffthatsparkles · 7 months ago

Text

Today is 2nd June 🏳️‍🌈🌙.Just about a week ago, I randomly fell down the rabbit hole of Sailor Moon. I was a MASSIVE fan as a kid, it was an obsession lol. However, like in most countries, the original anime was censored. Many things were cut off, including the whole final episode in my case. One thing they erased is the relationship between two of the heroines, Sailor Neptune and Sailor Uranus. In fact, I found out they were a couple only when I was ~16 years old!! And Neptune EVEN was my favourite character..

In the original show, there's nothing sexual shown on screen, not even a kiss between the two, so there's NOT A SINGLE REASON to censor it, and besides, there are far more "traumatising" scenes, like murder, torture, a suicide... that were left intact.

If I were a child while watching those scenes, I would have thought nothing worrying. To be fair, I would have thought "wait, loving a girl is an option??" because turns out I like girls... but the acceptance of my sexuality wasn't easy at all, I repressed my feelings until late teenage years, and I hurt myself and other people in doing so.

Sailor Moon is not only about this, of course: It's an amazing show that shaped my whole childhood. It really helped a whole generation of children and teens. It's a staple of anime and manga, a symbol of women empowerment, and strenght in femininity. I grew up with the Senshis' looks so much that, thinking about it, maybe that's why I dress with pleated short skirts all the time, and wear ribbons...

The only thing is, i feel an empty spot where Michiru and Haruka's love should have been. The censorship among children's media, especially if coming from the (more progressive) far east, erased from our whole childhood the message that, yes, love is love.

#sailor moon #sailor neptune #sailor uranus #sailor moon art #digital art #yuri #pride #pride month #wlw #wlw art #harumichi #michiharu #haruka × michiru #haruka tenoh #michiru kaioh #my loves #lesbian

130 notes · View notes

tinkerbelle05 · 1 year ago

Note

i needddddddddddd a luffy angst or smut pleaseeeeee idc abt the storyline or if its short or long i js need luffy so badly

Second Place

Characters: Luffy x Wife!reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: You loved Luffy, and you knew that he loved you too. However, you also know that you will always be 2nd place to his love. He was more in love with being the king of the pirates and it’s starting to show. And you had enough.

Warning: bad relationships, angst, bad ending, slightly ooc Luffy tbh, no proofread

—

You laid there, on your cold bed in the middle of the night. The only light source was the dimmed moonshine from the window, but otherwise, it was pitch black and silent. You always tried waiting up for Luffy, so you could sneak in a goodnight kiss and maybe a light conversation.

You always loved your nighttime conversations with him. It'll be you two, in this very bed, talking about anything and everything until you both fell asleep in eachother’s arms. That's how you would wake up too.

But those times were nothing but a distant memory. Something to warm you while you laid there cold and lonely.

When Luffy did make it through the door, he was quiet. Maybe he didn’t want to disturb? That’s what you thought at first too. Until you realize it was because he was injured in some fight or mission you weren’t made aware of. You weren’t made aware of a lot of things.

You recalled vividly of when you first discovered.

You sat there on the bed reading with a candle lit. By this time you were knocked out snoring but you wanted to at least say talk with your husband first. With he’s busy schedule, it was hard to make time for each other so this was the next best thing.

You saw the bedroom door opening and it revealed Luffy. But he looked more than just tired. His skin was pale and clammy, he looked absolutely terrible.

Immediately, you were up and out of bed. You walked towards him, your brows frowned with worry but before you could utter a single word, he shuts you down.

“Don’t.” He said and laid down on the bed with a deep sigh.

You stood there, in shock and dismayed. It was rude, it was dismissive. As if you were a nagging child and not a concerned wife.

You glared down at him, “Well excuse me for worrying about my husband.” You laid down on the bed, at the edge of your side and with your back to him. You heard him sigh and shift in the bed.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m…I’m just stressed. With all of the missions and—”

You sat up and turned to him, “Missions? Since when did you have missions?”

You don’t remember anyone telling you about missions at all. To you, the Strawhats hadn’t been on a single mission for a month, which you thought was weird but you didn’t know much about pirates to question it.

You saw as Luffy winced, “Oh, sorry. I guessed I forgot to tell you. Was to busy planning them, hehe.” He laughed softly, obviously trying to lightened the mood.

You didn’t want that, however. You had plenty of questions, but. This was probably the first time in weeks you gotten to talk to Luffy. An actual conversation, not just quick greetings and chaste kisses.

You sighed and got comfortable on the bed. You were noticeable closer to Luffy now.

“Well tell me about the missions? Where’d you go? What’d you take?”

Luffy chuckled at your questions and went into full detail about all of the things you missed out.

But that was two months ago and things have only gotten worse. There are times where Luffy barely acknowledged you, he makes no time for you, nor does he put in any effort to your marriage.

It was always you scheduling dates that had to be canceled, it’s always you wanting to talk but he’s too tired to give you the time of day, and it’s always you making sure he takes care of his wounds. Or gets enough sleep. Or he eats something that isn’t meat.

You understood that Luffy wanted to be King of the Pirates but he was becoming increasingly reckless in his pursuits. Which meant more wounds that you needed to take care of because he couldn’t be bothered to do it himself.

You were tired of it. You felt like a servant rather than a wife. You guessed you weren’t enough. Wiping off the stray tears from your cheeks, you began to pack your clothes. The Going Merry was docked at some island—you had forgotten the name but you had some money saved up. You’ll be fine without him.

With your bags packed, you started twisting the ring on your finger. It was a pretty thing, something you thought you would always wear until your dying breath. You slipped it off your finger and placed it on the desk that was overflowing with maps of foreign lands.

“What are you doing?” You heard Luffy. You turned to see him standing at the doorway. His eyes caught to your packed bags and the ring that was on the desk.

His expression was unreadable but it obviously wasn’t happy.

“I’m leaving,” you responded and pushed passed him. Surprisingly, he followed you. He didn’t utter a word to you until you got to the docks, you guessed that he assumed you were bluffing, but you weren't.

“Why?!” You heard Luffy shout and that stopped you in your tracks. It made your blood run cold that he even had the audacity to ask such a question.

“Excuse me? Don’t ask stupid questions like that, Luffy,” you glared up at him.

He ran after you, grabbing your arm to stop you from moving, “How is it a stupid question?! How is it a stupid question to ask why my wife is leaving me?”

“Oh so now I’m your wife,” you sassed. “Luffy, when was the last time we kissed? Held hands? Hell, when was the last time we had a conversation that wasn’t about your recklessness?! When was the last time you held me in your arms?!”

His face betrayed no emotion, “I…I know I haven’t been the best husband, I can admit that. But, you know how important my dream is to me. To be the best of the best, I have to work hard.”

You tilted your head. Feeling your heart break all over again, you asked him the question that’s been weighing on your mind for a while.

“Is being the pirate king more important than me? Than being a good husband?” You asked.

You knew the answer. It was obvious to you, but you wanted to hear it from him.

“Now—“

“It’s a yes or no, Luffy. Answer the question,” You pressed him

"Listen, you know that it's always been my dream to become the Pirate King, and that comes with sacrifices," Luffy explained. He stepped closer to you and attempted to touch your arm but you pulled away. Your rejection didn't stop him from continuing, "But never doubt that I don't love you. Because I do and--"

You smiled sharply, "You may love me or think that you love me, but I will always be second place in your dreams. Your dreams would always take priority over me and I..I cannot accept that. Not anymore." You said and turned around, trying to blink back the tears.

Luffy wasn't the best husband in the world, that was obvious. But when he was there and present, he was so, so good to you. Your best friend, your confidant, your "forever". And while a small part of you still loved Luffy, still wanted him to hear him say that you are his number one, you knew that it was only a dream that would never come true.

You turn back around one last time and leave him with this, "Goodbye, Luffy. I hope you get your dream."

Tags: @abree234, @louissolovely, @randomhoex, @marceesworld, @dragonqueenfk, @puff-hugs, @childofhecate108, @foxflamewarrior, @msmisasoup, @localcowboyd, @thatgothic-nerd, @0picels0, @charliepoopyfart, @rotin0, @nikolaevna-art, @cielitoot7, @tayharrper, @simpingmyassoff, @borkbarnes, @villainouspotential, @ramielll, @fujinnn, @fuck-you-im-gae, @poketrainer2270, @dazaisfavgf, @smolraccoon25, @hopester08, @don-tuna, @avatarkanemi, @dimplewonie, @fandomsunited, @synchronised-beat

Masterlist & Taglist & Reqs Info

381 notes · View notes

marvelavengerspovs1 · 11 months ago

Text

Stress Relief

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!reader

Warnings: None, this is all fluff!

Length: 869

Summary: After deciding to go back to school for college you find that it is a lot more stressful than you imagined. Luckily, Bucky is there to help you.

A/N: Hi! This is my first-ever post, so any critiques are welcomed!

I do not give consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

Bucky watches you from the couch. You’re sitting at the dining room table working on an assignment for your calculus class. When you decided you wanted to get a college degree, Bucky was supportive of you. You decided that while being a medical assistant was nice, you wanted to work to become a doctor. Part of the reason was that the Avengers agreed to hire you after graduation.

It’s the start of the 2nd semester and you’re only 2 weeks in but the stress is already getting to you. You want to stay on top of your grades and not burn out, but it is getting increasingly difficult. Now you’re using what used to be your free days as study days surrounded by printed assignments, textbooks, and your laptop.

“Oh my god, this is so stupid!” You scream and throw your pencil down and cradle your head in your now empty hands.

“Are you ok doll?” Bucky asks from the couch.

You just take a deep breath and rest your head on the cool surface of the table. Bucky takes that as a no and gets up from the couch to sit next to you.

He places his hand on the small of your back and rubs small slow circles. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head and wince when the side of your head hits the corner of the textbook. “Maybe it was a mistake to go back to school.”

Bucky stares at your deflated figure. “Don’t say that doll. This is only right now, you’re not going to regret it once you walk that stage and start med school.”

You tilt your head and look at him. “I just hate calculus.”

Bucky laughs. “I’m glad I never had to take it. Here, let me look, it can’t possibly be that hard.”

You lift your head so that Bucky can look at your notebook with your notes and the scrap paper you used to solve the equation.

Bucky’s eyebrows quickly furrow. “What the fuck is that symbol?”

You look at the paper to see what he’s pointing at. The equation is a limit function.

You laugh. “Oh, that just means you have to find the limit as x approaches -2 of that equation.”

Bucky looks at you with a lost expression. “Doll, maybe you should just take a break.”

You shake your head. “I can’t. This is due next Wednesday and it’s already Tuesday.”

Bucky smiles at you. One of the many things he loves about you is how you like to get things done in advance.

“Doll, it won’t be long. You just need a little break to clear your mind. You’ve been working since 7:00 this morning and it’s already 6:00.”

“Ok, but only for a little bit. I want to get this done.”

“I promise.” Bucky grabs your hands and helps you get up from the dining room.

Bucky gently guides you to the couch and makes you sit down. He goes and grabs a blanket for you and two beers from the fridge. Bucky lays the blanket on you and hands you one of the beers before going to the door.

“What are you doing?” You ask him.

“Just wait, doll,” Bucky says and there’s a knock on your door.

Bucky opens the door and you see a delivery driver hand him a bag of your favorite Chinese takeout. While most of the food is not authentic Chinese food, you couldn’t deny how delicious it was.

“When did you order this?” You ask once Bucky sits down next to you and places the food on the table in front of you.

“I ordered about half an hour ago. I knew you didn’t eat any lunch and were going to be hungry soon.” His point was made when you both heard your stomach growl.

You lean forward to kiss him and grab a box that’s filled with orange chicken. “Thank you Bucky, this is really sweet.”

Bucky smiles and kisses you again. “Anything for my doll.”

You and Bucky eat the takeout he ordered and watch trashy reality TV. You laugh as you see Bucky yelling at the TV that everyone is lying to each other and that they shouldn’t trust people so easily. But when you’re not looking, Bucky stares at you. He looks at the way your eyes crinkle when you smile and laugh, the way you blush when you catch him looking at you, and how hot you look while you’re wearing his sweater.

You look at your phone and realize that it is now 7:15. “Ok Buck, I have to get back to my work.”

Bucky pouts and grabs your wrist as you start to get up. “One more thing Doll.”

You smile down at him as he pulls you to straddle his lap. “And what is that?”

He puts his left hand on your hip and his other on the back of your neck. He pulls you in for a long kiss but lets you go once you start to melt into him. “Go finish your assignments before I have my way with you.”

#sebastian stan #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #avengers #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fluff

200 notes · View notes

python333 · 1 year ago

Note

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it.

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight.

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts.

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either.

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago.

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important.

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment.

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder.

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off.

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves?

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep.

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool.

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now.

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true.

You’re still staring at the scalpel.

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting.

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife.

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself.

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations.

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough.

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it.

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind.

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about.

The fists your hands have formed become tighter.

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring.

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel.

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin.

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain.

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself.

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger.

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed.

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun.

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar.

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred.

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go.

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area.

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart.

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it.

There’s a knock. Then another.

The door handle twists.

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second.

The door opens.

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?”

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip.

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.”

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried.

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.”

“... Ye sure?”

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.”

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?”

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.”

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.”

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.”

“Ye whit?”

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—”

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.”

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.”

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die.

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally.

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions.

“No.”

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?”

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others.

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?”

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred.

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters.

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive.

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s.

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far.

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word.

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?”

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest.

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.”

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself.

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well.

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads.

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention?

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].”

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled.

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings.

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no.

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit.

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.”

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.”

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk.

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—”

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.”

“But I—”

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks.

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you.

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left.

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit.

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more.

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?”

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it.

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms.

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again.

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.”

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you.

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself.

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better.

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click.

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier.

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters.

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly.

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin.

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure.

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once.

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it.

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort.

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did.

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more.

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned.

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either.

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?”

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.”

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.”

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?”

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin.

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question.

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.”

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?”

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either.

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.”

“Us ‘four’ being… ?”

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.”

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally.

Your words affect them more than you thought they would.

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince.

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?”

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you.

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.”

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.”

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz.

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price.

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably.

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did.

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple.

“Does that surprise you?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.”

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?”

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.”

“I do.”

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—”

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.”

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.”

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.”

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.”

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.”

“But you just said that I was strong.”

“I did.”

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks.

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.”

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.”

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up.

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.”

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.”

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

543 notes · View notes