#NOTE to any followers with a need for like pencil grips on everything like me: if somethings too skinny to put a pencil grip on

[bmpmp3]

SIREN wearing some pirate coat he probably took off someone he defeated on his shoulders

[alicerosejensen]

Heyyyy hope you’re doing well!!

Please can you imagine Leon (re6) loosing his shit because they kidnapped his girlfriend and he’s like trying everything to get her back? Imagine him crying as soon as he gets to hug her again!😭

I'm fine as long as I have a laptop connected to the internet and food)

In fact, this is one of my favorite plot tropes, when someone is kidnapped, and the main character is ready to burn the whole world to the ground, but to find an expensive person.

Leon, despite his moral principles, I think he could have made many sacrifices. In particular, he would definitely lose his temper if he grabbed onto any thread to find his beloved. At least he didn't stand on ceremony with Patrizio.

Thus, there will be little left of the scoundrel who kidnapped his girlfriend.

Something constantly happens to the poor girl of Leon (either she runs away from him, or she is stolen from him). Sorry, I just love their relationship and Leon, who is ready to kill for his loved ones :D

I still know shit English, but enjoy it if you're interested.

Please read with extreme caution! There are mentions of physical violence, kidnapping and a maniac!Yandere

Leon is a little paranoid when it comes to protecting his loved ones, so most likely he will insert some tracking device into your phone or earrings to be sure that his beloved is safe.

He tries not to violate personal boundaries, but understands that his beloved is in potential danger in relation to him. Therefore, you are under additional invisible protection.

All you need to know is that Leon is not abusing his position as a federal agent. There is no surveillance on you, it's just that if something happens, he wants to have time to prevent it before the irreparable happens (or he goes on a binge again).

His heart sinks at the thought that he may lose you for some reason. Any encroachment into your personal space by outsiders who create discomfort for you make Leon enter the defender mode (aggressive if necessary). You should be safe.

Since Leon is known to a minimum of people about Leon's love interest, the risk is minimal that you will be harmed. At least Leon considered the threat from various corporations and bioterrorists. He didn't even think about the fact that there is some bastard stealing your things.

It was some little things: pencils, hair bands, a pocket mirror, lip gloss. Yes, you said something to him about it, but maybe you just dropped them out of your backpack?

He was calm exactly until you became too nervous. It seemed that you were afraid of something and called him a couple of times with a request to meet on the way home. Leon is not one of those who will refuse, but your behavior worries him.

And when you were walking home, Leon felt your painful grip on his arm.

His main priority is your well-being. "So tell me, pretty girl, what's going on with you?" Don't think I haven't noticed this nervousness.

He will be wary when he hears that someone is following you and dragging your things. Of course you could have lost them yourself, but the chiffon scarf that Leon gave you was the last straw. In addition, you showed him the abnormal love notes that someone constantly threw into your purse.

Outwardly, it did not affect him in any way, but the stingy "I'll deal with it" means a lot. The anxiety level has increased and Leon is worried that some kind of psycho might hurt you.

He often calls and asks if everything is in order and when you need to be picked up from college. However, when you don't answer the phone, everything dies inside him.

The moment he realizes that you have been taken away, a monster wakes up in him, which can bring down hell on your abductor.

His emotional state constantly fluctuates from constant fear for your lives bordering on panic to Ustanak whose task is to find you and finish off the son of a bitch who dared to take you away from him.

"No god will help this son of a bitch when I find him."

It's sad that you lost your phone on the day of the abduction and did not put on earrings. But a nice little bracelet will save you.

are a fucking goddess.

When you wake up, of course, you will be scared. However, you will try to intimidate the criminal by saying that he is so obsessed with you in vain. "Seriously, my boyfriend will come after me and gut you" You don't think Leon will kill anyone at all, so maybe your words don't sound too confident when the kidnapper's hand is stroking your head.

Do you panic when a fucking psycho says it's some kind of date? No one here hears your screams, you can't run away because you're handcuffed. You can't even go to the toilet on your own only under his control, and this causes you a deep psychological trauma. He brings you a fucking lilac, weaving thin twigs into your hair.

"Why me?" - This is the only question that is spinning in your head when you are hysterically pulling out purple flowers, throwing them away from you. - "Am I going to die here?"

You literally go crazy from the smell of dampness and lilac. Constantly shout Leon's name as if he can hear you and immediately breaking into a loud cry, banging on the walls and the locked door.

You're clearly getting claustrophobic.

While you're suffering, Leon is trying to track the fucking signal on one of your trinkets, but he's afraid that you left that day without any jewelry at all.

Claire is definitely one of those people who can talk some sense into Leon while he's looking for you. Considering that the bug gives a bad signal (or maybe your bracelet was damaged due to the fact that you constantly pull it from nerves) from the basement and your location is difficult to track, Leon has already yelled at Chris

You feel like a frog in formalin or even some kind of toy when your abductor brings you clean clothes, which you throw back to him. It's risky to make him angry like that and you really regret it when brute force is used to force you to change clothes.

Yes, then they "take care" of you, but you are already a cornered mouse. The purple marks on your skin and the marks from the handcuffs are now a reminder of who is in charge here.

And you hate that bastard more and more. Unfortunately, you have absolutely nothing to even hit him with. The food that he brings you in plastic dishes, as well as cutlery. You try not to eat, fearing that he might have mixed something in there, but you are forced by force.

It's been three days, and Leon hasn't found you. You feel like you're starting to go crazy until you hear a muffled noise from somewhere above.

All your belongings (including the bracelet) were seized and probably thrown away, leaving you in one long T-shirt, the smell that causes you to have a gag reflex. You literally have nothing on but this rag and underpants

All your belongings (including the bracelet) were seized and probably thrown away, leaving you in one long T-shirt, the smell that causes you to have a gag reflex. You literally have nothing on but this rag and underpants

Has anyone ever told you that you are not the luckiest person?

You tried to attack from behind when they stopped stroking you. It was risky and you failed because the kidnapper reacted before you swung to strike.

You were very painfully punished, left lying on the damp floor in a terrible state, all in tears and without an evening meal.

It's been four terrible days in your life. All because you fiddled with your bracelet too much, which turned out to be thrown away quite far from the place where you were, forcing Leon to go on a false trail.

You felt terrible. It didn't take long to break you. You no longer hoped to see daylight or your loved ones, so you crawled into the farthest corner curled up in a ball and cried.

Having lost track of time due to another fit of hysteria, you did not want to pay attention to the opening door and hurried steps in your direction.

Preferring not to pay attention to your enemy, you became even more hysterical when he tried to turn you around to face him, affectionately calling you "angel".

That's what infuriated you. But when you opened your eyes in another attempt to attack, you froze in disbelief at your own eyes. Have you already gone crazy in this place? So fast, or was Leon really in front of you?

His light blue eyes were dark. Not as bright as usual, but maybe it's because of the lighting… Strong hands carefully examined your body for the number of bruises.

You looked away in the direction of the open door - your freedom, but you felt Leon's fingers gently tracing over your split lips.

You've never seen such quiet hatred before. You were shivering from the cold, feeling that tears were still flowing down your cheeks, and tried to snuggle up to Leon in search of protection and warmth.

But Leon himself pressed you to him, slightly lifting up his T-shirt, checking for underwear. You flinched, and then you heard a single question when you grabbed his back with both hands, pressing your head against his chest.

"That son of a bitch…" - Leon gritted his teeth, still looking at your stolen things on the floor. - "I'll kill him"

The fuse clicked.

Leon took off his jacket, putting it on you (with great difficulty, because you did not want to interrupt close contact with him), and then easily picked up in his arms, like a small child, carrying out of this basement. You closed your eyes just to not see anything else. Leon's scent worked better than any strong sedative, and you wanted him not to let you go anymore.

So small. Defenseless. Bruised all over. He will kiss you on the temple, looking at the sprawled bastard with such a look that it will be clear how it will end. Leon will hand you over to Claire, despite your growing hysteria over the loss of hugs, and do what he has planned.

It's going to be pretty bloody. He expressed some regret about Patricio, but Leon will never forgive someone who hurt you, leaving a scar on your soul. So he'll empty the whole clip on him.

Because of this, he will have some problems, but you are the priority. You will undergo a full examination at the hospital, where Leon will be reassured (partially) that your violence ended with beatings. In general, there are no physical injuries, but both Leon and Claire understand what condition you will be in.

He will take care of you. Try to do everything so that you don't remember that four-day nightmare. He will find a good therapist, but if your brain decided to erase these memories on its own, a kind of protective reaction to stress, then it will even calm him down.

Leon understands the reason for your detached behavior. He is glad that you are not afraid to let him near you, thereby subconsciously making him your shield. he's ready to be one before you start trusting people again.

No one heard it, but Leon was really crying quietly when it was over. You were sleeping after taking a sedative dose, and he was sitting in the bathtub thinking only that he could not save you faster.

He won't touch you once again for fear of triggering some kind of trigger, but in your head it is Leon the hero savior. Therefore, if you are looking for protection in him, then it's even good, because this is how he hopes to redeem himself before you.

In the end, you are faced with dissociative amnesia. You realize that something terrible has happened, but you have a lapse in memory. Leon will be the one who will start distracting you from your memories by persuading you not to remember. He really considers it a gift of fate and will go out of his way so that you don't touch this moment of life at all, leaving him behind a black curtain.

And yet one day he burst into tears clutching to his chest. While you sleep next to him feeling completely safe, Leon will need to hug you tightly and come up with better ways to protect you. He feels guilty that he did not save you and this feeling of guilt will gnaw at him for a long time.

"I'm sorry… sweetheart, I'm so sorry… - what you hear in your sleep. - "Never again…no one will hurt you. Never."You don't remember a damn thing, but you're scared because Leon is crying kissing the top of your head.

He won't let anyone else take you away.

[harri-etvane]

prompt fill: for @my-whortleberry-friend ❤️ - no. 7 from this list & the addition of "don't you dare let me pass out right now - Maks - not with the media / the delegation behind the door' *through gritted teeth* 'please'"

Mornings often set the tone of the day. If they've had a night of unbroken sleep, the following day already seems half-won, there are fewer thoughts embraced with fog or a lack of clarity; there are moments of levity, a chance for a joke, a second or two of brightness, a snippet of time in which they can just breathe. On the opposite side, the nights when they don't sleep, when there are nightmares and sirens and a bone-deep ache - the day is somehow more difficult, endless, no time to catch their breath, to stop; a careering rush to the end of the line.

Volodymyr hasn't slept. Maksym knows. He hides it well enough, swallowing another mouthful of coffee, frowning at the report before him, loosely fiddling with the pencil between his fingers, scrawling small notes in the margin. He can't quite hide everything; the way a muscle jumps in his jaw, the way he digs a knuckle absently into the small of his back to try and alleviate the ache there, the way he swallows a yawn, his eyes red. Breakfast has long since been abandoned, the eggs congealing miserably on their plate, replaced with coffee and the grim desire to tackle the day head-on. It feels like an awful cocktail that will inevitably end in disaster; little sleep, even less food, caffeine.

Maksym was right - as he often is when it comes to Vova.

It's been hours since breakfast (three meetings, four phonecalls, seven cups of coffee) and Volodymyr looks ready to drop, gripping hard onto the edge of the table as he forces himself to his feet. One half-stumbled step across the floor of the meeting room is enough before he sways dangerously; Maks reaches forward immediately, on instinct now.

“Don't you dare–”

Maksym blinks, feeling the small tremor that runs through him, his hands around Volodymyr's elbows, taking the other man's weight as he sways, his gaze still fierce and sharp-edged.

“What?”

“Don't you..dare let me pass out right now. Don--Maksym.”

The bodyguard bites down a groan at a now familiar routine that each time makes him hurt; for Vova more than anything. He longs to say what he thinks, what he knows - that this is your body telling you to stop, listen to it, please. But he doesn't - not this time. He knows the mood Vova is in; his grim, burning determination refusing to allow anything else in, not compassion or kindness for himself. He has to keep going - he can't stop, not now, not yet. There is always too much to do, not enough space for the driving, dull pain of his body to take any precedence.

“You need to sit down.”

“Not with the–”

Ah. Of course. There's always something else, someone else who Vova would rather prioritise than himself.

“The delegation. America. They'll be here. In a minute. Don't let me, Maks –”

He grits his teeth.

“Please.”

Perversely Maksym wonders what would happen if he didn't do as Vova asked - if the door swung open and the American delegation strode into the room to see him collapse on the polished parquet flooring; exhausted, defenceless, nothing left to give.

What would Maks say then; so full of rage, so full of grief that he could choke on it - look at what you are doing - to him, look at what you are allowing to happen to his country - to our beautiful country because you fight amongst yourselves while our people die, you stubborn, spineless, slow-moving sack of sh–

He won't do it. He knows that he couldn't bear it; it would hurt Volodymyr and Maksym would rather die than do that. Instead, he takes a deep breath, swallows down his anger.

“Alright, sir. It's alright. Take a deep breath for me.”

He hears the stuttered inhale and offers a small smile in reward.

“There. And another one. Keep hold of me.”

They stand there for a long minute together, Volodymyr breathing deeply, Maksym his silent echo. It passes, in the end; Volodymyr's world stops spinning wildly out of control, brought back to anchor by a pair of steady hands, a familiar, careworn face.

[hikaritakaishi]

Takari Week 2024 - Day 1: First Summer

Dias: [ 1 ] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Title: Mnemosyne [Prologue I] (First Summer)

Characters: Takeru Takaishi

Summary: The world performs in mysterious and strange ways. He didn't even understand the meaning of destiny at that time, but in the subsequent years he was grateful for every force in the universe that had made them reach that place together. Right when they needed each other the most.

Note: A collection of stories that gives us an insight into Takeru and Hikari's relationship over the years. It was really hard to put all the prompts explicitly in the story, so I tried to metaphorize some of them, in order for them to make sense at the end.

It is composed of two prologues, one for Takeru and one for Hikari, exposing events before 1999. And a final epilogue, summarizing all the feelings exposed in the previous chapters. In the intermediate chapters, we follow all the challenges that a long-term friendship has to face when it becomes a romantic relationship, and how we form solid and permanent bonds with the ones we love the most.

・。。・゜゜・。。・

His little hand gripped the pencil tightly. He didn't know what to write. In front of him, a piece of paper with the word family written in computer letter on top. And nothing more.

He couldn't think of anything good enough to write. His restless legs gently tapped the floor, again and again, impatiently.

In his poor understanding of his own emotions, he felt frustrated. Confused to say the least. Maybe a little scared even.

He just wanted to get away from there.

Not exactly going home, because home felt a little bit empty now. He didn't want to be alone, either. He felt alone most of the time lately. Even though he had friends at school, he knew they didn't understand what he was going through. And didn't want to talk about it. Despite all his mother's efforts to play it normally, he knew that even for her, it was a complicated situation to live with and to adapt. Everything was different, and there were no expectations of change.

"Why don't you write something about your mom or dad? "

Said the boy seated next to him, noticing the blank page in front of Takeru. "They are your family, aren't they?"

"I never saw your father, Takeru, is he alive?" 

Asked the girl who was sitting in the desk right behind him, trying to have a glimpse of his schoolwork. That statement was something that came naturally, unconsciously, that little girl did not think about what she said.

"Ah..."

His voice sounded insecure and lower than usual. He tightened his grip on the pencil even more. His little feet began to circle under the table.

"He just... doesn't live in the same... house, as me and my mom..."

"Is it just you and your mom?" Continued the girl. "That must be fell... lonely."

"Sometimes...But I know my mom loves me."

"Write that then!"

He couldn't.

He couldn't write that he felt alone in a text about his family that his mother could eventually read. The teacher would be uneased. And she would question him about that. And he didn't want to talk about it.

"I am writing about my brother and my sister!" The boy broke the brief silence that came upon them. "They are my heroes!"

The boy's tone of voice created a certain envy within Takeru's heart.

Yamato.

He missed his brother. They hadn't spoken in a few days, and he was afraid to ask to call again. He didn't want to be annoying or bother anyone. But what if Yamato forgets about him?

"It must be horrible to be an only child, right?"

He didn't know. Because he was not, an only child. But somehow, it felt horrible that it seemed like it for other people. Almost embarrassing.

What kind of siblings live apart?

And why couldn't he have a normal family?

Why did his parents have to hate each other?

He felt his head start spinning.

Slowly, placed the pencil on the table and raised his hand. His heart was beating hard, he felt like it would burst at any moment. He held back his tears until the teacher finally noticed his presence.

"Is everything ok, Takeru?"

"I just... need to go to the bathroom!"

"Oh... ok. "The teacher seemed surprised at first but then smiled. "You can go, but don't take too long!"

"Thank you..."

He left the classroom in complete silence, while he heard his classmates' pencils tapping on the table, and small, almost inaudible conversations going on in the back of the class. Were they talking about him? It didn't matter, he just wanted to get out of there for a few moments.

He walked to the end of the hallway and went down the stairs. The bathrooms were on the first floor, and he had classes on the second.

He started running when he reached the first floor straight to the bathrooms, noticing that no one was aroud.

Entering, Takeru closed the door softly so no one could hear him. He then sat in one humid and cold corner and hugged his legs. Lowered his head and rested it on his knees. Sighed. He could cry without anyone seeing him.

・。。・゜゜・。。・

You can also find it in: Fanfiction.net & Wattpad

[thefostersystem]

Luz’s Little Afternoon

Summary:

Luz struggles and begins to slip into littlespace while studying. Luckily, Amity takes her home and helps her regress.

CW: SFW and Non-Sexual diaper use.

It was a Monday afternoon, right after Hexside’s last period bell had rung. Although Luz loved her academics, she yenned to return to the Owl House. Alas, she refused, as she had to study. Luz decided it would save her time to just finish her homework in the school library, rather than taking a trip to the Bonesborough library. Luz found herself an empty desk and seat to study at, and began to quietly recite textbook sections and write notes. By now, she was nearly finished. However, the student found herself stuck on the last couple of questions she needed to answer on an abomination research follow-up. She couldn't place her finger on how to word the description of her answer. Suddenly, every unexpected sense she experienced irritated her. Luz realized this could be because she was beginning to overwork herself, and that her body was signaling her that she may need a break. Even though the witch was in distress, she ignored the emotional friction, and continued to jolt down any possible ways to answer the question. Soon after, Luz’s motor skills began declining. She struggled holding her pencil properly, which caused her wrist to hurt from the tight grip she had on the utensil, and she couldn't keep her hands still, causing items to slip out of them.

“Urrgh!” the upset student grunted, not realizing a familiar figure was standing in front of her table. She was so engrossed in her studies and struggles she didn't even notice her girlfriend was trying to get her attention! Luz’s expression quickly shifted from an angry frown to a surprised look.

“Oh! Hi sweet potato, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there.” Luz said with an awkward smile painted on her face.

“It’s okay!” Amity replied, smiling as she pulled out a chair to sit next to her girlfriend.

“Is everything okay, Luz? You're not usually this.. spread out.” She continued, realizing all of Luz’s school materials were cluttered and unorganized on the table. Luz’s first thought was to lie and say everything was, but she was already very tired and a bit upset, so she decided it would be best to tell the truth.

“I-” she started, as Amity began to comfortably rub the back of her shoulder.

“I’m just- stuck. I've been here for hours, and I'm almost done studying, but I can't figure out how to phrase this.” Luz explained, pointing at her papers.

“And I can't properly hold a pencil for the life of me!”

“Sweetie, I think you might be slipping. How about we go back home so you can regress and take a break for the rest of the day? I know you might not like the sound of that, but look here- this isn't due until Wednesday. Plus, I can help you finish this assignment tomorrow.” Amity offered. At first, Luz wanted to deny Amity’s assumption and continue working, but she knew she wouldn't get anywhere without taking a break first.So, Luz happily nodded and began to pack up her things.

When the duo arrived at the Owl House, Amity helped Luz off of her staff and into the entrance of the house. To their surprise, nobody was home, and the only trace of Eda and King was a note that read “Out, be back in a bit, kiddo!” in The Owl Lady’s handwriting. Luz knew her family was safe on their own, so she didn't worry. Ever since Luz told Eda about her regression, Eda decided to surprise the regressor with her own playroom that could shift into a nursery. With the assistance of the caregiver’s sister and friends, the room was built within a month. Luz loved it, frequently bringing her friends there to hang out and regress. Amity decided the playroom was the best place for the pair to stay, as it held most of Luz’s regression gear. When they both got there, Amity headed to the closet to pick out a pair of comfortable pajamas to change Luz into. The witch found a baggy shirt with paw print designs on it, a pair of loose shorts, and a white diaper for the regressor, assuming she would be regressed to a much younger age, just in case. Amity also grabbed the witchling’s dark purple pacifier, and the stuffie that she personally bought for Luz.

“Sweetie, do you think you need my help changing into these? Remember, it's totally okay if you do.” Amity asked the slipping girl while handing her the clothes and items she picked out. Luz shook her head, smiling at her caregiver.

By the time Luz got herself changed, she had fully slipped and had the mentality of a 2 year old. She wobbly walked into the playroom, searching for her caregiver. When Luz spotted her, she rushed over to her, hugging her tightly.

‘Aww. Is someone feeling extra small today?” Amity asked the witchling playfully, knowing that she usually isn't this clingy unless she is feeling 3 years old, or under.

“Mmh-mm” Luz responded, snuggling against Amity’s chest.

“Are you feeling sleepy, sweet potato?”

“Nhh-uh”

After a few minutes of cuddling, Luz decided she wanted to play.

“Mm- wan play!” The owlet told Amity, lifting her head up.

“Okay, sweetie, how about I go get your toy bin?”

“Yay!’ Luz exclaimed, sitting up, letting her caregiver find the toy bin.

Since Amity was one of Luz’s trusted caregivers, she knew where most everything was located.

She proceeded to drag a large chest out of the closet, tugging it onto Luz’s playmat, as the little happily squealed. Luz crawled down from her bed to the toy chest, deciding on a pair of toy cars and a lot of building blocks to play with. She built a few small buildings and towers with the blocks before knocking them down, running the toy cars into them purposely. After a few rounds of this, tummy time was over, and she was feeling much smaller.

“Sweetie, how old are you feeling?’ Amity asked the regressor after noticing her change in behavior. After contemplating, Luz held up 1 finger. Amity smiled at her and checked the time.

6:00PM! The two spent all this time playing, they forgot about feeding themselves. Amity quickly decided it was time for dinner. The caregiver brought her and Luz into the kitchen, helping the little onto a chair. Amity gave Luz a rattle to play with before placing 2 sectioned plates down, preparing her and Luz’s dinner. Amity noticed that the house was low on food, hopefully Eda and King were taking care of that while they were out of the house. Fortunately, this was no problem for Amity. On one plate, the wider section was filled with mac and cheese, while the other two smaller sections held cut up steamed veggies, and sweet potato flavored baby snack puffs. On the other plate, there was the same mac and cheese, but Amity decided on fruits and chips for her sides, not forgetting to share with Luz as they ate their dinner on the couch and watched Cartoons. When they finished dinner, Amity gave her and Luz pieces of chocolate as dessert. Luz curled up cozily against her caregiver, her eyes still focusing on the cartoons.

After a while, Luz aged back up, thanking Amity for taking care of her before walking her back home.

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Heat Up

Pairing :: Rick Flag x short/petite fem!Reader

Warnings :: 18+ Content, NSFW/SMUT, Size Kink

Word Count :: 2,439

Summary :: Rick isn’t too happy Digger tries to tease you

A/N :: I was gonna make a fic about someone else, but then I saw The Suicide Squad trailor and goddamn Joel Kinnaman. I love that tall beautiful bastard. Also, I’m not super happy about the title, but it was all I could come up with, meh

As Amanda Waller’s assistant, you had to deal with a lot daily. It wasn’t just about making sure she got her black coffee right when she walked into the building and managing her scheduled meetings. You had to ensure everything, and one, was in order for her. If someone told you they were running late, you forced them to be on time. You carefully inspected each report and corrected them before turning them into Waller. You got her any top-secret document she needed and kept it hidden. Hell, you even helped her with Task Force X, going through the list of criminals and writing down a thorough analysis of each potential member’s abilities.

Despite working for a woman who was heartless and calculating, you were as timid as a mouse. You rarely spoke to others unless you needed to. After working for Waller for several years, you found it best not to make any personal relationships with the people you met. She warned you most didn’t last very long and very few could be trusted.

One person who had stuck around though and  Waller seemed to even trust Colonel Rick Flag. You two started working for her around the same time, and yet, you could barely hold a conversation with the man. 

When you first met him, you constantly felt overwhelmed whenever you were left alone with him. It didn’t help that he appeared rather intimidating, with a serious expression almost always on his face, and towered over you. He was 6’2’’, and even in your favorite pumps, which added a good three inches to your height, you were still, smaller than him in frame.

However, regardless of your inability to speak around him, he continuously tried to start conversations with you and be friendly towards you. His constant attempts helped you grow used to him, but your face always heated up and you grew ridged when he got too close when you were alone. You didn’t understand the feeling, nor did you didn’t hate the feeling. It confused you.

-

Rick was absolutely perplexed by your meek behavior, especially since he’d witness before how assertive you could get when it came to getting something done for your shared boss. 

So it was no wonder he worried about you whenever Waller brought you along to see the Task Force X members. They were psychotic criminals, and you were like a slab of meat to some of them. You almost always wore a skirt or dress with a pair of pumps or oxford flats. Rick would be lying if he said you didn’t look perfect every hour of the day. 

He used to wonder if you were actually as innocent as you acted outside of work. Then, he saw you run as fast as you possibly could when Harley tried to give you what she called ‘wholesome safe dating advice’.

Since then, Rick did his best to make sure you were at least arm’s length away from any psycho. He even went as far as stepping right in front of you when someone got too close. Somehow, standing either beside you or a bit in front of you had become a habit of his when he noticed you were uncomfortable. 

Like now.

-

Waller sent you and Rick to a hidden ARGUS base hidden in the woods. Rick was obviously there to lead the team. You were there to give them their mission and an extensive overview.

There was a row of chairs for each Task Force X member to sit in. You stood in front of them with a large screen behind you, displaying various diagrams and photos for the mission. Rick stood off to the side, just behind all the seated members.

You looked away from your presentation, the projector turning off and the lights on. “So, are there any questions?”

Harley’s hand shot up. “Did you want me to continue giving you dating advice now or would you prefer I write it all down and give it to you later?”

Your eyes squinted and your lips curved downward just a bit. “What- no. That has nothing to do with the missions and I don’t need your advice…” Your voice trailed off, at a loss on how to deal with Harley.

Rick took a step forward. “Harley, stop it,” He warned her.

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Fine, but only because I think someone has a major crush on you (Y/N) and I wanna see if he makes a move.”

You were silent for a moment, processing what she had said before your eyes widened upon realization. Surprised, you couldn’t stop yourself from confirming what you had heard. “What did you say?”

“Nothing!” She sang, springing up from her seat.

“Hold on, now I’m interested too,” Floyd chimed in. “Now just who do you think it is that has a crush on lil ol’ (Y/N). I mean, no offense,” He glanced at you before turning his head back to Harley, “but she’s too skittery.”

Digger hopped up from his seat, shaking his head. “Nah mate, that adds on to her appeal.”

He started walking towards you and instinctively you started to back away until your back was against the wall. As he was getting closer, Digger’s hand started to extend, reaching out for you.

“See, it makes it fun to try and catch her.”

You shut your eyes, ready to scream the second he dared touching you. Instead of feeling what you thought would be cold dirty fingers, you heard Digger begin to plead.

“Woah! I was only joking around! Let me go!”

Eyes now wide, you saw Rick hoisting the Aussie up in the air by the collar of his shirt. If looks could kill, Digger’s head would be gone. 

“What are the rules?” He asked in a cold tone.

“No escaping and no disobeying,” Digger said quickly.

“Oh! Also no annoying or vexing you!” Harley added.

Rick still held Digger up. “And?”

Confused, Digger looked at Floyd for help who nodded his head towards you. “And-and no touching or teasing (Y/N)?”

Rick released Digger, throwing him towards the door. “Everyone out. We leave at zero one hundred hours.”

All of the criminals walked out of the room. Rick followed to make sure the door was closed once they were out, and locked the door.

You stepped away from the wall, straightening out your black pencil skirt. “Thank you for earlier Colonel Flag.”

“Rick. We’re alone,” He corrected you.

Around others at work, you addressed each other professionally: Colonel Flag and Ms. (L/N). Alone, Rick had started trying to get you used to calling him his name to be more comfortable around him.

“Right, thank you, Rick.”

You were about to clean up and reorganize your notes when you noticed Rick still seemed upset. He had the same annoyed expression he had when the criminals were around and his arms were crossed over his chest.

You cocked your head to the side. “Is something wrong?”

“What were you going to do?” He started walking forward.

“Pardon?”

“What were you going to do if he touched you?”

Your brows furrowed. Why was he asking this?  “Most likely yell at him and push him away.”

“And then?”

“And then what?” Now, you were starting to get annoyed.

Rick stopped a foot away from you, eyes piercing down at you. “What if he didn’t stop?”

“He wouldn’t dare continue.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’ll keep me safe.”

Quickly, you realized what you said and turned your head to avoid his gaze. With a blush creeping onto your cheeks, your heart started to beat faster when he took one step closer to you.

Rick gently grabbed your chin with his thumb and index, turning your head to face him. You looked up at him with your large (E/C) eyes and that odd tingling feeling started up.

“What if I’m not there to keep you safe?”

“You always are.”

Like a flip was switched, Rick suddenly knew why he constantly wanted to make sure you were always alright. You worked for a harsh realist like Waller, but still naively believed good always prevailed. He wanted to make sure you never lost the blissful joy most did when they faced the harsh reality of the world.

His head lowered towards yours until his lips were pressed softly against yours. It was a simple kiss at first. Rick was unsure of how far he could go until you gently returned the kiss. Your hands went up to his chest and he lowered to your waist to pull you closer.

Wrapped in his arms, the odd tingling feeling turned into a warm little flame. You wanted to stay held like this forever. 

When he pulled away, you lightly gripped his shirt and tugged. “Rick, I want more.”

“Are you sure, because it might be sweet now, but if we keep going-”

Without letting him finish, you pressed another kiss against his lips. Again, you two sweetly kissed for a few minutes. Then, you felt one of his hands lower down to the round of your ass. A small gasp escaped you upon being lifted, your legs wrapped around him for support. Your skirt bunched up revealing your thighs as a result.

Rick pulled away from your lips, begging to trail down kisses to your neck.

You knew what you two were doing, more importantly, where, was inappropriate. Though with your mind clouded, you didn’t care. You only wanted to make sure you two wouldn’t be disrupted.

“The-the door,” Your murmured,

“Already taken care of,” He said, lips pressed against your neck.

Rick started walking slowly, carrying you over to the row of chairs. Before he took a seat, he put you back down on your feet.

Suddenly, the world spun and you were now seated on his lap, back pressed firmly against his chest. His arms hugged you close to him while he continued to kiss your neck.

Due to your skirt bunched up, you could feel his denim jeans below you. With heat growing in you, without thinking, you started to move your hips in his lap.

A small chuckle left him. One of his arms released its hold on you to start trailing up and down the side of your thigh. “Is this why you’re always so tense when we’re alone?” His hand moved to your inner thigh, coming closer to your core.

Your hands shot up to cover your blushing face. Was this why? You never quite understood why before, but it was starting to make sense now.

Rick’s other hand pulled your hands down. When he wrapped his arm around you again, he made sure to keep your arms down as well so you couldn’t hide your face.

“Come on now, don’t be shy. It’s just us.”

“Mmm!”

You bit your lip feeling him begin to rub your clit through your damp panties. You started to squirm a bit, a clear bulge forming and pressing up against you. He pushed the fabric to the side, inserting only one finger. You moaned softly, your legs spreading open and welcoming him. 

Rick pushed in his one finger as deep as he could before pulling it completely out and sticking it back in. This time, his finger curved in you and you felt your cunt tighten. When it did, he stuck a second finger in you. His fingers pumped at a consistent pace, and you kept your moans at a low volume. 

You could feel his hardened erection through his jeans pressing firmly against you now. With his fingers still pumping, you started moving your hips along to feel his covered length.

Rick let out a quiet curse, the tightness of his jeans too much. He let go of his hold on you to unbuckle his pants and release his cock.

“I tried to get you ready, but,” He pulled his fingers out completely, both hands now gripping your hips and lifting you up, “this might still hurt a bit.”

He started lowering you down on him and your eyes widened once he had gotten just the head of his dick in. The further he pushed in, the more pain you felt, your eyes growing glossy as a result. He lowered you until you were seated on him again and he was fully filling you up.

You could feel your pussy aching and tightening around him, never being filled up this much before.

“Christ you have a tight little cunt,” Rick gritted out.

Honestly, he surprised himself you managed to take all of him in, but he knew you were in pain. He wanted to give you time to adjust to his length, even if your clenching walls were driving him mad. Though, you could tell by his tight grip on your hips, staying still was driving him mad.

To distract yourself from the pain, you turned your head back to look up at him and pulled him down for another kiss. This time, his tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring the wet space.

During the kiss, you finally started bouncing up and down in his lap. He helped guide you, keeping you at a steady pace. 

With your tight pussy squeezing around him, Rick couldn’t keep the pace you had set. He started thrusting his pelvis up and moved you down on him faster. Eventually, you were no longer in any control while he fucked you. Then, he pulled you out completely and rammed back into you, slamming you down.

“Rick!” You screamed, a sensitive spot now hit.

He did it again and again, your screams growing louder each time he hit your sweet spot. 

Each of your breaths was growing heavier, and his fast pace was now ragged. He hit you once more and your head fell back against his chest, a loud moan leaving your lips. Your cunt clenching and finally releasing around him.

With just a few more thrusts, Rick’s hips bucked into you and he held you still for one moment so he could cum inside you. You felt his cock pulse with each hot spurt in you, causing a shiver. 

After, he moved you only a few more times slowly for you each to ride out your climaxes. Once done, he pulled you off of him and stood up.

Rick wrapped an arm around your shoulder, holding you close to him as you each steadied your breathing.

“So, I take it you’ll start acting normal now when we’re alone?” He asked you.

“I’ll probably heat up thinking about this.”

“I’m fine with that too.”

[mimi-cee-hq]

A Genuine Mess - Atsumu x f!reader

Pairing: Atsumu x f!reader

Summary: Atsumu insults you, the quietest girl in his class. But as he gets to know you, your few words often leave him blushing.

Genre, etc.: Tooth rotting fluff, Atsumu is a dork in love but still consistent with his canon character, reader is quiet but not timid

Warnings: none

Author's Notes: I wanted to try a different personality for the reader as well as taking one of Atsumu's negative character traits and flipping it on its head :) This was fun to write. Hehehe.

Words: 1.9k

*****

"What? She's here for me?" said Atsumu. He pressed his lips together to hide the smile forming on his lips. As he attempted to walk to the gym doors as normally as possible, Aran tilted his head while Osamu wore an amusing smirk.

Atsumu leaned on the frame of the gym doors. "What'd ya want?" he asked you, trying to be as smooth as possible. His voice didn't reveal his usual arrogance and was unexpectedly gentle.

"Could I see your hand?" you asked him with a quiet but direct tone.

When he held his hand out in front of you, you delicately turned it over, palm faced down, and positioned his fingers one by one. You didn't notice him gripping the side of his jersey in his other hand, trying to keep it together every time your fingers grazed his skin. You let go of his hand to pull out your phone and angled it to get a good shot of his hand.

Click.

"Thank you Atsumu-san," you told him, putting your phone away and leaving the gym.

Atsumu returned to the court, not even able to hide the childish grin from his teammates anymore. Some widened their eyes and others dropped their jaws as they witnessed the entire scene.

"So when did you start liking her?" Suna asked him.

"I don't like her," Atsumu adamantly responded.

A laugh escaped Osamu's lips and Atsumu told him to shut up. He hated that his twin knew exactly why he was acting like this.

*****

"Well that looks ugly."

Seated at your desk, you looked up from your sketch to see Atsumu's scrunched up nose. It didn't take long for it to disappear. Osamu whacked him on the head for insulting the quietest girl in class two and quite possibly their whole year.

"Sorry about this jerk," Osamu told you. "He doesn't have a filter."

But when he started to drag Atsumu away from you, they heard the rare sound of your voice.

"Miya-san," you said.

They both turned around but after looking at each other, they assumed you were referring to your classmate Atsumu.

"Why does it look ugly?"

"Ha?" Atsumu gawked at you. He scratched the back of his head. "I dunno. The shoulders just looked gross"–he got whacked on the head again–"Hey!" He glared at Osamu.

After they bickered for a bit, they turned their attention back to you, but you were already facing your desk, immersed in your sketch. Osamu raised an eyebrow at Atsumu, expecting him to know what that was all about, but he only shrugged his shoulders, not having a clue either.

The next time Atsumu heard your voice was when you came to see him at his desk.

"Ha? What's this?" he asked.

In front of him, you had placed another sketch. You didn't say a word but looked at him as if you were expecting some sort of comment.

Atsumu raised an eyebrow but looked at the sketch anyway.

"What's wrong with this dude's hand?" he asked as he squinted at the drawing, holding your sketchbook up to his eyes. "It looks like it's dislocated or something."

The classmate beside him shot his eyes open. He then looked up at you to see your reaction.

"Thank you," you told Atsumu with a little nod before returning to your desk. Those were the only words you had for Atsumu and they had left him and his classmate speechless.

Atsumu's eyes lit up the third time you came to his desk.

"Which one looks the worst?" you asked him, showing him three different sketches.

"This one," he said, pointing to the one in the middle. "There's no way a person could have hair like that."

You ignored his comment and asked him again which one looked worse. He still chose the middle one, saying the expression reminded him too much of his brother.

You gave him a nod as thanks and as he watched you return to your desk, there was a small uptick at the corner of his mouth, gazing at you gathering your pencils together and continuing your progress.

Over the next couple of weeks, he watched you from afar as you drew doodles during class when you should've been paying attention. He wondered if he should actually write notes from the lesson in case you needed them. Maybe he'd pass them to you the next time you showed him your artwork.

But you hadn't made a trip to his desk during the next two weeks. Why did you stop coming? So when you left the classroom, he quickly opened the sketchbook that was left on your desk and went through it page by page, curious to see what you'd been drawing this whole time. As he flipped through the pages, he saw how your drawings had gradually improved. He couldn't help but smile at your growth as an artist.

"Miya-san."

He jumped at your voice and snapped the book shut. He fumbled over his words. "I wasn't looking! It just fell and I picked it up from the ground!" he told you. "When I put it back on yer desk it just happened t' be like that!"

He then saw an expression he had never seen on your face. Your brows were furrowed and your lips turned into a frown. You let out a deep breath. "Miya-san, you're free to look through my sketchbook, but please don't lie to me."

His eyes widened before he lowered them to stare at the classroom floor. Shoulders sagging, he told you in a hushed voice, "I'm sorry." He sighed and dragged his feet back towards his desk. But just when he was about to pull out his chair, he heard your soft voice.

"Miya-san," you said, looking directly at him when he turned to you. "Like I said, you can come and look at it whenever you want."

Atsumu pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a stupid grin on his face. But his eyes betrayed his attempt as they crinkled and turned into crescents, elated at your offer.

*****

Over the next several weeks, Atsumu used any excuse he could to chat with you at your desk before he finally settled on talking to you about anything and everything. He tried to get to know you, asking you questions, but your answers were short and simple, not knowing how else to respond.

However, Atsumu shamelessly continued to talk about himself, his brother, the team, and whatever else was on his mind that day. You always nodded and listened with a smile.

"I think she's just being nice to you," commented Osamu.

"She's never stopped me," Atsumu replied with a huff, crossing his arms, which only resulted in Osamu shaking his head.

Without looking up from your sketch, you told him, "I like hearing him talk."

Osamu's eyes grew at your response but when he glanced over at his twin, Atsumu's ears and cheeks had turned red.

"Oh?" the silver haired twin said with a sly grin. "You're blushing 'Tsumu."

"No I'm not!" Atsumu said after clearing his throat and turning his head away. Osamu was about to tease him when instead, you said something that deepened his blush.

"It's cute."

Osamu's jaw dropped. Atsumu froze at your comment before deciding to put his face down on your desk, burying it into his arms.

As you and Atsumu got to know each other, he learned that you were still close with your friends from middle school. They were there for you, always supporting you and your passion for art. But when you asked them what they thought about your drawings, they had always said they looked good. You were grateful for them but you couldn't tell if they were just being nice.

"So is that why you asked me about yer drawings?" Atsumu noted. You confirmed it with a nod and he looked at you with longing eyes and a soft smile.

You caught him off-guard when you took a photo of him. "Your expression was interesting just now," you told him. "I want to use it as reference."

Atsumu blushed and covered the lower half of his face. He muttered something through his hands that you didn't quite catch.

"Hm?" you asked.

"Y-you can use me as reference any time."

You took him up on his offer. You'd often snap pictures of him, casually pulling out your phone when you'd find an interesting expression on his face. You even came to see him at practice when you wanted to practice drawing some hands. He often wondered what you noticed about him when you used him as reference, what expressions you saw in him.

One day after classes had ended and volleyball practice was cancelled, he sat at the other side of your desk as you switched to a different drawing pencil from your set. What did you see when you looked at him? His eyes? His nose? His lips?

His hand rose next to your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. When you looked up at him from your drawing, he pulled his hand back, suddenly realizing what he was doing.

He bit his lip, scolding himself for doing that to you. You called his name and his attention was back on you.

"Why did you stop?" you asked.

Butterflies were fluttering in his stomach, not at all expecting those words. Looking at you through his eyelashes, he saw you directly looking back at him. Were you serious?

Somehow getting the courage to make a move, he drew his hand toward you and gently cupped your cheek. He bent over your desk and brought his lips near yours, stopping midway as if waiting for permission to follow through. You leaned in a little closer and he closed the gap, feeling your soft lips against his.

Pulling back, his eyes studied your face for some sort of reaction. He bit his lip, doubting if that was what you wanted. Perhaps he didn't do a good job or you had changed your mind after the kiss.

What if you were just doing this for reference?

He searched your eyes for an answer, not knowing that you saw the insecurity in his.

"I liked it, Atsumu."

His eyes grew. He was both delighted and flustered, not believing that he got to kiss you, that you'd accept a kiss from someone like him. He hugged you and placed a kiss on your forehead, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close.

*****

"Guys! I have a girlfriend!" Atsumu declared, storming into the gym the next day. They all raised their brows when they saw who was holding his hand.

"Are you serious?" asked Aran.

"It's probably fake," Suna commented.

"He must have bribed her or something," Osamu added.

"All of ya just shut up!" Atsumu yelled at them as they all gave him a skeptical look. He sighed and dropped his shoulders as he held your hand.

They snickered and teased him, but when there was a silent pause in the air, they heard your voice for the first time.

"I like him," you told his team. Your voice was quiet but they heard every word. They freaked out, gawking at the two of you, an unlikely pair.

Atsumu turned his face away because his cheeks went red again. Your words, more often than not, caused him to be up in a fluster.

*****

I hope you enjoyed it.

I couldn't help but have Suna say it was fake for all my "A Glimpse of Yellow" readers. lolll.

If you liked this one, you might like one of these:

1) my Tendou one-shot (timid!reader)

2) my Sakusa one-shot (where he gets a crush on exchange student!reader)

3) my Kyoutani one-shot (another unexpected pairing)

And I want to shamelessly throw in my Suna chaptered fic (fake dating) just because it's my current series. lol.

I also have a Google form for my taglist if any of you are interested in it.

[angelsvoice1love]

Hard to figure out

You sat across from Pil-do, trying to read him but still couldn't figure him out. Was he truly as cold as some of the officers said, or was he merely hiding the fact that he had a soft, kind heart?

Biting, on your pencil, you still stared at him looking at him as if you were having a day dream.

Pil-do: You shouldn't do that.

Y/n: Huh? You said, as you were pulled out of your train of thought.

Pil-do: You shouldn't bite your pencil, it'll damage your teeth. He replied, looking up at you from his paper work.

Y/n: Oh...haha, yeah I only do that when I'm in deep though. You said, as you rubbed your head.

Pil-do: Deep though? What were you thinking about, that had your mind all frozen?

Y/n: Nothing...nothing at all.

Pil-do: Mm.

Ji-Woo: Detective Jeon.

Pil-do: Yes.

Ji-Woo: It's about the case. Could we go somewhere e-

Y/n: No need. It's lunch time and most of the rooms will be filled, so you both can stay here and talk about the case. You smiled, as you got up. Oh, do you want anything from the restaurant? I'm going to the place 5 blocks away, and it would be fair if you both didn't get lunch.

Pil-do: Yes. Anything will do.

Ji-Woo: Thank you, Y/n. Could you please bring me Kimchi fried rice?

Y/n: Sure thing. You winked, as you gave them a thumbs up.

Driving to the restaurant, you were extremely preoccupied that you didn't notice the black truck following you. After ordering, and waiting for your food, you stepped outside the building to take a call from your mother when suddenly a bag was placed of your head.

Freaking out, you trashed around, trying to get out of the kidnappers grip but noting happened. Trying once more, you got lose when they hit your head causing you to black out.

Waking up, you saw you were in a room, a room that looked like your typical bad guy hide out.

Gang-jae: Well, well, she finally wakes up.

Y/n: Gang-jae? W...let me go. You said, squirming in your seat.

Gang-jae: Awe, now why would I do that pretty? He said, as he took your face in his hands. I need you to get to Detective Ji-Woo. You see, she's the one that did this to my face, and she's the one that destroyed everything. That's why I need you to be the bait, and although it pains me to have such a beautiful creature like yourself be...mm...killed,id much rather have preferred to have you around. He said with a wink, that made you shake of discuss.

Y/n: You'll never g-

You were cut off as he taped your mouth shut, Gang-jae moved in and kissed you through the tape and walked away.

Gang-jae: Don't worry pretty, I'll make sure to send your regards.

You shook your head, trying to get out but nothing. Nothing was happening, you needed to get loose and quick to warn them. A while later, Gang-jae came back with some of his thugs telling them to rough you up a little, to make it look realistic for your friends to came and save you. To make it look like a matter of life or death.

With every punch, kick and slap, all you could think of was your two co-workers, ad what would happen to them.

A while later, you could see the moon shining in through the roof. Your whole body was aching, you felt like you wanted to just fall asleep and wake up after a year or two but that wasn't the case.

You heard footsteps, looking up from the ground you saw Pil-do. Pil-do placed his hand on his lips, showing you to keep quiet. After taking off the tape, he untied your feet followed by your wrists. The instant you were freed, your body automatically fell forward.

Pil-do: I've got you. He said, as he picked you up carrying you to the car.

All the while heading to the car, you heard a lot of officers running around the building to find any gang members they could find.

Pil-do: Officer Yo, drive to the hospital as fast as you can.

Y/n: P...Pil-do? You whispered, trying to stay awake.

Pil-do: Y/n, stay awake, we're on our way to the hospital. Everything's going to be okay...your going to be okay. He said, holding you in his arms, as he sat in the back seat of the police vehicle as he held your face while running his thumb up and down your cheek.

Time skip

Pil-do Pov

I watched y/n, as she laid in the hospital bed. With severe bruises, and some cuts y/n was going to be fine which stopped me from worrying. I couldn't move, all I wanted was to stay by her side until she woke up.

I was going threw the messages of the case on my phone, when I heard a familiar voice talking.

Y/n: Mm...Pil-do? Y/n, whispered as she shifted in the bed.

Pil-do: Y/n. I said, as I got up from the couch and sat gently on the bed.

Y/n: You came for me?

Pil-do: Of course, why wouldn't I?

Y/n: I...it was a trap...Gang-jae, set up a trap-

Pil-do: To catch Ji-Woo. I know. I said, as I ran my hand through her hair.

Y/n: I tried...i tried everything to get loose, so that I could c- she cut herself off as she coughed.

Pil-do: Here...drink some water.

I helped her sit up, as I gave her the water. Y/n drank some, and looked up at me as I placed the cup on the table.

Y/n: Pil-do?

Pil-do: Yes.

Normal pov

You moved forward, as you placed your arms around Pil-do's waist hugging him softly.

Y/n: Thank you...for saving me.

Pil-do: I'll always be there to save you, y/n. He replied, as he returned the hug.

You pulled away slightly locking eyes with Pil-do's. Leaning up, you placed a kiss on Pil-do's cheek, slowly coming back down to sit on the bed.

Pil-do: Y...you should get some rest, I'm going to stay here until Ji-Woo comes in the morning.

Y/n: You should go home and get some sleep.

Pil-do: I can't do that, they might come back y/n and who says they won't kill you this time? That's why I can't leave.

Nodding, you laid down covering yourself with the blanket facing Pil-do. Closing your eyes you drifted into sleep, but it barely lasted long until you jumped up screaming.

Pil-do: Y/n? Pil-do asked, as he jumped up running over to you.

Y/n: No-

Pil-do: Y/n, calm down. It's okay, it's just me. Pil-do said, as he hugged you tightly.

Y/n: No...please...dont l...lwt them take me again. You cried, as you held onto his jacket tightly.

Pil-do: Y/n-

Y/n: *cries* I...it was awful...*cries* I'm s...scared *cries*I'm so scared, I can't get that bastards face out of my mind *cries*

Pil-do: It's okay, I'm here...im not going anywhere y/n. Pil-do said, as he soothed you gently.

Two days later

Y/n: Are you sure I can stay here? I mean I don't want you to go out of your way, for me.

Pil-do: It's no problem. It's quite a big place, and it'll be safer until we catch them. He replied, as he put the bags in the room.

Y/n: How can I ever repay you, for your kindness?

Pil-do: You can make some of your delicious mochi.

Y/n: Deal.

Pil-do left on a phone call he received, leaving you alone in your room. The full length mirror was standing there, breathing in you lifted your shirt looking over the bruises that Gang-jae left on your body.

Pil-do heard a whimber and ran to the room. Running in, he saw you in your bra frozen as you look at him.

Y/n: I-you tried to scramble to get anything to cover up.

Pil-do: Don't. He said, as he came closer, so close you were barley touching.

Pil-do, lightly traced his fingers on the bruises that were on your body. He looked at the bruises that were on your hip, chest, stomach and legs. Shivering at his touch, your tears from before dripped on his arm which caused him to stop and look at you.

Pil-do, leaned in holding your face in his hands as he kissed you. Your eyes were wide, your arms that were by your side lifted as they held onto his arms as you kissed back.

Pil-do picked you up, your legs instant wrapping around his waist and arm around his neck as you deepened the kiss.

Placing you gently on the bed, Pil-do hovered over you kissing you again but instantly stopped himself.

Pil-do: Y...you should recover fir-

Y/n: You won't hurt me, I trust you. You said, as you smile gently up at him.

Pil-do: Are you sure?

Siting up, you held Pil-do's face and kissed him softly.

Y/n: Positive. Biting your lip, you kissed Pil-do again, as your hands ran down to take off his shirt.

Disgarding his shirt, Pil-do pulled you onto his lap and deepened the kiss if that was possible.

Pil-do: I love you...y/n. Pil-do said, in between breaths.

Y/n: I love you too.

Time skip

You looked over at Pil-do that was sleeping soundly, not being able to hide your smile you gently ran your fingers in his hair.

Pil-do: Mmm...wgat time is it? Pil-do questioned, as he moved into your touch.

Y/n: 2:00 am.

Pil-do: Why aren't you sleeping. He asked, as he opened his eyes sleepely.

Y/n: I...well...it's...-

Pil-do: Still the nightmares?

Y/n: Yes. You replied, as you tried to get out of the bed. I should...um...ahh-

Pil-do: No. Your staying here with me. Just put your head on my chest. What about this way. He said as he took you in his arms, both laying on your side facing each other. As he held you close to him, his chin on your head, as your was in his neck.

Y/n: This feels nice.

Pil-do: It is. I want to wake up like this everyday with you y/n. I want to hold you in my arms every night as we fall asleep. Would you...would you stay with me? Pil-do questioned, as he whispered in your hair.

Y/n: Yes. After everything, I would walk away Pil-do...that'll mean I'll be walking away from the man I fell in love with.

Pil-do: Great answer. But even if you left, I'd still be chasing after the one I love.

[raggaraddy]

Can you Taehyungs version of reader being shot cause of them?

I really like your Jimin and Namjoon Version that you’ve written🥰

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: It is so much longer than I meant for it to be. Hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading.

If anyone else wants to request, you can here.

Mafia Bangtan other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Jimin

Jungkook

---------

Deception.

Summary: When you agreed to help Bangtan take down one of their enemies, you never imagined it could go so wrong.

Trigger warning: Smut, violence, blood, murder.

Taehyung

Mafia! Taehyung

"Are you ready?" Namjoon asks, shutting off the car's engine and turning around in his seat.

"Yeah," you nod back, hoping the rocking pit of nerves in your stomach isn't visible on your face. Scanning back and forth between him in the front and Jin sat beside you, you're checking to see if they are showing any signs of worry either. Finding a bit of solace in their surety.

"We're gonna lag behind about 20 minutes to be cautious and stay out of sight. But we'll be close. Just do everything like we said, and you'll be fine." Namjoon summarizes once again. Jin offering you a kind, reassuring smile to accompany the leader's words.

You nod again, sucking your tongue to the roof of your mouth. Running your fingers through your hair to fluff it for the 30th time. Hyperfixated on the time, you see the dashboard clock tick over. 20:21.

"Okay, let's go." You exhale deeply.

It was three weeks ago that Namjoon came to you with a problem that Bangtan was facing. Their weapons dealer was forcefully put out of business, which was Namjoons gentle way of saying he was killed, cutting off their supply to automatics and other bigger guns. Leaving them vulnerable. The man who took over their previous partners supply was known to be working with some of the other, smaller local crews. It was also known that he was a rival of Namjoon's and due to this tension refused to work with Bangtan. Normally, a problem like this would be something that they could handle. However, as Namjoon explained it, this guy was backed and protected by foreign money and was too hot to touch without starting a bloody war.

So the plan was simple. Risky, but simple. The supplier had to die. And it needed to appear to be from natural causes, so it could never fall back on Bangtan. No one directly affiliated could be involved. That meant none of the members could risk doing it. It also meant that it was too high a priority to trust an associate or hired gun with this information. Not with the reach and money the opposition had. No, it had to be someone within the family that could handle this, but someone the supplier would never know.

Opportunely, the supplier was known to have a weakness for women, hence the logical conclusion for Namjoon was one of the member's girls. Trustworthy enough not to turn or rat, not likely to be noticed among the myriad of other women, and except a few of them, all had no record linking them to Bangtan, so they would be complete unknowns.

Jin said it, but you already knew it. Out of all of the girls, you were the one who was the most capable. Your difficult past left you with many emotional scars but made you the best person to handle the responsibility. You're not susceptible to intimidation. Have very few moral hangups. And most importantly Namjoon knows how much you love Taehyung. How you would do anything for him. To keep him safe and happy. He knows he can trust you, and that when the time comes, you wouldn't hesitate to do what they needed you to.

As for you, you knew that Taehyung trusted Namjoon irrefutably and you had seen countless times that he was a good leader. Furthermore, you could appreciate the gravity of the situation. Because you're sure that if Bangtan's brain had any other choice, he would not have asked for your help. But since he had, you were going to do what was necessary to keep your family and Taehyung safe.

The problem was that Namjoon had insisted on secrecy. The only ones to know about his plan were you, him, and Jin. A few years ago, sure, lying would not have been a problem for you, you hardly ever told the truth to anyone. But this changed when you met Taehyung. He was the first person you could be honest with, the first person you ever let love you. And lying to him was something you were genuinely struggling with.

However, you knew Namjoon and Jin were right. There was no way Tae would have been okay with you being put in harm's way and he wouldn't be able to separate his feelings from the urgency of the task.

Although, that justification doesn't make you feel less guilty for deceiving him. And to make matters worse, you expected this to be over with last week already. But on your first date with the supplier, he had left the club early to deal with work suddenly. Giving you no time to spike his drink.

So here you were, attempt number two.

While you were meant to meet the supplier at a fancy restaurant first, Namjoon's plan was to skip that and get to his house as quickly as possible. Before the valet could open the supplier's car door, you leant through the open window, teasingly licking your lips. "I just realized," you purr, noting his eyes drop to your mouth and back. "I'm actually not that hungry. So how about we skip to the end of the night, and then you can take me out for breakfast tomorrow morning."

Your blatant offer works like a charm. 20 minutes and a car ride later, he's pulling you down onto his couch. Hardly able to keep his hands or lips off of you.

Tearing at your blouse he rips the buttons apart, his mouth sucking and licking at your neck. One of his hands roaming and grabbing at anything he can, while the other starts to hike up your pencil skirt. He removes his vest and buttoned shirt, not once parting his lips from yours. His large, hard chest muscles pressing against you as he pins you in between his arms and the couch. Spreading your legs apart, he grinds his crotch into your core and you can feel what effect this is having on him. And you have to admit, despite your mind being focused elsewhere, physically it's having the same kind of arousing results on you.

But this isn't what's supposed to happen. He's moving too fast and it's quickly getting away from you. You only want to get him comfortable and distracted enough that he completely lets his guard down. You're trying to poison him, not fuck him.

Pushing his chest lightly, you spring upright. Slightly out of breath you pull your hair over your shoulder covering up a little and running your fingers through it, trying to regain some composure.

"I could use a drink." You pant, batting your eyes up at him.

"Sounds good." He nods, his gaze dark and ravenous. Suddenly haulting he leans back down to kiss you. His hands gripping your hips as he kisses you back into the sofa. Abruptly leaving you flat on the couch with flushed cheeks.

This is better. One or two drinks from now, you should be able to slip him the ricin. He drinks it, you fake a headache, and skip home.  24 hours from now he has a heart attack and dies from natural causes. Nothing tied to you. Nothing connected to Bangtan.

"I hope you like-"  The supplier calls out, only to be interrupted by a grating smack at the front of the house. You startle upright, sitting alert watching the hall entrance. He comes from the other side, coming back from the kitchen, a curious look on his face. Both of you staring at the same doorway as Taehyung suddenly comes in.

Fuck.

Your eyes go wide, half not able to believe he is actually here. He wasn't supposed to be!  Namjoon had arranged for Jimin to take him out tonight. And you had told him you were going to meet some of the other girls.

The thing you didn't know; a week ago when you met the supplier at the club, you had also said you were out with a few girls, including Jimin's girlfriend. But she was with Jimin at that time. And Jimin was with Taehyung. And she knew nothing about any plans to go out.

So when you said there was a movie night tonight, he asked around and found out that was also a lie. He wanted to trust you. To trust that it wouldn't be as bad as his worst fear. Still, the more he thought over how you lied to him, the more he worked himself up, getting himself into a paranoid and anxious state. Until he found himself tracking your phone, following you to an unknown house.

Seeing you half undressed and with someone he considers an enemy, his anger and jealously turns to pure rage. It only taking a second for the scene in front of him to confirm his worst suspicions.

Unleashing his gun he shoots wildly at the supplier. Reason slipping from him completely.

Barley able to avoid being hit, the supplier dives behind one of the sofa chairs. Nearly being riddled with the showering of bullets.

Wrapping your hands over your head, you cover your ears from the explosive sounds. Still firing, and keeping the supplier pinned, Taehyung storms at you.

"Tae-" you start. The gun empties, but Taehyung couldn't care less, tossing it aside. All of his attention focused on you.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" He growls through gritted teeth. His hand flying down smacking your cheek, slapping you back into the sofa. "How could you do this to me?!" He screams, his voice wavering from the emotion in his question.

"I can explain," You ignore the burn on your cheek, running your hands along your body, trying your best to cover and redress yourself.  You never wanted him to see you like this, and the look of betrayal in his eyes is stinging your heart more than any slap could.  "I-," you begin with no next word coming. There's nothing you can tell him. Not while the supplier is right here.

Taehyung's anger aside, you're terrified to think what him being here means. Namjoon's plan is completely derailed. And Taehyung attacked the supplier, creating an entirely new problem. You're not the smart one. You have no idea what to do or how to fix this.

Where the hell are Jin and Namjoon?

Taehyung is so fixated on you that he doesn't see the other man charging from the side.

"Look out!" You scream. Only it's a second too slow. Taehyung doesn't have time to react and the supplier swings a ceramic table ornament at his head. The shattered fragments raining over you, as your boyfriend is knocked to the ground. The shoe of the imposing man booting into Taehyung's torso.

You dive towards them, driving your body weight into the supplier to separate the two men. Pushing him away as his heel scarcely misses Taehyung's face.

He stumbles back a few steps and straightens up, nodding and pursing his lips with a look of revelation. Seeing you spring to Taehyungs defence revealed much more than you had intended.

While you're attempting to help Tae upright, he quickly shirks you off and lunges at the other man diving through him and dragging him to the floor. Fighting for dominance and survival, the two men break into a brutal fight trading blow after blow as they struggle to overpower the other.

While you're relieved to see that Taehyung is the more skilled of the two, and mostly has the upper hand, you're mainly sick with worry. The ramifications of this will play out beyond this simple fistfight.

All you can do is get Tae out of here for now, and hope that the supplier hasn't realised that this was an attempt to kill him. Maybe if you're really lucky he will only think of it at face value. A cheating girlfriend and her jealous boyfriend.

"Tae," you grab his arm, dragging him back with resistance. "We have to get out of here. Please,"

He drops the supplier's collar, who falls back limply. Turning to you he has blood pouring down his face from a cut on his cheek. Intensifying the cold look in his eye.

"We? What we? Don't you wanna stay here with this piece of shit." He snarls, standing up.

"I can explain after." You tug him again. He can hate you all he likes later. But first, you have to get out of here. "Please," you beg for his agreement.

Staring harshly, he retreats from you. A pained look in his eye that cuts you more than any blade could. Anger, hate, rage. You could handle all of it. But there's so much hurt and sadness on his face. It's nothing you ever wanted to be responsible for. It's more than you can bear.

"Tae," you hold your hand outreached, gingerly approaching him.  He doesn't withdraw further, allowing you to rest your hand on his cheek. Your heart breaking further as he leans into your touch. Resting in your palm for comfort like an injured puppy. "I promise, baby, this isn't what it looks like." you coo, "I love you so much,"

His eyes close, his face scrunching in anguish. He wants to believe you so badly. To forget everything he has seen. To take you home and never let you go. He may be the first person you let love you, but for him, you are the only person he ever let himself love.

Turning, you use his softening demeanour to lead him towards the door. But the supplier pulls your attention. Neither of you were paying him any mind and standing in the corner of the room he's pulled his own gun from hiding.

Reacting without a thought you shove your back into Taehyung, covering him. Guarding him.

At the same time, a shot rings out and the bullet hits you. A painful, sharp sensation piercing through your torso that makes you stumble back. Losing your footing you fall into Taehyung, your body never hitting the ground. Taehyung catching your weight, lowering with you. Resting you on his legs.

Taehyung grimaces in pain, his hand wrapping his own side momentarily. The bullet went clean through you and cut his side before flying into the wall behind the both of you. Dismissing his own injury, he leans over your body, ripping off his shirt and pressing it and his palms into your entrance wound. Trying to slow the bleeding.

Looking up at Taehyung with tear-filled eyes, you're in shock. Every breath you take is sore but other than that, your body is numb. Your hands clinging to his, all you can think is that you wished you knew what to say or do to lessen his panic. The sweat on his forehead rolls into the cut on his cheek causing the blood to drip further down his neck and chest. The fear and worry in his eyes exposing what you can't see or feel. That you're losing a lot of blood.

The supplier comes over the top of you both. He presses the barrel of the gun into the back of Taehyungs head, forcing him to crouch lower over you.

"I was searching for a reason to annihilate Namjoon and his pathetic crew. Thank you for giving me one." He digs the gun down harder. Taehyung growls, baring his teeth in frustration. "Too bad we didn't get to finish what we started though, Y/n. Oh well." He smirks, cocking the gun for additional effect.

"I love you," Taehyung whispers, the finality in his voice breaking your restraint, tears gushing down your face.

"I-," you can only begin.

Another blast rings out that makes both you and Taehyung jump. The supplier's body goes heavy and plummets to the ground, smashing through the glass coffee table beside you. Glass shatters everywhere as he falls down dead, blood pouring out of his head, collecting into a pool.

"Fuck sakes." Namjoon sighs from the living room entrance. Standing with Jin, both looking over the destruction with disbelief.

"Hyung," Taehyung calls out, his voice raspy and on the verge of tears. "Help." He looks down at you, your face pale, your limps drooping as the blood loss is starting to make you dizzy.

Namjoon opens his mouth readying to scold his brother, but he quickly stops himself. His own faults glaringly obvious at this moment. Jin removes his belt, wrapping it around your waist he fixes it tightly, making you whine in pain, keeping Taehyungs shirt pressed to both sides of your wound.

"Can you carry her?" Jin asks his younger brother.

Namjoon passes all of you, walking toward the lifeless body of his enemy, shooting another round into the back of his head with a frustrated look in his eye.

Taehyung nods at Jin with wide, panicked eyes.

"Then bring her." Namjoon turns with a flick of his head gesturing to follow him.

Jin supports Taehyung as he struggles to get himself and you to a standing position. Finding more strength once he is upright, lifting you into his arms as you whimper and moan weakly.

"Taehyung-" you start, your words sounding breathless and weak. "I'm sorry," you whisper.

"Shh baby." He hushes you. "Don't worry about that now."

He gets you into Namjoons truck, laying you down the length of the seat. As Namjoon speeds to the hospital, Taehyung sits in the back, his legs under your head. Holding firm against your bullet wound while petting your head.

Jin takes Tae's keys and follows you in his car. Already calling a cleanup crew to get rid of the supplier's body. Trying to salvage what he can of the bad situation.

"Namjoon," you call out. Even as your mind is starting to slip into unconsciousness your worry over the family is consuming your focus. "the plan. Can you fix the-" you breathe heavily running out of air.

He looks over his shoulder, guilt overtaking his expression. Nodding with an affirming grunt.

"Plan? What plan?" Taehyung muses, the shock steadily drifting away. "What is she talking about, Hyung?" One look at the blame on Namjoon's face and it clicks into place. "What did you do?"

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this." Namjoon reasons.

"Are you kidding me? You organized this?!" He snaps, "How the fuck could you risk her like that?!"

"It was supposed to be easy. She wasn't meant to get hurt-"

"Well, clearly she did!" Taehyung roars, his hands bunching into fists.

"I'm sorry, Tae. I wanted to help." You whine, lifting your arm up to touch his chest, trying to soothe him in any way.

"It's okay, baby. I know you did." He coos kissing your forehead, Taehyung's rage immediately subsiding towards you. He takes your blood-drenched hands in his and kisses them lovingly. Kissing down your forearms, pressing your hands to his head in agony and want to have you closer. Wishing he could absorb your pain and suffering.

Returning his wrath to the leader his voice lowers, coming out like ice. "We're gonna talk about this once she's okay." He snarls, "And know, I hold you personally responsible for every second she's in pain."

Looking in the rearview mirror, Namjoon nods solemnly. "Yeah, I do too."

Luckily for you, you recover quickly, and no permanent physical damage was done. But the damage that was done to Namjoon and Taehyungs relationship, the repercussions caused for Bangtan, and the fall out from the supplier's death... well that's another story entirely.

[helliontherapscallion]

Memory Lane is a Desolate Place (The Ashes of Yourself Part 4)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: generational trauma, abandonment, neglect, mentions of the following: death, war, plague, famine, genocide

Word count: 2,536

(A/N): Wowza, a Philza-centric chapter! Ik this is a lot shorter than what I usually write for this series, but I’m just trying to ease myself back into this story. I have a lot planned for this, so stay tuned : )

Philza walked through the tundra towards his old household. For the past few weeks, he had slowly been cleaning up the outside area and the interior for the upcoming family reunion. The house, due to nobody living in it, had slowly become overgrown with various weeds and wildlife. He had previously been looking forward to the reunion, ecstatic to see his entire family in one place again, but now he wasn’t so certain that his previous excitement was still there.

Over his many centuries of life on this world, he had seen some truly disturbing things; including genocides that left many children without families, wars that ended in mutually assured destruction, famine that reduced many to skin and bones, great nations once prosperous and grand becoming mere ashes beneath his feet in the matter of days, and plague that ravaged entire populations. 

He had learned to ignore them as they passed, as they never affected him. Hardship was always present; time was akin to an arrow slicing through the air at mach speed, never stopping for anybody. To him, it was better to ignore than to be roped into something you couldn’t fix even if you tried. Those memories were shoved into the deepest, darkest corners of his mind only resurfacing against his will in the form of horrific, detailed nightmares. 

However, those memories were different. Those were never personal. 

The entire time he was walking, the sight of his youngest child’s charred body sinking into the deepest depths of the ocean plagued his mind. The memory was rooted into his mind, being seen in every waking second against his will. His feet led him inside on their own, his mind blank and his body feeling numb; it felt like he was dreaming with how much his subconscious was taking over. 

By the time he fully came to his senses, he was standing in front of (y/n)’s closed door. Just like his children’s other doors, their door was labeled with ‘(y/n)’ written in a child’s sloppy handwriting and splotched with random colors of paint. He could remember sitting with them when he first brought them home and telling them to choose their room and holding them up so that they could reach the door. 

“Alright, you get to choose your own room!” 

The young blaze hybrid paused for a moment in concentration, trying to decipher what he had told them. They hadn’t spoken much English at the time, blaze being the only language they could speak. Luckily, Philza had experience with children not knowing much English; Technoblade had been the same way. After some simpler phrases and a small game of charades, they finally understood what he was telling them. Their eyes lit up and they bounced on the balls of their feet excitedly, making him chuckle. 

In an instant, they zoomed down the hallway looking at the decorated doors as they passed. The names on the doors were indecipherable to them, merely chicken scratch compared to the calligraphy that they were used to seeing etched into nether brick. Not that they could read that either, the language was far too complex for a seven year old to understand. 

Finally, after Philza caught up to them and showed them the rooms that were open, they had chosen an empty room without a second thought.

“Good choice, kiddo,” Philza beamed, his hand going to ruffle their hair. He hesitated, feeling the unnatural heat resonating from their flaming head before slowly coming to a rest on top of their head. Surprisingly, the flames merely tickled his hand as they flickered about. The heat was pleasantly comfortable, warming up his cold hand in an instant. A strange, weak magical energy made his entire arm tingle almost to an uncomfortable amount. It felt as if he had just touched something packed with static electricity. 

They looked up at him with innocent eyes, silently pointing to another door in question. Philza followed their finger and saw that the door belonged to Wilbur, his name being painted in slightly messy spaced out lettering with small music notes surrounding it. Philza’s eyes furrowed before he came to the realization that they wanted to paint their door as well. 

His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape before he leaned down to grab their hand and lead them to the kitchen where he had written out the name ‘(y/n)’. It was the name that was shakily etched onto a slightly burnt paper and given to him by the kid themselves when he was walking through a nether fortress earlier that day. Strangely, they were the only inhabitant of the fortress, not even a wither skeleton roamed the twisting halls. The anonymous note, albeit a little difficult to understand (as if the writer themselves hardly spoke any English), begged whomever came across the child to take them in. So Philza, being the type to never leave a child in need, took them in. 

He sat next to them at the table and handed them a pencil. On his own piece of paper, he wrote out his own name, said it aloud, and pointed to himself multiple times. The child understood and shakily wrote out their name slowly, mimicking what Philza had written on their paper. This slightly shocked the winged man, he wasn’t expecting them to catch on this quickly. Not even Technoblade had caught on that quickly. 

“You’re… a really fast learner, kiddo.” He breathed out with a proud smile on his face. The child, not understanding exactly what he had said, saw his smile and matched it with their own bright one, their face lighting up in a brilliant orange. He felt his heart melt at the sight. 

He gathered some paint and paint brushes and led them back up to their chosen room. (Y/n) trailed after him closely, almost bumping into him when he suddenly stopped in front of their room. He lifted them up with one hand and held the palette with the other. The small child in his arm grabbed a paint brush and looked up at him hesitantly. 

He gave them an encouraging smile and nodded at the door, telling them to write their name and demonstrating by stroking a clean brush against the door. They understood, gently swiping their brush against the wood with their tongue poked out of the corner of their mouth and their brows furrowed in deep concentration. Soon enough, their name was sprawled out in dripping, brightly colored paint. They looked up at Philza for approval, and upon seeing his large smile and warm eyes, they looked back at their creation with pride. Their eyes flicked between Wilbur’s door and theirs, something was missing. 

Their eyes lit up in realization before they suddenly stuck their hand into the paints on the palette. A startled gasp left Philza’s mouth as his grip tightened on both the child and the paints. Before he could stop them, they had smacked their paint covered hand onto the door underneath their name. Paint splattered everywhere, splashing onto their body and his arms and face. He felt them jolt in surprise and felt the slight vibration of a blaze-like grunt rumble their chest. 

Despite the mess that it left and the fact that he’d have to clean it up, small chuckles left him before he broke out into full blown laughter. This had been the hardest he had laughed in years, the feeling being almost foreign to him. (Y/n) joined him in his laughter, the sound of their joyed, high pitched giggles being music to his ears. 

The two spent the rest of the afternoon decorating the door with small splatters and handprints. By the time they had stopped, Philza had drying paint splotches on almost every part of his exposed skin, hair, and feathers and (y/n)’s small hands were layered with colors and paint was similarly splattered on their body. 

Philza pressed his hand against the much smaller handprint on the door and sighed at the memory, his face stretched into a small smile. They had been so innocent back then, their eyes full of hope and naivety, their face not having a single mark on it. 

His hand dropped and the smile was wiped clean from his face as he remembered why his clothes were wet and his skin reddened with the unforgiving temperature of the tundra. He shook his head from side to side and squeezed his eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of (y/n) laying scorched on the sandy beach struggling to gasp for the oxygen they were deprived of. 

He opened his eyes and forced himself away from the door, instead walking towards the bathroom and running hot water to warm up his shivering body. 

The shower was usually a place where he could sort out his thoughts and fully relax, however he was tense the entire time and his thoughts stung him like he was haphazardly tossed into a nettle bush. Once clean and warmed up, he stepped out and put on a dry set of clothes. To get his mind off from things, he quickly busied himself with housework. 

That, however, did nothing to distract him from today’s events and the scalding argument that he and (y/n) had. Their words had initially angered him, had he not given them everything they needed to survive? Why couldn’t they understand that he had a constant craving for freedom and adventure that was impossible to ignore? 

A mix of emotions poked and prodded at his brain as he contemplated the end of their argument. Their angry voice echoed in his head:

“You don’t know jackshit about me.” 

His mind flashed back to the shock and panic he had felt when they nonchalantly stuck their hand into the crackling fire. He had forgotten that they could heal themselves with fire; hell, he had forgotten that they were basically fireproof. He quickly came to the realization that he couldn’t remember a lot of things about them. 

“Do you have any idea how much you were gone from my life when I needed you the most?”

He wasn’t stupid, he knew he had missed a lot of their life. Every time he had gotten back from a journey, something about each of his children had always changed and significant milestones had long since passed. He had missed a lot of each of their lives, there was a lot that he didn’t know about them. “I’ll be there next time,” he had wove off a peeved Wilbur when the boy had confronted him about missing Tommy’s second birthday with the family. It wasn’t like he was lying to the older boy, no he fully intended to be there for each and every single milestone his children experienced. However, something always came up and he missed each and every single one. It was easy to make promises, yet it was increasingly difficult to uphold them.

“Wilbur was the one that raised Tommy and I while you were so focused on Techno and your stupid fucking adventures.”

Oh, Wilbur. His only biological child. The boy that had looked at both Tommy and (y/n) with such awe when they first were adopted. The boy that would defend and protect his family with his life. The boy that had once idolized him. The boy that he had left alone with his two youngest. The boy that dreamt of his own nation ambitiously. The boy that begged to die at the hands of his own father. The boy that he had plunged his sword through. 

He had never thanked him or even recognized him for the hard work that came with raising two preteens on his own starting at the ripe age of sixteen. His stomach lurched at the memory of his son falling limp in his arms. 

Technoblade had been his first son. Adopted or not, he loved him as if he were his own. The second he had allowed the piglin hybrid into his lonely household, it was like the curtains had been ripped open and light immediately spilled into the darkness that had shrouded his heart and mind. Once he was old enough, he had made an excellent sparring and adventuring partner. 

He supposed that Technoblade had been placed on a pedestal, but in his opinion, he deserved all the praise he had been given. He had learned to ignore the multitude of voices that danced around his mind deafeningly. He had learned and became completely fluent in another language within the span of two years. 

Philza paused as he realized just what he was thinking. Maybe (y/n) was right, maybe he did focus a little too much on Technoblade while they were growing up. 

But on the other hand, Technoblade was a gifted child in the art of battle. 

However, his other children were important as well. 

His thoughts constantly contradict themselves and come full circle repeatedly, being swirled around and bouncing off the sides of his skull. Oh, he despised how much of a whirlpool his thoughts were. 

“You were a shitty father.” 

Was he a shitty father? His mind strained back hundreds of years to his own father and the last words he had left him with. The memories of his parents were incredibly fuzzy, he couldn’t even remember their faces or voices even if he tried with all his might. He could only remember specific details about them. His father was always absent and exploring the globe while his mother stayed at home raising him. 

He could remember how terrified he was when everyone around him aged and he stayed the same. His mother (bless her soul) had passed leaving him home alone distraught on what he should do and angry at the fact that his father wasn’t there. Months had passed since her funeral and Philza hadn’t even heard from him, filling the immortal with blinding rage. When his father had finally come home with the strong scent of sweat and body odor, he had finally let loose what had been brewing in his mind. 

“You’re a shitty fucking father and an even shittier husband,” he remembered saying, “she died and you weren’t fucking there.” 

It was after that he had left the old man and his childhood home behind in favor of exploring the world. He wanted to see what was so alluring that his father was compelled to miss a majority of his life. After a while of aimlessly wandering and uncovering many treasures, mysteries, and friendships, he had quickly become hooked. It had become a coping mechanism of sorts; a distraction from the death’s shadow following his friends but never him. 

He felt as if he plunged through ice and into the freezing inky abyss below as he came to a horrifying realization: he was the person that he hated the most, the person he swore he’d never become when he first laid eyes upon Technoblade. He was exactly like his father.

Memory lane is a desolate place that he’s neglected for good reason, and now it was overgrown with unpleasant memories that forced him to realize who he’s become.

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[warmblanketwhump]

safe enough to fall

a little university-themed thing I wrote using @sicktember prompts: comfort item, sneaky temperature check, medicine, unlikely caregiver, and lightly inspired by these prompts

the grip of the winter’s cold was their constant, unrelenting companion - but sometimes, B just wished it would be a little less faithful.

It doesn’t ease in the morning, when B wakes up coughing with a cold nose and stiff limbs. It stays as B shivers through the lukewarm shower and the hurried layering of clothes over damp, goosebumped skin. It sticks to them like cling wrap on the bus, in the lecture hall, the windy walk to their next class, makes them tense their rattling jaw, and leaves them hunched over and huddled up, desperate to conserve any scrap of heat.

This was a fact of their university existence - that after the pleasant crispness of fall, their poor, scholarship-funded body was plunged into four months of frozen hell. They didn’t like to complain - after all, they were getting a free education. But no one told them how brutal their university’s winters would be, nor that dorm heating was little more than a few puffs of warm air every hour, or that regardless of how many layers they pulled on, they’d be chilled to the bone until late March.

Their final class of the week is in a drafty science lab, and they hold back a groan. The cold's not the only source of their dread - it was the thought of spending 90 minutes with their perky, overly friendly lab partner, A.

A, whose parents were well-off, well-known benefactors of their university. A, who lived in a nice house with proper heating and had the money for a warm winter coat. A, who obliviously chattered on about anything and everything. Besides that, they were just so...happy. All the time.

The can afford to be, B thought miserably. There was no way all that sunshine could be real.

B really tried to tamp down their bitterness, but it was hard to listen to someone gush on about their amazing weekend their family spent on some tropical island when B spent the same weekend wrapped up in blankets, trying to stay warm enough to study their nomenclature notes.

Two minutes before class, A bounds into the lab like a freed golden retriever and begins their usual volley of caffeinated questions, which B responds to in short, clipped answers. Suddenly, the questions stop and A’s brows furrow.

“You look cold. Are you okay?”

B shifts on their stool and tucks their fingers into the sleeves of their worn secondhand coat, pulling it tighter with a shudder. “I am cold. It’s winter.” They cough weakly into their elbow - the nagging cough has gripped them for weeks now.

“Are you sick?”

Direct, then. That was new. “No. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t have a fever or anything.” In truth, they had been feeling a little lower than usual the past couple of days, the chill a little deeper, the aches more pronounced, the cough a bit more painful. But in their book, that was hardly enough call themselves sick. B sniffles and A opens their mouth to comment further, but the professor calls the class to attention, and the moment is gone.

90 minutes later, they’ve got their work cut out for them - a ten-page lab report that’s going to count for nearly a quarter of their final grade. And as luck would have it, it was a partner project, which meant B got to spend more time with the equivalent of human rocket fuel.

“So...do you want to just knock this out tonight?” A's eyes dart around nervously.

B frowns - it’s almost the weekend, and they figured A would have plans with friends this evening. But B sure doesn’t have anything going on., so they don’t protest. “No… I s’pose we should get as much done as possible while it’s still fresh. Want to go to the library?”

“Ugh." A cringes. "Do we have to? That place is like a tomb.”

B huffs indignantly. “It's not that bad," they mumble in a weak defense of their favorite study spot. A shoots them a glare, and B rolls their eyes. "Do you have somewhere better? It's Friday, so most places are closing up.”

“Well, my parents decided to go on some last-minute ski trip to the Alps again, so my place is free," A says as they step out into the biting wind. "Plus, I have a ton of food and it's actually warm in there, unlike these buildings.”

The promise of decent heating and food that wasn't from the dining hall was enough for B. "Fine. Your place." The pair trudge through the bitter wind as the sun begins to set, and soon they arrive at A's parents’ home - a beautiful, winding estate just a couple minutes away from campus. B has to bite their lip to keep their jaw off the ground - in the blustering snow, this place looks straight out of a Christmas card. Another reminder of how they don’t fit in this world.

Will you stop? B chastises themselves. A having money isn't a personal attack on you. Just enjoy the free food, finish the assignment and get over it.

Despite the towering exterior, B's house was quite cozy, colored in warm neutrals and filled with soft, comfortable furniture. Just past the mudroom, they spot a big living room filled with with an enormous overstuffed couch, squashy-looking pillows, and soft throw blankets. Everything about this place screams warm. A rubs their arms, suddenly aware of how cold they are. The heat nearly makes them dizzy, and they can feel the temperature difference as it seeps into their cold skin.

"Want some cocoa?" A tosses their bag into the corner and heads for an electric kettle in the kitchen, and B follows. "It always helps me warm up." B nods. A couple minutes later, A pushes over a steaming mug with the top entirely covered in marshmallows.

B wraps their chilled fingers around the mug and takes a sip, and the warm, rich liquid feels like heaven to their cold body. "That's amazing."

A smiles. "It's the good stuff." They sip in a surprising silence for a few moments, before A sighs in resignation. "As much as I wish this was just a social call, this report isn't gonna write itself." They grab a bag of popcorn and nod their head toward the living room, and B follows dutifully. A flicks on the gas fireplace and tosses B a throw blanket, and the pair gets to work.

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

After a couple hours of studying, three instances of indignantly thrown popcorn, and a dramatic reading of the periodic table, B realized that they may have misjudged A. Deep down, under the bubbly exterior, A was a genuinely kind, sweet person. It wasn't an act - they just were human sunshine. And the longer they spent time with them, the more B realized they didn't mind their company at all.

"Alright." A drops their pencil and rubs their eyes. "If I have to balance one more equation, my brain's gonna explode. Study break time." A flips on the TV and puts the volume on low.

B leans their head back on the couch and pulls their throw blanket to their chin, trying to ward off the shivery feeling in their core. Despite the heat of the fire, the mug of hot chocolate, and the thick blanket, they just can’t seem to get warm.

Their face feels hot, but their blood feels chilled and heavy, the weight of it making them ache deep down in their bones. B wraps their arms around their knees, trying to rub away the throbbing pain and get some warmth into their skin. They glance out the picture window at the now-blowing snow. It's gonna be a miserable walk home.

"B, you're shivering." A's turning to look at them now.

B startles. "It's-It's nothing. Just a chill." The concern in A's voice triggers their flight response. "I....I should probably get back to the dorms. It’s late–" They're cut off with a hacking cough that leaves them breathless and they wince at the ache in their chest.

"B, it's snowing, and you haven't even had dinner-"

"Where's my jacket?" They push themselves up and toss the throw blanket off, instantly regretting it as the air invades their pocket of hard fought warmth. They’re trembling and dizzy and desperately freezing, but they cannot stay here. Then, the world tilts and they fall back on to the couch. For a moment, they're just laying in an icy, spinning world, trying to catch their breath, when warmth suddenly envelops them.

A's tucking the same thick grey blanket around their shivering form. As they pull away, their hand lightly brushes over B's neck, then freezes. B twists away from the gentle touch, but it’s too late. Realization floods over A's face. Caught. "You lied. You are sick."

B groans, even as their fingers weave into the chunky knit and pull the warm layer closer. "A, please. Just let me go home. I'm probably contagious. You don't want me here."

"B, you look like death warmed over. I'm not sending you out in a blizzard when you're feverish like this. I won't do it." There's a spark in their eyes and a set to A's jaw that dares B to challenge them.

B leans back, defeated. Even though they want nothing more than to run out of this room, they're too weak to stand and too cold to move. So here they'll stay.

It's okay. Someone's here. You can give in now.

No. I can't. I can't let them see me like this.

What choice do you have? You already look awful. Let them help you.

A covers them with another blanket and places a gentle hand on their back, rubbing slowly. The firelight flickers, casting light and shadow across their solemn face. “B. Tell me what you're feeling, and I'll get you what you need.”

B swallows down the rising panic, the helpless vulnerability they feel, and takes a shallow, shaky breath. “I…I guess I just feel….not right. I’m always cold...but it's...worse.” They sniffle weakly, trying to still and order their swirling thoughts. “Chills, fever, cough, sore throat, kinda stuffed up. And it just hurts everywhere.”

A nods slowly, then leaves the room. They return in a few minutes with a few small bottles, carefully scanning the labels and holding them up for B to see.

“Can you take this? Any problems with this one?” B had to take a moment and match the brand names with their usual knockoff brands, but soon they had a couple over the counter medicines picked out, along with something for their cough.

A glances at the medicine labels once more. "This one says to take with food. I've got some leftover chicken and dumpling soup I can heat up - does that sound okay?"

B nods almost imperceptibly. "Sounds wonderful." A gets up to heat the soup, and B feels the anxiety rising in their stomach when they're not in the room with them. A returns with a mug and manages to gently spoon a few sips of broth into B's mouth before B starts falling asleep, clutching the grey blanket even tighter to their shoulders.

A smiles sadly. “That blanket's my favorite whenever I'm not feeling good. It's the best thing you could have to fight off what you’ve got. Trust me.”

B curls into the soft fabric. It was as if the warm environment of the apartment and the comfort of the blanket had been a signal that it was safe to leave survival mode, rest for a moment, open the floodgates that had been holding back whatever had been ailing them for weeks.

After B takes their medicine, A’s eyes shift awkwardly around the room. “So….when you’re sick, do you like having someone with you? Or do you want to be by yourself?”

A sudden rush of emotion crashes over B. They’d so rarely had the choice. It takes all they’ve got not to throw themselves around A and beg them not to leave. “Stay, please,” they ask in a small, trembling voice. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

A smiles halfway and gently pats B’s leg. “Seeing as how I live here, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” They take their spot at the end of the couch and pull B’s legs over their own, flicking the TV to a familiar movie. B tries to keep up with the plot, but they keep falling in and out of a fitful, restless sleep, tossing, turning, unable to get comfortable enough.

When B’s about ready to cry from exhaustion, A’s there, covering them up with another blanket, bringing them a glass of water, gently stroking the damp hair off their forehead before laying a cold cloth over it. They flinch at first, but the cool dampness eases the fire of their fever, even for just a moment. The last thing B remembers before falling unconscious is a gentle hand squeezing theirs.

It could be minutes or hours later when they jolt awake from a fever dream in a cold sweat, choking and coughing. They’ve kicked off their blankets and the cloth is nowhere to be found, but the chills are back in full force. A appears in B’s blurred vision, hand held to B’s forehead. “Poor thing. Your fever’s worse,” they murmur.

B’s still gasping for breath, curled up in the fetal position, body wracked by the shakes as they try force the words through their chattering teeth. “A...It's so cold. I’m so scared.”

If B was more lucid, they’d see something in A’s eyes crack wide open at their weak, fearful cries. A pulls the trusted grey blanket from the floor and wraps it back around B, rubbing their arms to try and make them feel warmer. There's something in the tenderness of the gesture, and B’s panicked gasps turn into soft, quiet sobs. They try and cover their face with one hand, but A’s hand is there, catching their wrist and wiping the tears away with their thumb.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay. We just gotta get through tonight, alright?” A’s voice matches their usual cheery demeanor, but B can see the fear in their own eyes. They don’t know what they’re doing either.

“Why are you helping me?” B whispers in a tear-roughened voice.

A shrugs. "You're sick. You need help. Is it that so surprising?"

B's eyes flash a delirious spark. "You don't get it. I'm a broke scholarship student. I'm nothing like you. I'm not fun, or bubbly, or rich, or any of those things you are, and I don't fit in here. So why?"

B can't stop the words now, every single insecurity laid bare. "Why do you try to talk to me when I'm nothing but rude to you? Why'd you invite me here? Am I just a project to you? Why are you helping me? I'm not worth it!" The words spill out before B can stop them, and the raw hurt in A's eyes nearly rips B's heart out of their chest.

B claps their hand over their mouth, tears flooding their eyes. Now they've done it. They've laid it all out there. A's gonna kick them to the curb. And B won't blame them one bit.

But instead, A just looks at them, and pulls B into a hug. Their voice wavers only a bit as they whisper in B's ear: "You're not a project. You are completely worth being cared for. And you’re not the only one who knows what it feels like to not fit somewhere. Trust me.”

Alone. In a big, empty house. Studying on a Friday night. No plans of their own.

A, are you lonely, too?

Their words are so simple.

And yet they're everything B didn't know they needed to hear. A's got one arm around their shoulders, and one hand threaded through their sweaty, fever-damp hair, and they're cradling B so tightly it’s like they're the one who needs to be held.

B can't find the words to apologize or comfort them back. They're too tired for that. But they wrap their other arm around A and let their head rest on their shoulder. They stay like that for ages until their head begins to drop, and A shifts so they’re both laying down, B curled against A, A’s arm wrapped around their shoulders as they tuck a blanket around them both.

And finally, finally, B lets go. It's safe to fall, this time around. Because for the first time, there's someone there to catch them.

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime – Three // Wanda Maximoff

chapter two | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter four

author’s note: i have nothing to say except enjoy!

Chewing on my bottom lip, I looked over the shelves at the different kinds of stationary the shop had to offer. I needed a new notebook and some ink since I'd ran low at home, so I decided to come into town to have a look.

A brown leather-bound notebook caught my eye and I picked it up, flicking through the pages. Sadly, they were too thin for my liking, so I replaced it and kept looking.

Moments like this were one of the few luxuries I had to myself, where my mother wasn't nattering in my ear about finding a husband and learning to do something useful other than writing, or where my brother wasn't overshadowing me in everything he did, making me feel even worse about myself. No, moments like this, I could just be.

"Y/N? Is that you?"

And there goes my moment.

Plastering a smile on my lips, I spun around and was surprised to see Wanda approaching me with an equally surprised expression on her face. She really was everywhere, wasn't she?

"Wanda, hello," I greeted as she stopped by my side. "It's good to see you."

She looked good, considering I hadn't seen her for a few days. Maybe once when she'd popped in to say hello to everybody before her date with my brother, but that was hardly a meeting. Now, she looked cheery, eyes sparkling with their usual excitement.

"You, too," she said softly, a smile creeping on her lips. Her eyes fell to my hands, where I was holding some ink. "Don't you have servants to do that for you?"

"Don't you have servants to do that for you?" I countered lightheartedly, eyes flickering to the vast amount of paintbrushes and paint in her arms.

She narrowed her eyes in a playful manner. "Touché."

Rolling my eyes in good nature, I asked, "So, what made you decide to go shopping?"

"I needed some new supplies," she quipped with an adorable smile, lifting her arms which were filled with said supplies.

"And you didn't think a basket would help?" I joked, before turning to grab a stray basket beside the shelves and helping her to put everything in it.

She chuckled, accepting my help, and answered, "Truthfully, I only came for the paint, but then I saw some new brushes I wanted to try, and then there were some new colours in stock and, well, before I knew it–"

"This happened," I finished for her with amusement, handing her the filled basket.

She took the basket from my hands and nodded. "Exactly. I would have sent my servant to get the paint, but last time I did, she came back with the wrong one."

"Oh, the scandal," I teased.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and it was refreshing to see the shoe on the other foot. I guess I could see the fun in it now – no wonder she teased me often. Plus, she looked cute when she was caught off guard.

"What about you?" she countered, attempting to take the attention off her.

Content smile on my lips, I watched her. "What about me?"

She gave me an isn't it obvious? look. "I told you why I was here. What about you?"

I shrugged, looking back to the shelves. "I just needed some things... and I may or may not get excited when buying stationary."

Her melodious laughter filled the air. "Of course."

"I just don't know which to get," I told her, motioning to the notebooks. "There's so many options!"

She hummed with amusement, stepping by my side closely and reaching out to get a better look. I was acutely aware of her shoulder pressed to mine and tried to stop thinking about it, but obviously, once I told myself to stop thinking about it, it was all I could think about.

"How about this one?" she suggested, picking up a notebook wrapped in a burgundy-coloured sleeve. She was probably biased since it was her favourite colour.

I took it from her grasp as she held it towards me, feeling tingles at the tips of my fingers when they grazed her hand. God, I needed to get a grip.

Before I could look at the notebook properly, I noticed a smudge on her hand, subconsciously grabbing it before she pulled away. Flipping it over so I could see her palm, I saw several smudges of colour and stared with confusion.

"Paint," she explained, mildly embarrassed as she pulled away. "The stuff goes everywhere."

I hid a smile, finding it cute, before looking to the notebook again.

"I like it, but now to see the pages," I said, flipping through them to see if they were thick enough. I hated getting a notebook with flimsy pages that ink seeped through.

"Are they to your liking, your majesty?" she teased, and I looked up to see her tilting her head and watching me through her eyelashes.

"Yes, they are actually," I retorted with a childish glare, before closing it. "Thanks."

She half-suppressed a laugh. "Good. Let's hope it gives you some... vdokhnoveniye."

She paused, scrunching her nose in thought, probably searching for the right word in English. I was too distracted by how enchanting she looked when she did that to care about her struggle to find the word.

"Vdokhnoveniye is like inspiration," she explained, eyes looking back to me after staring up in thought, "but it's something better. It's from the word vdykhat', meaning to breathe."

"So, you want me to get a good breath from this?" I asked, quirking a brow with bemusement.

"No! No." She laughed, running a hand through her curls. "It's like... when you get inspired by something so quickly, as quickly as it takes to take in a breath. Never mind, it's stupid."

"It's not," I reassured her with an appreciative look. "I get it. Thanks. I like that. Russian is definitely a fascinating language."

She seemed glad that I made sense of her ramblings and I smiled, realising there was much more to Wanda than her ability to make me a stumbling mess.

"Have you got everything?" I asked her, glancing to her basket, before quickly adding, "What am I saying? Of course you've got everything. Practically half the store is in there."

She shoved me gently. "Not nice. But yes, I have everything."

I refrained from chuckling at her dismay before leading the way to the till so we could pay. As we took turns, the cashier made conversation with both of us. I knew of him because I'd been here enough times to make a friend, but I was surprised to see Wanda was the same. I was certain I'd never seen her here before. And I'd been here a lot.

When we finished paying, we began to head outside and I decided to speak my thoughts.

"You know, it's strange to think that we've both been coming here for a while and yet we've never crossed paths," I noted. "I mean, unless we have and just didn't know who each other were then."

She shook her head casually. "Oh, no, we haven't crossed paths. I'd definitely remember a pretty face like yours."

I paused, bewildered at her words as they took time to sink in. She seemed to notice as she laughed, holding the door to the shop open for me. I walked outside and she followed after me, eyes glancing at me satisfactorily.

"So, er, what are you doing now?" I changed the subject, recovering from my momentary shock.

She settled with a smile as she answered, "I'm in the middle of adding some finishing touches to a painting I'm working on. I'll probably head back to finish it."

"Ah, the paintings that you talk about but I've never seen," I joked, relaxing under her stare. "I'm starting to believe you're lying to me, love."

She rolled her eyes, though her smile widened, revealing a dimple by the corner of her mouth. "I'm not... You can come with me if you'd like. I don't mind showing you." When her eyes met mine, she quickly added, "If you're not busy, that is."

Humour disappearing, I nodded with surprise. "Sure. I'd love to."

And that wasn't a lie. I was curious to see the Sokovian's work since she seemed to enjoy talking about art so much. Plus, I could appreciate some good art when I needed to and I wondered if hers would fit the bill.

Or at least that's what I told myself when she flashed her dazzling smile my way, making my heart explode with adoration.

—

Just like me, Wanda didn't have a dedicated place to work from because her parents didn't deem her passion an appropriate hobby for a young woman in today's day and age. So, just like I did, she worked in her room and made the most of the space she had.

As soon as we took a step inside, I was amazed by how much stuff there was. Of course there was the expected – a bed, an ottoman, a wardrobe and a desk – but it was as if that was all secondary furniture to the main focus.

Closest to the giant window on the opposite end of the room were several canvases being supported by easels, some painted and some blank. Papers with sketches of literally anything you can think of were taped to the walls, some scattered along the floor and some scrunched up entirely, missing the bin.

Her desk was filled with jars of paintbrushes, oils, pencils, chalk and any other art supply I'd probably never heard nor seen of before. The place was messy, but not dirty. Her bed was made, the sheets as crisp as could be, her books were lined up neatly, her paintbrushes all had a perfect spot. It was clean, but it was a giant mess, and it was the most beautiful mess I'd ever seen. I refused to believe art was merely a hobby for her when it seemed like her room was dedicated to it.

"This is your room?" I asked with disbelief, eyebrows raised.

Clearly mistaking my amazement for critique, she dumped her newly purchased art supplies on her bed before rushing to pick up some loose papers and canvases from the floor.

"Yes," she squeaked, attempting to kick some papers under her bed as she straightened up sheepishly. "Sorry for the mess. Believe it or not, it does follow a system."

I laughed wholeheartedly, heading further into the space to where her makeshift studio was. "Wanda, you don't need to apologise. This place is amazing."

She snickered, glancing around at everything. "You think? I'd love something more – a real studio – but of course, women aren't supposed to have hobbies apart from pleasing their husband and hosting dinners every other week."

The last part she said with a hint of bitterness, clearly repeating what she'd been told before, no doubt by her parents. I was surprised by her vulgarity, but I wasn't in disagreement. She was absolutely right and it was such a shame because women were so much more than their husband. Too bad society would never see that.

"My father only allows me this... sanctuary," she finished with a sigh, before her hand rested on her desk. "It's not much, but at least it's mine."

"Well, I love it," I told her honestly, making her smile as she looked my way. "Can I look around?"

She waved her hand. "Of course. Nothing's off limits,  but do be generous. My ego is easily bruised."

I chuckled at her joke and she flashed me another smile before grabbing her neglected art supplies. As I helped myself to looking around at her work, I heard her rustling around behind me and glanced her way, seeing her making herself comfortable on a stool before a particular canvas. I presumed it was the piece she was working on that she mentioned earlier and got back to my browsing.

She was extremely talented, not that I had any doubts to be honest. There were her bigger pieces, the extremely detailed ones, that she'd painted of grassy landscapes. Some were green full trees with falling leaves, some were cherry blossom trees with pink blossoms floating in the air, some were buildings overgrown with mother nature. I recognised none of them, but they transported me elsewhere like a nostalgic reminder of being a kid and playing in the garden with my mum. Even now, I helped her do the gardenening, but I'd never really appreciated my surroundings until I saw Wanda's work.

And those were just the huge pieces. She'd done sketches that were taped to the wall, to her desk, floating out of sketchbooks. Some were plans for bigger pieces, others were daily observations, all of her surroundings. She didn't draw people, I noticed, it was mainly scenery. But it was all stunning and it brought a smile to my lips as I imagined her producing all of this in her own little sanctuary, as she called it.

"You've been quiet for too long," she called out jokingly, after a while of me perusing her sketchbooks.

I looked up from my seat at her desk, seeing her focused on her painting, but an amused smile ghosted her lips. The sunlight from the window was hitting her perfectly at the moment, and even from where I was sat, I could see the flecks of gold shimmering in her eyes, matching the auburn streaks in her hair. The breath got knocked out of me momentarily, and I almost forgot that she'd said something.

Clearing my throat, I returned her smile. "I'm admiring your work, Wanda. You're bloody talented."

She lowered her paintbrush and gave me an incredulous look. "Tell me what you really think, Y/N."

I grinned, laughing slightly. "I am! I genuinely think this is amazing."

She pressed her lips together, still reluctant to believe me, but she nodded gratefully and returned her attention to her painting. I didn't fail to notice the pink spreading across her cheeks at the compliment, and my heart fluttered at the sight.

"Would you ever sell any of these?" I asked her, standing up and approaching her side to see what she was working on.

I noticed the addition of stray paint that had made its way to her hands and forearms and it made me smile. I don't even think she realised it was there.

She scrunched her nose up at the idea. "I've given some away to family friends because my parents made me. But no, I don't think I'd sell them." Something seemed to make her snort with amusement, then she said, "Nobody would buy them anyway."

I frowned as she sighed, her shoulders sagging at the thought. It was horrible to admit, but she was right. Female authors – questionable, but sure, they existed. Female painters? Let's just say that it was easier to be successful if you worked under a pseudonym and pretended to be a man. Which she clearly wouldn't do, or at least her parents wouldn't allow her to do. Sadly, Wanda Maximoff was in the wrong lifetime.

Hoping to cheer her up, I stood by her side and admired the strokes she made with her paintbrush. "If it's any consolation, if we were in another lifetime where I actually made money, I'd buy them."

She glanced at me, partially disbelieving my words, partially intrigued. "Seriously?"

I nodded with certainty, eyes flickering between hers and her painting. "Seriously. All of them. I'd buy every single one."

She looked away, swallowing hard, then a soft, barely noticeable smile appeared on her lips, and I was glad I'd said the right thing.

Focusing my attention on the painting again, I saw it was a stunning view of a stream, and the way she'd painted it made it seem like it was flowing off the canvas. Her last minute touches, adding white flecks of oil paint on the water, managed to bring the piece to life without any effort. I was amazed at how someone could make nothing turn into something so easily.

"Where is this?" I asked curiously, not recognising the scene, and also wondering where she'd gone for the inspiration since we lived in a busy town that didn't have water sources nearby.

She pointed to her head with the end of her paintbrush. "Up here."

"You made this up?" I asked, surprised for the millionth time since arriving.

"Uh-huh." She tilted her head to study the piece, whilst saying, "I usually paint what's in the garden. Sometimes what I see in town is good, too. But I really wanted to paint water, and apart from the constant rain we get, there is none. So, I made it up."

I was impressed at her ability to make up something like this, but also slightly confused. "Why don't you just visit Blackpool? There's a beach – water, sand, pier, everything. And it's not too far from here. You could make it a day trip."

She shrugged, distracting herself with dipping her brush on her palette. "I don't want to go by myself."

I probably should have recommended she visit with my brother. You know, the man she was engaged to? But my eagerness got the better of me, and I ended up saying, "Maybe we could go together. If you want."

She looked up, a slow smile forming on her lips. "I'd like that."

I mirrored her expression, nodding slightly. "Great. I'm sure we can arrange something. Promise."

She held my gaze for a second longer, saying, "I'll hold you to that, milaya," before looking back to her painting.

"What does that mean?" I asked suddenly, my mind clearly not controlling my words today. "You keep calling me it."

She chuckled, leaning forward to get a closer look at her work with her paintbrush. "Darling."

"Pardon?"

She shook her head, glancing at me with amusement. "No, Y/N. It means darling."

I swallowed awkwardly, certain my cheeks were as red as they felt warm. I wasn't sure what was more embarrassing – that I'd responded to her calling me darling when she hadn't, or that she'd been calling it me this whole time without me knowing. "Oh."

"Pull up a stool," she changed the subject, though my mind was still racing at her revelation. Had she called Y/B/N that? I couldn't recall. "I'll show you how to paint a little if you want."

Dazed, I did as she said whilst chewing on my lip with thought. She watched me, grinning from ear to ear, but said nothing. Was it normal for my heart to flip-flop in my chest like it was? I couldn't tell anymore. And when she grabbed my hand without saying anything, my hand felt like it was on fire with her touch.

The tip of her paintbrush swiped against my inner palm, her soft fingertips holding it up. Every area that her finger touched was burning, sending tingles up my arm and leaving me paralysed. Good thing I was sat down.

"There," she said like it was obvious. "Now you're an artist."

Blue eyes met mine excitedly and I gave her a small smile in return, hoping that these strange thoughts and reactions would disappear soon enough. Because this was definitely not appropriate.

—

My dreams were never anything worthwhile.

For someone who had a creative mind and could string sentences together to create a story I was proud of, my subconscious was the opposite. It was dry and boring and I rarely remembered my dreams unless they were scary enough to wake me up. But this time, this was a dream I was certain I'd never forget...

As with all dreams, I was unable to control what was happening. I was myself, observing from a first person point of view like it was real, but I had no control over my words or actions. Everything was predetermined, like a script I was forced to follow.

So, in this particular dream, I was sat in the back of a carriage, wearing a dress that was fancier than my usual taste. One hand was clutching my purse and the other was in someone else's hand, the person playing with my fingers soothingly.

"We're stopping now. Are you ready?"

It was Wanda. I had no idea why she was in my dream, or why she was leaning into my side comfortably, or why she was playing with my fingers like she did it all the time. I just knew that it shouldn't have been happening.

"Yeah, c'mon," I said with a smile, following my dream's script.

I intertwined our fingers and raised them to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. She smiled with adoration and allowed me to lead her out the carriage quickly. We were at the theatre and the first thing I thought was that my mind was creating a date similar to the one she shared with my brother. Oh, God, this wasn't good.

"Promise you've got the tickets?" she asked as we walked inside, hand in hand.

In my dream, nobody around us seemed to care that we were together, that we were two women showing affection and simply existing in a way more than friends. As wrong as I knew it was to dream of my soon-to-be sister-in-law like this, my mind was at peace, knowing I could be myself in my dream state. I didn't have to hide my identity and it was liberating.

"No, I decided to leave them at home," I answered her sarcastically, smiling.

She squeezed my hand and tugged me close, stopping me from walking any further. Her face scrunched together with a feigned annoyance.

"You don't need to be mean," she mumbled, eyes peering into mine, and my heart raced at the contact of her body pressed to mine.

Grinning, I pressed a kiss to her nose. "I've got them right here, love. Now let's go before we're late."

The dream didn't have a clear transformation. I just knew that one second I was staring at Wanda and the next I was sat beside her in the theatre, waiting for the lights to go down.

"Here," I said, passing her the programme for the show that was in my hand.

When I looked down at it, I was surprised to see a wedding ring on my left hand. Huh.

The lights dimmed when Wanda looked my way, green eyes bright in the dark. She shrugged, grabbing the programme and tossing it over her shoulder to the (thankfully) empty seat next to her.

"Looks like I missed my chance," she said, referring to the lack of light.

I opened my mouth to counter her words, but she didn't give me chance to as she pressed her lips to mine, hand raising to hold the back of my neck and pull me closer. Real me was freaking out, wondering why the hell I was allowing myself to have such thoughts about the girl who was going to marry my brother. And dream me was melting into her touch, shivering at her warmth and the way she began to suck my bottom lip.

"Wanda," I breathed out, pulling away breathlessly, but she continued to hold me close with a stifled grin.

"Isn't that why we got these tickets?" she said jokingly, eyes meeting mine.

My heart raced as she did, the simplest of glances making me weak in the knees. I was beginning to learn that her eyes were irresistibly beautiful.

"Right," I found my words, smiling in agreement as my eyes flickered to her lips.

They were painted red tonight, slightly smudged from the abrupt kiss she gave me, and I could only imagine the state of my own lips.

"We can watch the play now," she whispered, and I just about managed to tear my gaze from her lips to see the entertained look in her eyes.

I hummed in response, not trusting myself to say something comprehensible. Her lips curved into a smile and she linked our arms before settling into her seat, head leaning on my shoulder. I leaned mine on top, kissing the top of her head gently before also getting comfortable.

When I woke up, I didn't remember the rest of the dream, or know if there was a rest of the dream. I opened my eyes and found myself laying in my bed alone, tired and in the dark. It was still nighttime and my mind was foggy with fatigue. It took a moment for me to remember what I'd just dreamed. And then it hit me.

I liked my brother's fiancé.

[anyoneseenadam]

hello! may i request some azriel fluff 🥺 like mornings with him/ cuddling in bed, im in dire need of cute azzy fics. also i love 'home' it's actually the story that got me into reading acotar content!

pairing: azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: pure fluff with a smidge of angst if you squint, mentions of blood/scars (very brief) but mainly just fluffy lovliness

a/n: okay so I kinda expanded on this a bit but it does have cuddling in a bed and mornings so I hope you like it! I’m always down for our boy getting some much needed love! 

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

It had been almost a month since you had seen Azriel. He was away on a mission for Rhys, always willing to follow his brothers orders even when your lip had wobbled at the sound of a month alone when he was in foreign territory undertaking dangerous tasks. A part of you felt guilty as he left, a pained expression on his face as he left you standing in the doorway, waving him off. You knew his job was hard and that he didn’t enjoy being away from you anymore than you did, but you couldn’t help but worry, especially after the missions where he came home with new scars and the darkness that you were working hard to rid him off returning to his eyes.

Tonight you were sat on your sofa, feet curled and a mug of steaming tea next to you as you flicked through a book. You had been reading the same paragraph for at least twenty minutes, the words not processing as your body reacted to the missing weight that would usually be curled against your side by this time of evening. Your gaze flittered over your home; perfectly clean as you had sought things to do while your heart was in another country, bookshelves lining the walls and paintings adorning any clear space on the walls. You closed your book, well worn as in your life you had read it many, many times. The pages had yellowed, and the spine was bent, yet the smell had remained and now as you read through it you could catch the notes Azriel had pencilled in when he had read it to please you. When you went to re-open it, unable to sit still, you smiled as it opened automatically on the most worn page, a quote circled and Azriel’s neat handwriting in the footnote, you traced your finger along the words, reading them with a soft smile.

              “No. No one likes being alone. But

              I’ve learned to live with it.” – now

              I have you I don’t believe I could

              ever be alone again. You could leave              

              me; steal my money, my heart, break

              me down and I would still come

              crawling back to you. You hold my heart

              now, please be gentle.

You felt tears sting your eyes as you read his words, the page already had tear stains from when you first saw the words, but now in the cold of your lonely house they sank in deeper. However, before you could wallow in your self-pity anymore, you heard the door push open quietly and quiet feet pad in, the tell-tale signs of someone who presumed you would be asleep, albeit it was nearing 1am. You quickly put your book down, standing and practically running to the door, grinning widely as you saw Azriel there, tugging off his boots with one hand braced against the wall. He looked up when he heard you and offered you a weak grin.

“You should be sleeping baby,” he smiled at you as you barrelled towards him, jumping into his arms.

“I can’t sleep alone anymore,” you muttered into his shoulder and he shook with a silent laugh, tightening his grip around your waist. You stayed in that position for a few minutes more before you slipped down, grabbing his hand, and tracing a thumb over the dark circles that surrounded his eyes, next to the dirt and dried blood that was drying and cracking in his hairline. “C’mon you stink.” You giggled leading him to the bathroom and turning the tap to fill the bath with warm water, sprinkling in salts that you swore would help, much to his manly grumbling. You turned and found him leaning on the door, eyes watching you carefully, taking you in as you moved to him and started helping him out of his clothes, tugging at the leather until it came down displaying his glorious body to you. Once he was naked you pushed him gently in the direction of the bath and he furrowed his eyebrows and made grabby hands when he realised you weren’t joining him, you just laughed and kissed him gently, promising to return soon as he began washing.

You moved to the living room first, grabbing your mug and taking a tentative sip, smiling when you found it at a drinkable temperature. Then you moved to your shared room, fluffing the duvet and pillows, and changing into one of his old shirts, then grabbing him some loose sweats and walking back to your bathroom, arms stacked. He was leaning his head against the edge of the bath when you re-entered and cracked open his eyes, smiling lazily at you through hooded eyes. You moved to sit beside him at the edge of the bath, taking a washcloth and gently wiping his face clean, before rinsing it off and moving it down his neck and chest, following with soft kisses pressed into his clean skin as he all but purred in delight.

When you finished you leaned your head on his arm, your sleepless nights without him catching up on you as you sipped your tea, breathing in the relaxing smell. You felt Azriel’s gaze on you and turned your head up to face him, he leaned down and pressed a longer kiss onto your lips, the two of you simply revelling in the taste of one another, lips and tongues languidly moving in tandem. When you pulled away he quickly washed his hair as you finished your tea, before standing and wrapping himself in a towel around the waist and draining the pink-tinted water, pulling faces at you in the mirror as you brushed your teeth in silence. Finally you fell into bed together, exhaustion creeping up on you as he wrapped you in his arms, kissing your head and holding you impossibly tight. ‘I love you’ whispered into the dark of the room as shadows settled around you.

When you woke, your legs were tangled in Azriel’s and you felt like a weight was lifted off you. You forgot the effect Azriel had on you when it came to sleep, he had a way of lulling you into a deep sleep that woke you up feeling better than ever and fully rested. You craned your head up to see Azriel still asleep, his face more restful than you remembered, the furrow between his brow smoothed and you couldn’t resist tracing it with your thumb as you admired him.

“Watching me sleep again?” You almost jumped at his gruff morning voice, but just huffed a laugh.

“Someone has to witness this beauty and I’m not big on sharing so…” You trailed off and he cracked an eye open, gaze filled with love. You leaned up and kissed him, neither of you caring about morning breath as you finally spent much needed time together again.

“I need to go see Rhys today, let him in on everything.” He whispered when you pulled away, resting you head on his chest.

“Not quite yet though,” you muttered.

“No, not quite yet.”

You woke for a second time a couple hours later as Azriel returned from the bathroom, slinging an arm over your waist, and pressing his chest to your back as he burrowed himself back under the covers and into the safe haven the two of you had created. He started leaving soft kisses down from under your ear and along your neck, moving over you shoulder with a soft hum as you drew patterns on his arms, clutching his hands in yours as you pressed them into your chest, against your heart.

You opened your eyes to look around the room and saw Azriel had opened your curtains, the light muted due to the fact there was snow falling outside, muffling all sounds except the ones created in your home, the soft whispers of Azriel’s kisses and your gentle breaths. You watched as a robin landed on a branch outside your windowsill, a small twig clutched in its beak. Such a small twig would go on to create a home for this bird, alike the small romance that had bloomed your and Azriel’s deep, unending love, turning the cold house you had been in the night before into the warm home you were in now.

“We should do some baking today,” you whispered to him, “maybe gingerbread.”

“Apple pie,” he muttered, his face buried in your neck.

“Isn’t that a bit on the nose?”

“I love apple pie,”

“What about Rhubarb crumble and homemade custard?” you asked, stifling a laugh at the pout you could practically hear from Azriel.

“Mmm you’re a genius.” He whispered, pressing a longer kiss into the crook of your neck.

“I know it’s a curse.”

“Not just yet though,” he repeated your words from earlier and you smiled.

“No, not just yet.”

[arvinsescape]

His rich girl, her pirate.

A/N: I’ve been watching way too much pirates of the Carribean and this popped into my head, a longer one again and I hope you all enjoy!! 💕

Warnings: Language, smut (minors do not engage), oral (f recieving), unprotected sex (wrap it up people), mentions of death. Maybe a few spelling mistakes.

Summary: He rescues her and she’s everything he ever wanted, even if he didn’t think so at first.

W/C: 6.8K

“Captain!” Tom heard his name shouted from outside his quarters on the ship, he was busy mapping out a new course, in search of some treasure or other. Tom dropped his pencil onto the table, huffing as it slid onto the floor with the sway of the tide.

“What?” He asked as he opened his door.

“We found someone.” His crewmate answered and Tom furrowed his brows, they were practically in the middle of nowhere.

“Someone?” Tom asked, brows furrowed as he followed his friend to the side of the ship, looking over and onto a few of the rocks below.

“There.” Another man shouted.

Tom followed the man’s finger and his eyebrows shot up at the sight. A woman was laid out on a rock, she looked almost dead, god knows how long she’d been there.

“Release the ladder.” Tom said, watching as one of his men threw the ladder over the side of the ship. “Stay here.” Tom ordered as he climbed over the side and onto the ladder.

“But captain,” one of his men stopped him. “It’s bad luck to bring a woman on board.” He continued and Tom rolled his eyes, this particular member of his crew had always been superstitious to a fault. “She might be a siren.” He panicked.

“I don’t hear her singing.” Tom grumbled as he continued down the ladder.

“Captain, you’ll bring bad luck to us all.” Chris shouted again and Tom ignored him as he jumped off the ladder. Tom moved carefully towards the figure, she was laid out on her front, back facing up, it looked bruised, and Tom wondered if she was in fact alive.

“How’d you get out here?” Tom asked himself as he carefully turned her figure over, he was in awe of her. She was possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, her dress was in tatters, probably because she’d ended up overboard, the water and rocks won’t have helped much. He knelt down next to her, pressing his head to her chest, she was alive, just barely but alive none the less.

The rain had started, covering everything in its path, including her. Tom huffed as he became soaked in rain water, it was heavy, the droplets big, probably a storm. He lifted her carefully and placed her over his shoulder, making his way back to the ladder, it was an awkward affair getting up the ladder with her on his shoulder.

“Captain, you should throw her back overboard, see the rain has come.” Chris said, drunk as usual.

“Christopher, we have sailed through storms and all sorts. If you are frightened of a little rain, perhaps it is you I should be throwing overboard.” Tom snapped as he made his way into his quarters, placing her figure down on his bed. “Where did you come from?” Tom asked to himself, taking in her figure properly now, with some light to help him see, it was late in the evening by now.

She was dressed in fine clothes, Tom could see that much, a noble woman? It wasn’t attire a pirate like himself was used to seeing that’s for sure. He watched as she struggled to breath, struggled to take large breaths, hers being short and shallow. Tom took in her dress and cursed before grasping his knife. He grasped the front of her dress being careful as he ran the knife through the material, freeing her from her corset.

It was almost immediate, a long breath was taken in her unconscious state. Tom was careful as he removed her torn dress, keeping his eyes trained on the task at hand, not on the skin he was revealing to himself. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman’s company, but this was nothing like those times, he needed to rid her of her wet clothing, get her into something dry so she could warm up.

He gasped as he took in the bruising around her stomach and chest, what had happened? Tom left to find one of his shirts, it was the best he could do. He carefully lifted her as put it on, taking note of the bruising to her back. Once successful, he pulled his sheets over her body, watching as she seemed to snuggle further into the warmth, letting out a sigh of content. Tom found himself smiling.

He left her alone in his bed, leaving his room as he went back onto the deck, locking his door behind him. Some of the men on this ship he wouldn’t trust as far as he could throw, his men now eyeing him.

“She’s alive and I demand that every one of you leave her be. She’s not to be harmed.” Tom snapped out and half the men looked deflated, it had been a while since any of them had had a woman’s company. Although Tom had never had a girlfriend and slept with quite a few women he still had respect for them, some of the men here didn’t.

“Captain, please listen to me.” He heard Chris. “She will bring death to us all, women shouldn’t come aboard a pirate ship.”

“We will drop her at the next port, what do you propose I do? Leave her to die?” Tom snapped, clearly growing annoyed with the man.

“If we live to see the next port.” Chris huffed back as he disappeared, probably to find more rum. Tom rolled his eyes as he made his way up to the wheel of the ship.

“How long until the next port?” He asked and watched as Harrison turned his head to him.

“Maybe three days, if the wind is kind.” He answered and Tom nodded. “We need more supplies?”

“No, I mean we could pick more up but no. We’ll be dropping the woman off, maybe she’ll find her way back home.” Tom answered and Harrison laughed.

“Don’t wanna keep her around?” Harrison joked as he nudged Tom with his shoulder.

“Harrison.” Tom warned.

“What? About time you found a woman.” Haz laughed.

“Yeah? Where’s yours?” Tom joked back and Harrison shrugged.

“I prefer the pirate life, if I ever met a woman who’d want to do this with me then I’d have a girlfriend, but they aren’t interested in the life of a pirate.” He laughed and Tom joined.

“Sure it’s not just because they find you as infuriating as I do?” Tom teased.

“Maybe I should be more like you, grumpy, snappy, bad tempered overall. You are more of a hit with the women than I am.”

Tom laughed as he clapped his best friend on the shoulder, making his way back to his room, unlocking the door. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, he glanced into his bedroom and furrowed his brows when he saw her figure had disappeared. He made his way into his room and found her in the corner, butter knife pointed at him. Tom held his hands up as she eyed him, distrust clear in her eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?” She asked and Tom found himself amused. Pushing down how beautiful your voice sounded to him.

“Meaning of what? I saved you.” Tom said back and she scoffed.

“You’ve kidnapped me.” She replied.

“Kidnapped? I don’t think that’s what this is.”

“You locked the door, like a hostage.” She snapped and Tom laughed, lowering his hands.

“To make sure you’re safe. I assume you haven’t grasped what kind of a ship you’re on.”

“Pirate, I gathered that much with your charts over there.” She said, Tom found something endearing about her, the way she challenged him, she was brave, he’d give her that.

“Okay sweetheart,” Tom started as he made his way towards her, she held the knife higher, and Tom easily took it from her grasp. “You won’t be doing much damage with that.” Tom laughed and she huffed.

“You undressed me.” She snapped and Tom made his way to one of the many chairs scattered around his quarters as he sat, and she followed. He took his boots off.

“The cold would have taken you if I hadn’t.” He pointed out. “Besides, I dressed you again didn’t I?” He mused.

“Such a gentleman,” she rolled her eyes. “I demand you take me back to my ship.” She said, voice firm but it amused the hell out of Tom.

“Your ship? I think we passed the wreckage just before we found you.” Tom laughed and watched as her face flared with anger.

“I do not appreciate your tone. Do you know who you’re talking to?” She said and Tom looked at her, she was clearly from money, that much he could tell, the way she carried herself and spoke was enough of an indication. He almost shook his head, she looked good in his shirt, thoughts of her wearing them more often drifting into his thoughts.

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m not the sort of man you are used to dealing with, but I am all you have at the moment sweetheart.”

“Y/N.” She snapped.

“Tom. Look, it’s been a long night, how about I have a bath drawn for you and you can warm up. I’ll have some food arranged to be brought here.” Tom spoke as he stood, pulling his shirt from his pants as he relaxed for the night, grabbing himself a drink. “Want one?” He asked as he handed her a glass with the liquor in it.

He watched as she took it, taking a sip before coughing. He laughed as he took the glass from her grip, handing her a glass of water instead, he watched as she drank it. It hadn’t dawned on him that she might be slightly dehydrated as he handed her the rest of the bottle filled with water. She didn’t waste much time in drinking it, she was so elegant in everything she did, such a lady, it had Tom slightly struck with her.

He called for his men to draw a hot bath, and then instructed them to bring some food to them. Tom placed his hand in the bath water, deeming it hot but not so hot that it would scold someone.

“Here.” Tom said as he held a hand out to her, she hesitantly took it, eyeing Tom and then eyeing the hot water. “Don’t worry,” he threw his hands up in defense as to put her at ease. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Do you have any clothes?” She asked, head held slightly higher than most women he was used to dealing with. She intrigued him, he wanted to know where she’d come from, how she’d ended up stranded. He shrugged.

“Not for women I don’t. I would have the clothes I found you in washed but they are somewhat in bits.” Tom smiled as he watched her furrow her brows. “I’m happy to try and find you something to wear for now.” He said and watched as she nodded. He smiled once more before making his way out of the room and shutting the door.

He heard a knock at his door, opening it to find Harrison with food in hand. He took a shot with his next question, shocked with the answer.

“You don’t happen to have a dress do you?”

“I do actually.” He said and Tom furrowed his brows. “One of the women I slept with last time we docked left it. It’s clean, might fit her.” Harrison shrugged and Tom smiled as he asked his friend to bring it, a few minutes later Haz reappeared, dress in hand as he handed it to him and bid him a goodnight.

Tom knocked on the door of the room she was in, watching as she answered, towel clad body eyeing him.

“One of the crew had this, here.” He said as he handed her the dress. A few minutes later and she was sat across from him as they ate, even the way you ate was graceful. The dress she had on made her look even more beautiful. “So, what is a woman like you doing so far out at sea?” He asked.

“I was accompanying my uncle to an isle nearby, we hit a storm.” She said, a sadness to her voice. “I suppose I should assume they are all dead?” She asked carefully and Tom couldn’t help but want to ease her nerves.

“You didn’t.”

“I suppose.” She smiled slightly. Tom finished his meal and placed both his feet up on the table, much to her horror. “Have you no manners?” She asked and Tom let out a laugh.

“Some. Probably not as many as you though princess.” She huffed at that.

“How is it I get stuck on a pirate ship?”

“Trust me, I’m not the worst one you could have gotten stuck with. You’re welcome by the way.” He said and she looked at him in confusion. “You know, for saving you.” He pointed out and she looked slightly embarrassed for a second before recovering.

“Yes, I suppose I never said thank you.” She said, stubborn tone. Tom liked her, one of the first women he’d met that didn’t want to be in his room.

“And you go on about my manners.” Tom teased and she laughed lightly, a beautiful sound to his ears.

“I’m sorry, I’m being judgmental. That isn’t kind of me.”

“I think I can forgive you.” He smiled and she joined before yawning into the back of her hand. “You should get some rest.” Tom said as he gestured back to his bed, and she looked at him like he had two heads.

“Just what are you insinuating?”

“Absolutely nothing. I can sleep anywhere however, I imagine the princess is only used to a bed.” He really fucking liked her, found her adorable, a challenge but he liked it.

**

The next day and she’d opened up slightly, less tense. The crew had taken an instant liking to her, Tom knew most of them were being nice in hopes she’d join them in their chambers and Tom laughed as he watched her face contort almost with disgust, they weren’t fooling her.

“It’s going to be tomorrow when we hit the port, the wind has been almost unbelievably kind.” Harrison informed Tom and Tom found himself almost sad, she was going to be leaving their company sooner than he’d hoped.  

“Great.” Tom mumbled as he made his way back to his chambers where he found her tidying up. He raised his brows in question.

“Sorry, I just thought I’d tidy this place up a bit, it’s very messy.” She laughed and Tom smiled.

“I don’t care much for cleaning.” He said as he made his way to the music box he kept in his room, choosing a classical piece he’d stolen in one of the ports they’d sailed to.

“I didn’t take you for a man who listened to this sort of music.” She said and he looked at her before shrugging.

“It’s calming.” He said simply and she smiled.

“I had to dance to this once, I ridiculous man who wanted to be my husband.” She laughed and Tom smirked.

“The lady is not married?”

“No, much to my father’s annoyance. I refused to marry a man who drank too much and the last man he wanted me to marry was old enough to be my father.”

“Sounds like a shitty life, not being able to do what you want.” Tom said.

“It has some advantages. Life on the sea can’t be all that good.” She said but it wasn’t in judgment, more curiosity.

“I have seen more of the world than I imagine you have. I have the freedom to do as I wish.” Tom said honestly and she smiled.

“I always wanted to live in the sea. Used to wish I could be a mermaid when I was a small child.” She admitted childishly.

“Mermaids aren’t so nice.” Tom shrugged and he watched as her eyes widened.

“You’ve met one?” She asked and he snorted.

“Don’t be daft, there’s no such thing. The kraken? That doesn’t exist either.” He laughed and she smacked his shoulder playfully.

“It’s not kind to tease.” She said, small smile on her lips.

“I suppose it’s not, the look on your face made it worth it though.”

“You are not kind to me Tom.” She laughed.

“I think I’m very kind, gave you a place to stay.” He raised a brow.

“I’m sure my family will pay handsomely for that.” She said and he laughed.

“I doubt it. People like you think people like me should be grateful just to be in your presence, to speak to you.”

“That’s not true!” She said, growing annoyed with him. “My family may be noble, but we are not snobs.” She defended.

“No?” He teased. “How much time do you spend with people who are not like you? Tell me, where you allowed friends of a poorer status?” He asked and she huffed.

“I’m going to bed.” She said as she stood up, Tom reaching out for her hand.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. But I suppose you’ve never known what it’s like for people like us.” He said, the softness of her hand a stark contrast to his own calloused ones. She sighed before sitting down again.

“I know. Look, my family can be snobs, awful really. I never wanted to be like them. I did have a friend once, she was the baker’s daughter, a lovely girl. My parents found out and I never saw her again.” She admitted, a tear in her eye. “I always wanted to run away, it was my plan. It was why I was on the boat in the first place, I was going to run away. Instead, I almost died, and I only have you to thank for the fact that I didn’t.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Tom said as he placed his hand on her cheek and wiped at the stray tear, he watched as she sniffled before standing.

“I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. Crying in front of someone else.” She said and she tried to leave put Tom grasped her hand tighter, making her stop and look at him.

“You are allowed to cry. Keeping those emotions bottled up is no good for you.”

**

They’d arrived in the port, the men having disappeared to find what they wanted. Tom took you to a noble looking man who was taking names from one of the ships that was not a pirate ship.

“Name?” The man asked without looking at the two of you.

“I was hoping you could find this woman’s home.” Tom said as he looked at her, she’d become very quiet, much quieter than usual. The man peered over his sheet and looked at her, Tom decided to leave the two of you alone as he smiled at her, the gesture had become returned.

Tom made his way back to his ship, waiting for his men’s return, a sadness set in his chest, he was going to miss her. The only god send being he’d get his bed back, an ache had set in his back from sleeping in the chair.

“Tom!” He heard his name, the last voice he expected to hear. He looked up from his spot on the step he’d sat on. Her beautiful figure making its way over before stopping in front of him. “I want to come.” She said simply and Tom furrowed his brows.

“You want to come? Live aboard this ship?” He asked, completely in disbelief.

“Yes. My family will assume I’m dead. You can take me to see the world, can you not?” She asked and Tom’s eye brows shot up.

“Princess, I’m not sure a pirate life would be for you. Besides, you’d have to share a room with me.” Tom said, thinking this was a fleeting thought for the woman, something she’d not thought through.

“You’re not so bad.” She admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Charming.” He laughed and she joined.

**

That was that, a week later and you were sailing towards a treasure Tom had set his eyes on. The crew had decided they liked her, taking her as one of their own, all but Chris. Tom had lost eyes on Chris as he looked around the deck from his perch above.

“Where’s Chris?” Tom asked Harrison.

“Should he not be scrubbing the deck today?” Haz replied. It was a glorious day, she’d disappeared to do something.

“I can’t see him.” Tom said and watched as one of his men ran up towards him.

“Captain, you should know Chris was talking some shite this morning. Now I’m worried for miss Y/N’s safety.” He said and Tom shot to his feet.

“What do you mean?” He asked as he made his way down the steps.

“He was talking about her being a bad omen, how she needed to be dealt with, killed captain.” The man panicked, but nowhere near as much as Tom was. He rushed into your now shared quarters and saw red at the sight in front of him. Chris had her pinned down, hands wrapped firmly around her throat as he tried to squeeze the life out of her.

“Never should have come aboard. Must save the crew and the captain.” Maybe Tom had overlooked this man’s drinking problem. He was fast to act, knocking the man from atop of her. He restrained him as he watched her cough, gasping for air. Tom handed Chris to Harrison who’d made an appearance.

“Take him out of my sight.” Tom snapped as he helped her up, pulling her to his chest as she fisted his shirt. “Lock him up, we’ll drop him at the next port.” He said as he held her closer to him.

“Captain?” Chris asked, wide eyed.

“Just be thankful I’m not making you walk the fucking plank.” Tom almost shouted and Chris silenced himself as Harrison took him away. “Hey,” Tom said when they’d gone. “You’re okay.” He reassured as he ran a hand through her hair as he kissed her forehead.

“Thank you Tom.” She spoke. “I suppose I owe you my life at this point.” She laughed lightly as she pulled away from him, he instantly wanted her back in his hold.

“Don’t sweat it.” He shrugged in reply.

**

It was later on that evening, everyone was enjoying a drink on the deck, an evening of partying had ensued. She was enjoying herself, lightly tipsy as she held a bottle of run in her hand, Tom was surprised when she drank from the bottle.

“Not very lady like.” Tom teased and she laughed as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I suppose I can’t call myself that now. Pirate I am.” She laughed as she raised the bottle, much to Tom’s amusement. “Or should I say a fucking pirate?” She laughed again as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Miss L/N, what a dirty mouth you have on you.”

“I’m almost as bad as you.” She laughed and Tom felt his heart pound in his chest, she was so beautiful to him, more free than when he’d first met her.

“I don’t swear in front of ladies.” He said.

“No, but I’ve heard you swear in front of the crew. You swear at them a lot. A true sailors mouth.”

“I thought we were pirates.” He teased and he watched as she took another swig and shrugged, pulling a laugh from him.

“You’ve grown on me.” She suddenly said.

“Good to know.” He said as he pulled her even closer to him, he was intoxicated by her scent.

“I really like you Tom.” She said as she looked at him, his heart soared when she reached out and moved a stray piece of hair back from his face. Her fingers running down his cheek as she studied him, almost as if she was admiring a painting. She ran her fingers over his lips, he kissed the tips of them, making her giggle.

“You’re okay.” Tom simply said with a smirk as she slapped at his shoulder.

“Arsehole.” She huffed. “I thought we were having a moment.” She said with a laugh.

“Oh, you wanted a moment?” He asked as he stood, pulling her with him as he took the bottle from her hand and passed it to Harrison.

“Tom?” She asked, eyebrows furrowed. He bowed, the music being played by the crew, she knew what he wanted. He held his hand out to her and the crew watched in awe as their captain, their grumpy captain, took the woman’s hand in his and pulled her into him. Chest to chest as he placed a hand on her waist and held her hand, her free hand making its way onto his shoulder.

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance.” She said in amazement. Tom laughed as he tugged her impossibly closer.

“There’s quite a lot you don’t know about me, I’m sure.” He said back as he twirled her under his arm, pulling her back into him. The crew watched as their captain danced with the woman, so happy, soft, careful. She was smiling like a woman who’d had all her dreams answered in the last five minutes.

“Tom?” She asked after a while, she had her arms around his neck, head on his shoulder as his arms stayed firmly on her waist. He hummed in response, it was a beautiful night, he’d forgotten that the crew were still around, although they’d all started chatting to one another, the music slowing to a gentle pace as they swayed with one another. “I meant it.” She said.

“What?”

“I really like you.” She looked up at him. He looked down at her, she looked as beautiful as ever, her eyes had a shine to them he’d not seen before, she looked so happy, genuinely content with life and it made his heart beat for her all that much harder. Their faces became closer, almost impossibly so.

“Are you going to kiss me Tom?” She asked him, her breath hitting his face in the most breathtaking way.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asked, lips brushing one another’s.

“I didn’t think pirates asked for permission.” She whispered, standing on her tip toes, drawing herself closer to him. He let out a breathy laugh before capturing her lips with his own and god, he wished he’d done it sooner. Her lips were sweet, soft pressed against his own, her hands winding into his hair as she pulled him closer, he hummed into the kiss, a hand trailing up her spine and into her hair. She pulled away for air and looked at him in such a way that had him, there and then, he was hers.

“Wow.” She breathed out, a hand playing with the curls at the back of his head.

“I really like you too by the way.” He whispered as he placed his lips back against hers.

**

Two weeks later and they’d kissed a few times, they made port for the night in a pirate port. Dropping Chris off to do what ever he wanted, he was still muttering shit as they dropped him off. They were in a bar, having a few drinks and he watched as she conversed with the crew, Harrison had found a woman for the evening. No one was yet wasted, they’d only been in there an hour.

“I hear you’re captain of a ship.” A woman said, voice seductive as she stood in front of him.

“That I am.” He replied simply.

“Do you want to show me your room?” She asked and Tom looked down at her, she wasn’t leaving much to his imagination, breasts almost on full display.

“Not really, I have a room-mate.” He dismissed. He hadn’t noticed that Y/N was watching them.

“Just tell him you’re busy.” She said as she gripped his collar, pressing her lips to his. He was too shocked to do anything for a moment. That moment took too long as Y/N walked out of the bar, tears streaming down her face.

Tom pushed the woman off him gently. She huffed, trying to reattach their lips.

“Listen, I’m sure you’re lovely but no.” Tom said as he walked out in search of her. He didn’t find her, making his way back to the ship, only hoping that was where she’d gone. “Y/N/N?” He called when he got back to the ship, he heard her sniffles and found her sat on the steps that connected the upper deck and lower deck. “Y/N/N.” He sighed as he sat next to her.

“You really are just a pirate aren’t you?” She sniffled out.

“That’s not what that was, it wasn’t what it looked like.” He said.

“Bullshit.” She snapped as she stood, making her way into their shared room. “You are the same as the rest of them.” She said, ego clearly hurt, and Tom huffed.

“I just told you, it wasn’t what it looked like. Can you not just trust me? Have not proven enough that I care about you?” He said and she scoffed. “I get it, your feelings are hurt.” He snapped. “But I would have thought you’d trust me by now.”

“Trust you? Tom, you steal shit, you take what you want. Including my feelings and you toss them aside like they mean nothing.” She shouted and Tom felt his own heart ache, she didn’t trust him?

“You’re behaving like a brat. A complete child.” He shouted back at her. “I didn’t want her to kiss me, she just did. I don’t know what else to tell you.” He shouted, they were close, very close, he’d gotten her almost backed up into the wall.

“Me a brat?” She shouted in disbelief. “I’m nothing of the sort.” Something about her anger, the way she was screaming at him with such passion, such a fire in her eyes, turned him on to no end.

“You are so difficult.” He snapped as he caged her in with his forearms around her head.

“You’re an arsehole.” She snapped back, tension thick.

“You really can be a little brat at times.” He said back and she jumped on him, taking him by surprise as her lips fell to his. He pulled her closer to him, this kiss far more needy and desperate, one goal in mind for the pair.

“I never should have come back.” She said as she removed his shirt and he pinned her to the wall as he kissed her neck, placing a hand to other side.

“Never should have let you come back.” He retorted as he hiked her thigh up his leg. She pulled him closer to her with the leg wrapped around him. There crotches were close now, Tom groaning as he felt himself harden against her.

“Such an arrogant prick.” She said through a moan as he found her sweet spot. He laughed as he looked as her, running his hand up her thigh that was around his waist.

“Stuck up, childish brat.” He fired back. It was almost like they were revisiting that almost hatred of first meeting each other, the very personality traits that drew them to each other. Yes, they’d had their moments, much softer but they’d still had their moments, she challenged him in a way he didn’t know he wanted to be challenged.

“Fuck, Tom.” She breathed out in a moan as he squeezed her thigh, almost teasing where he knew she wanted him. He pulled back as he turned her around, her back facing him as the complicated lace of her dress stared back at him. Fuck this, Tom thought as he grasped at the material, ripping it as he heard her gasp. He turned her round gain as the material fell down her shoulders.

“You look so fucking beautiful.” He murmured as he pulled the dress from her frame, watching it pool around her feet.

“Thought I was a brat?” She fired back, eyes dark with lust and fuck, Tom was in love with her. Tom laughed at her words, pinning her back to the wall, kissing along her collarbones.

“Oh, sweetheart, you really fucking are. An absolute brat.” He said as he cupped her chin, she looked at him and he knew this was the first time in her life a man had been rough with her, and she fucking liked it. “You like it when I put you in your place? Remind you that you can just be an argumentative brat?” He asked and she moaned as he sucked her collarbone, pulling him closer, hand fisting his hair.

“You fucking kissed her Tom.” She fired back as she pulled his head up and connected their lips, god this woman. “Was she as good as I was?” She asked and Tom couldn’t help but shake his head.

“No baby, she wasn’t. I bet she had far less of an attitude though.” He said as she released the drawstring of his pants, them pooling around his feet as they both took their respective shoes off.

“You like being challenged don’t you Tom? Like someone who argues with you, challenges your status as a captain?” She said as she pushed him back onto the bed, Tom wanted this woman and he never wanted to let her go.

“Just as much as you like being put in your place. Being reminded that you’re just another rich girl who never had no said to her. A brat.” He said as he watched her remove her underwear before climbing on top of him, fuck, he’d never had an encounter like this before and fuck, he was turned on to fuck.

“Bet she wouldn’t make you feel like I do Tom.” She said as she kissed his neck and he moaned slightly, it had become a complete fight for dominance, neither of them knew which one would win and ultimately neither one cared.

“That’s why you’re here right? Because no man can make you feel like I do. I excite you don’t I? I know when to treat you like a lady and when not to and you fucking know it don’t you?” He said as he flipped the two of them, taking his own underwear off. “You get off on the idea of me being rough with you, putting you in your place.” He said as he kissed her neck and she moaned as he traced his tip down her slit. “You’re so fucking wet princess.”

“Fuck me.” She breathed out.

“Oh gladly, but first I want to taste you Y/N.” He said as he made his way down her body, kissing every inch that he could, her hips raising off the bed in anticipation. He pinned them back onto the mattress as he came face to face with her glorious heat, visibly wet for him. He licked a stripe through her folds and moaned at the sounds she made. He’d never met a woman like her, and he didn’t think he ever would again.

He practically buried his face in her cunt, licked and sucked at her clit as she moaned his name, moaned for him not to stop. He traced a hand down her thigh, running his fingers up it as she her moans reached a higher pitch. He was reveling in her sounds, moaning against her every so often and it pulled a louder moan from her.

He traced his fingers around her entrance before placing two in with ease, she was so wet and tight, Tom couldn’t wait to bury his cock inside her.

“Oh, fuck, Tom.” She moaned out and he removed his lips from her clit for a second as he spoke.

“Such a filthy mouth on such a lady.” He teased and she moaned, raising her hips off the mattress, getting herself off on his fingers. “Fuck, you like that. Like my fingers buried deep inside you?” He asked as he pumped his fingers in and out of her, her wetness making it easier to slide them in and out.

He placed his mouth back on her clit and she tightened around his fingers, she was close. He licked and sucked on her clit until she screamed his name, her orgasm washing over her as he fucked her through it, carefully removing his fingers when she was done. He moved himself back up to her face, she looked so blissfully happy, pleasure painted all over her face. Tom placed his fingers in his mouth, licking her orgasm off his fingers. She looked at him as if it was the filthiest and biggest turn on she’d ever seen.

“Open up.” He said as he placed his fingers in her mouth, she sucked on them, eyes never leaving his and Tom felt himself grow harder than he ever had before.

“Fuck.” He muttered before entering her, giving her a minute to adjust as her walls clenched and unclenched around him, both of them moaning. She nodded at him, lifting her hips, a signal for him to move. He did, drawing his hips back before slamming back into her, she moaned as her head rolled back.

“Let’s see if we can fuck that brattiness out of you.” Tom moaned and she joined, moaning louder than she had so far. He continued his pace, slamming in and out of her, his own orgasm climbing up him. She clenched particularly tightly around him, and he moaned, she was close again. He moved a hand to rub her clit, resting all his weight on one arm.

It wasn’t long before she was screaming his name and digging her nails into his back, he knew she’d have left scratches, but he didn’t care, it added to his pleasure, pulling him further towards his own orgasm. He was so close, so unbelievably close and she pulled him down, her lips against his ear as she spoke.

“I love you, Tom.” She said and he moaned as he pulled out of her, hot spurts of his cum making ribbons on her stomach. He collapsed on top of her, as they both panted, both sweaty messes. He kissed at her shoulder, they both shook as the aftershocks of their orgasms went through them, both cuddled close.

“I love you.” She said as she lifted his head and peppered kisses along his face.

“I love you too. So much.” He said as he placed his own kisses to her face.

He cleaned the two of them up and for the first time since he’s rescued her, she was laid against his chest as they shared a bed, his hand running up and down her arm. Placing the occasional kiss to her head.

“Long overdue.” She giggled as she traced patterns along his chest with her finger.

“Yeah, long overdue.” He said, pulling her closer. She still looked blissfully fucked out, content and happy. It wasn’t long before they both drifted off to sleep.

**

Five years later and Tom was running the best pirate ship in the sea. Women had joined now, Harrison had a girlfriend, some of the other crew did. Y/N and Tom where still perfectly and happily in love, she still challenged him in ways he wanted to be challenged and he still treated her like a princess, but not between the sheets. He made sure she had everything she wanted, she made sure the same.

They were prefect for each other, Tom found her as he wrapped his arms around her waist, laying his hands on her stomach. She was watching over the side of the boat, finding content when she watched the sea, he took her left hand in his.

“Mrs, Holland, I do believe it’s about time for your foot rub.” He said.

“Mr Holland, you are never late.” She said as his finger traced the ring on her hand.

“I love you.” He said as he placed his hand over her growing bulge, hands rubbing at it, the growing baby inside her. She reciprocated the feelings as he turned her and led them back to those same quarters they fell in love in, the same quarters where he had spent hours showing her how much he loved her, cared for her. There was no one else for him and there was no one else for her.

[xjoonchildx]

guilty | knj x reader | chapter two: incheon mall tube tops

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.5K

notes: i really hope you guys are enjoying namjoon’s story! i think there will only be one more chapter after this.  and like a true unfocused writer i started daydreaming about a yoongi one-shot to go with it? gah, nevermind.  i really hope you guys like this and i’d love to hear how you feel one way or another.  a huge thanks to my amazing beta @hobi-gif​ who does a hell of a lot more than just find typos.  and all of my love has to go out to @ladyartemesia​ @ppersonna​ @taetaewonderland​ because all three of you are so much more than tumblr friends.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

**********************

It didn’t matter how hard you tried to hide your sadness, Namjoon saw it.

It didn’t matter how many hushed calls you tried to sneak, or how many smiles you tried to force -- Namjoon saw right through your act from the very beginning.  He’d seen enough to know that you were facing some kind of personal battle. He understood enough about you to know that you were far too private to bring it up or ask for help.

He should have asked.

The question sat heavy on the tip of his tongue for weeks.  He should have asked on the days he would spot you at your desk, fingers pressed to your temples in frustration.  Or on the days when he would catch you staring out the window, mind a million miles away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he let himself be driven to distraction by the way your blouses fit perfectly against the lines of your body. The way your pencil skirts hugged the curve of your hips. How soft your hair looked pulled into the low, loose knot you favored.

He found himself stumbling over his words when you’d quietly slip into meetings to deliver an urgent message or he’d drift off in the middle of conversations just because he’d caught sight of you outside his office door.

So it wasn’t long before what started as a preoccupation turned into a full-blown fixation.

You’d turn up at his request, poised and professional as always -- and he’d be lost in thought, defiling you a thousand different ways in his head.  Fantasizing about getting his hands on you, his mouth on you, his teeth on you.

You didn’t deserve that.

That’s why Namjoon kept his mouth shut -- stuck in a maddening cycle of wanting to help you, wanting to know you, just wanting you.

All of it made him feel guilty as hell.

*********************

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

Namjoon has yet to figure out how she manages to be underfoot at the most inconvenient times and simultaneously nowhere to be found when she’s needed.  She misplaces files and misses calls and forgets assigned tasks altogether. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s passed her desk to find her taking pictures of herself; lips pouted, angle skewed.

Two weeks ago, she was probably selling tube tops at Incheon Mall and now she’s playing gatekeeper to one of the most powerful men in Seoul.  So it’s not her fault that she’s woefully unprepared for this job.

And it’s not her fault that she’s not you.

Namjoon has spent the better part of the morning debating the call he’s about to make, picking up the phone and setting it back down at least half a dozen times.  But he’s at the end of his rope, running out of patience and options.

So he swallows his pride and picks up the phone just one more time.  

You answer on the first ring.

“Mister Kim.”

God, he’s missed the sound of your voice.  

“Good morning,” he starts carefully, clearing his throat. “I’m certain you have a lot on your plate but I was wondering if you could come sit with the new girl for a few minutes.  She’s struggling a bit.”  

The line is quiet for a moment and Namjoon can practically hear your thoughts on the other end of the line.  The ones that say well that’s what you get for replacing your perfectly competent assistant with a child.

“I left notes,” is the quiet reply that comes instead.

“You did.”

“Detailed notes. Written, detailed notes.”

“Yes,” Namjoon agrees, rubbing his fingers across his mouth.  “I’m certain they were quite detailed.  It’s just that she’s having trouble following those notes because --”  

“Because she can’t read?”

Namjoon cringes.  Any small hope he had that you weren’t taking your reassignment personally dies with the abrupt delivery of that statement.

“Apparently not,” he admits lamely.

He hears the quiet sigh you take in before answering.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

*************************

There’s a moment -- just after Seokjin has walked through his office door -- when Namjoon catches a glimpse of you.

You are leaned over the new girl’s desk, lips pursed, pointing something out on the computer screen.  Namjoon freezes when you look up and lock eyes with him just as the door swings shut.

Christ, is he ever going to be able to look at you without feeling like he’s had the wind knocked out of him?

He turns to find Seokjin staring at him, one brow raised.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon exhales, shoving a hand through his hair as he walks back to his desk.  “I’m fine. You said you wanted to talk about something?”

“I do,” Seokjin starts, helping himself to a seat. “Two things, actually. Both pertaining to the amazing new assistant you so generously gifted me.”

Namjoon’s nails dig into the palm of his hand.

“Go on.”

“Apparently she’s some kind of whiz with numbers,” Seokjin continues, unbothered by his strained response.  “I gave her a few of the books to look over and she already found a couple of our guys in the Songpa district skimming off the top. I’ll bet there’s even more where that came from and she’ll find it.  She’s got a good eye.”

Namjoon feels pride stir in his chest.  Yet again, you exceed expectations.  

“Send Yoongi and Hoseok to Songpa tonight,” he murmurs.  “I’ll be curious to hear what kind of explanation our friends come up with for their lapses in accounting.”

Seokjin nods.

“Will do.  So the other thing --” he pauses for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out how to carefully deliver what he has to say next.  “I know you asked me to try and figure out what’s going on with her and I think I have.  You’re right, she’s struggling with some personal issues.”

Namjoon leans forward in his chair, body rigid.

“Let me hear it.”

*************************

YOU

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

You have yet to figure out why she can’t work the printers or can’t read a simple spreadsheet when you know for fact she knows how to beam her selfies all the way to the goddamned moon.

It’s infuriating.

Just like it’s infuriating to see her seated at what should be your desk, doing what should be your job, working for the man who should be your boss.  

Figure shit out, you’d love to tell her.  Sink or swim, that’s how the real world works.  

The idea of letting her fail so dismally that Namjoon has no choice but to beg for you back is tempting.  But then he’d picked up the phone to personally ask you to help.

And apparently you are incapable of denying that man anything.

You’ve stayed late every day this week to review the spreadsheets Seokjin has given you to audit because of the extra time you’ve had to put aside to help the new girl navigate foreign concepts like filing and scheduling.

The numbers tell an interesting story.

The rumors about Kim Namjoon’s skill as a businessman don’t give him enough credit.  Money is pouring into the Gajog, hand over fist, from every major district in the city.  Billions of won flow into the organization from legitimate and not as legitimate revenue streams alike.  Combine the numbers and Kim Namjoon controls an empire worth trillions.

You stare at the sums and your mind flips back to your unexpected pay raise. It’s no wonder Namjoon can afford to be so generous.

It’s no wonder so many of the street-level men who work for him seem to be helping themselves to more than their fair share.  

It took you a few days to identify the patterns, comparing the new intake sheets to the old ones, but once you did the missing money practically jumped off the page.  Just a few audits in and you’d already been able to find at least 119 million won unaccounted for.

The Kim Namjoon you know is reserved and unflappable -- but this is information that’s bound to piss even him off.  

What is a man like him like when he’s angry?

You shudder at the thought.

Before long, the night sky stares back at you from the window across from your desk and you decide it’s well past time you went home.  You sort everything into neat piles and leave yourself organized notes before packing up to leave.

***************************

There’s no answer from your mother when you call to her from the hallway.  

You frown as you make your way to her bedroom, worry melting away when you find her asleep in her chair.  Her head is bent at a sharp angle, and you immediately move to help her prop her up.

Her eyes open to slits, unfocused from sleep and medication.

“Ttal,” she whispers, grimacing as she straightens out the crick in her neck.

“Eomma,” you whisper in a hushed rebuke. “We’ve talked about this.  You can’t fall asleep in this chair, it’s terrible for you.”

She nods slowly, pointing to a glass of water on her nightstand.  You hand it to her, but it wobbles in her weak grip and you take hold of it to help her drink before setting it aside.

“I’m hurting tonight,” she admits.  

“I know,” you sigh, heart breaking. “Come, let me help you into bed.”

The process is painstaking.  You help hoist her frail frame out of the chair and over to the side of the bed then work carefully to help her lie back.  There’s no meat on her anymore, just skin and bones, so you tuck her blankets carefully around her legs and arms until you’re certain she’s not shivering anymore.

You know this isn’t working.  

It doesn’t matter how many calls you make over the course of a day to check in, or how many well-meaning neighbors drop in to help, leaving your mother alone for hours in this state is a dangerous gamble.  

You fight back tears of frustration.  You grew up without siblings and your father has been gone for years. Being alone is something you’ve had a long time to get used to.  

But you’ve still never felt as alone as you do right now.

You think in the quiet for a while, stroking your fingers across your mother’s upturned palm, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do.  

Unsure of what comes next.

“Kim Namjoon grew up to be such a handsome man,” your mother rasps.

The steady stroke of your fingers comes to an abrupt halt as the fine hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

Your mother doesn’t repeat herself.

“Eomma,” you urge, nudging her hand with yours.  “What is this talk of Kim Namjoon?”

Her lips quirk when she closes her eyes like she’s recalling a pleasant memory.

“His mother was beautiful,” she breathes quietly. “God smiled on that boy. He looks nothing like his father.”

The dull panic that’s already started to pulse in your chest sharpens to a point.

She has to be hallucinating.  

She has to be taking too much medicine because nothing she’s saying makes any sense.  You fumble for the bottles on her nightstand, pulling off the caps and pouring the pills out onto the tabletop.  You count them over and over until you’re satisfied your mother hasn’t taken a dangerous amount of drugs.

“Eomma, why are you talking about Kim Namjoon?” you plead. “Help me understand.”

But when you look back to your mother, you realize your words are already falling on deaf ears. She’s slipped back into a sleep state once again.

If only it were that easy for you.

When you finally get to crawl into bed a short while later, you toss and turn all night.  

Somewhere in the haze between asleep and awake you dream of Kim Namjoon.

*************************

Your mother’s mental clarity is always better in the morning.  

After she’s had a night of rest -- and whatever medicine she’s taken has had some time to wear off -- she’s much more alert, much more like her old self.  But you still weren’t able to get anything by way of answers out of her as you made breakfast this morning.

You’d made her favorite cold cucumber soup before carefully broaching the subject of last night’s strange conversation.  You’d waited patiently for some kind of explanation about why she mentioned a man she hasn’t spoken of in years.

It didn’t come.

There was something odd about the way your mother went completely quiet at your mention of Namjoon.  Something odd about how adamant she was about not having any memory of the conversation at all.

That odd look on her face is the one thought on your mind as you make your way to work in a complete fog.  You slip into an open elevator and hit the button for your floor on autopilot.

You don’t even realize that you’re not alone until a soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

“I remember you.”

Your eyes flick up from their unseeing stare at your shoes to a young woman standing against the elevator’s back wall.  

“Miss Kim,” you breathe, brushing an errant hair out of your face.  Your cheeks are still stinging from the cold. “Good morning.”

Namjoon’s sister is a beautiful woman, without a doubt — but until this moment, you hadn’t realized how much she resembles her brother.  They have the same striking features, the same smooth skin and high cheekbones and full lips.  

They share the same dark, kind eyes.

“I remember you now,” she repeats, mouth curving into a smile.  “I knew I recognized you, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I finally connected the dots.”

“Well, I wasn’t around a lot when we were kids,” you admit shyly. “So that’s certainly understandable.”

“That’s true,” she agrees.  “And I try not to think back to those times a lot but you made an impression on me.  You were always so sweet.”

Your cold cheeks seem to warm at her compliment.

“Thank you.”

The elevator stops at her floor but she seems reluctant to end the conversation.  She leans against the door to prop it open.

“My brother,” she asks carefully, “Is he treating you well?  Is he a fair boss?”

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Well, he’s not my boss anymore,” you admit.  “He replaced me not long ago.  But yes, he was very fair when I worked for him.”

Her lips part in a soft gesture of surprise when you deliver that news.  

She’s quiet until the elevator blares a loud reminder that it’s time to close the doors.  She smiles at you on her way out the door, opting not to comment on the quality of her brother’s staffing decisions.  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmurs. “But I’m still really glad you’re here.”

****************************

An inviting scent is the first thing you notice when you get home that night.  

The second thing you notice are the voices.

You make your way down the long hallway with careful steps, trying to place the sound of the voice coming from your mother’s bedroom.  It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Sim -- in fact, it doesn’t sound like anyone you know.

You stop short at the sight that greets you when you round the corner.

A woman -- a complete stranger is in your mother’s room.

You stand frozen in shock as you watch the stranger read to your mother from her seated position in the chair next to the bed.  She looks up from the page when she realizes you’re there, giving you a better look at her pleasant, aged face.

“Aish,” she startles, clapping a hand over her chest.  “Here I was, worried about scaring you and instead you’re the one giving me a fright.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice.

“Forgive me,” you start weakly, “But who are you?  And how did you get into this house?”

The woman stands to adjust the pillow under your mother’s head before meeting you in the doorway.  “She’s resting now,” she says, nodding at your mother’s still form on the bed.  “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?”

Should you be screaming right now? Calling the police?  

There’s no good explanation for why you do neither and decide instead to follow this complete stranger into your kitchen instead.  She walks to the stove to stir whatever she has cooking in the pot.

“Get off those feet,” she admonishes kindly. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

Again you comply, inexplicably following orders.  

“I made Budae Jjigae,” she explains, ladling some of the stew into a bowl.  She sets it down in front of you, and you stare back at her like an idiot.  The stew smells amazing, and you’re immediately hit with a well-timed hunger pang.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“My name is Jinjoo,” she replies sweetly, handing you a spoon.  “And I work for you now.”

“You work for me,” you repeat slowly.

“I do,” Jinjoo nods.  “Mister Kim hired me.”

The spoon clatters loudly against the lip of the bowl when you drop it.  For a moment, it’s hard to breathe. You have to wait for the strange sensation that snakes up your spine to subside before you speak again.

“Mister Kim.”  You echo her again, dumbly.

Jinjoo takes a seat next to you at the table, radiating a patient kindness that makes you want to give into the urge to trust her.  She smiles reassuringly at you, voice soothing when she speaks again.

“Yes. He said you needed help with your mother, and I can understand why.  I nursed in hospitals for decades, dear.  I can see your mother is in a bad way.”

You blink back at Jinjoo in stunned silence.

“I assure you, I’ll give your mother the best quality care,” she vows, patting one of your hands with her own.  “And Mister Kim has already paid me well in advance, so don’t even think about trying to get rid of me.”

That statement almost makes you laugh.  

You don’t want to get rid of Jinjoo at all.  Ten minutes ago you had no idea she existed and in the span of one conversation she’s become one of the most important people you know.  Tears well in your eyes as you stare into your bowl of stew, at a total loss for words.  

Jinjoo seems to sense how overwhelmed you are.  She gives you some space to process what’s going on, stroking one soft hand over your shoulder when she stands to leave.

“Eat something, dear.  I’m gonna go sit with your mother for a while.”

You look up at her with watery eyes and nod, reaching for the spoon.

“This smells really good,” you say softly.

“Well, I’m a great cook.  You’ll see,” she promises.

“Jinjoo -- “ you call out after her as she walks away.  “Thank you,” you manage, voice thick with emotion.  “I can’t thank you enough.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle when her mouth curves into a smile.

“You’re welcome.”

**********************

Jinjoo’s stew was delicious -- not that you had the chance to fully appreciate it.  

You’d sat in that kitchen alone for some time, eating slowly while you tried to process yet another bombshell in what seemed to be a series of them.  Everything that’s happened to you since Namjoon reassigned you has been a whirlwind; from the sudden pay raise to the sudden arrival of Jinjoo.

You eat the last of the stew with your stomach in knots.

Namjoon knows your mother is sick.  And you don’t know how to feel about it.

A part of you feels exposed when you think about him uncovering the sad details of your mother’s health battle. But knowing that he stepped in to help you fight it makes you feel something you haven’t felt in years.  

Cared for.

The sound of laughter from your mother’s bedroom echoes down the hall and you stand to follow it.  

Her favorite variety show is playing on the small TV in front of her bed, and it appears Jinjoo is a fan, too.  You lean in the doorway and watch the women giggle at the silly skit.  It’s been a long time since you’ve heard the sound of your mother’s laugh.  

It makes you smile.

“Jinjoo, could you give us a moment, please?”

You almost hate to interrupt the instant camaraderie between the two women but you recognize that your mother is in the midst of a rare moment of clarity.  You have to strike while the iron is hot.

“Of course,” she agrees, standing.

You wait until the sound of her footsteps fades away before taking her place in the worn chair next to your mother’s bed.  Your mother smiles at you, taking one of your hands into her own.  

You squeeze her fingers gently.

“Eomma, no more secrets,” you murmur.  “Tell me the truth.  Did Kim Namjoon come here?”

Your mother swallows thickly before nodding.

“He asked me not to tell you,” she admits.  “He said he didn’t want you to refuse his help.”

You shut your eyes and imagine Namjoon in your home, in this room. Speaking to your mother.  Making plans to send Jinjoo.  Your chest squeezes so tight that for a moment it’s hard to breathe.

“Okay,” you concede quietly.  You maintain the appearance of careful calm because you don’t want to make your mother feel worse than she already does., “It’s alright Eomma, I’m not angry, I promise.”

A peculiar look passes over her face.  Her eyes dart away from yours and that’s all it takes for you to know you don’t have the full story.  You decide to toughen your stance.

“Look at me, Eomma,” you say firmly.  “If there’s anything I don’t know, you need to tell me right now.  I need to know all of it.  Everything.”

“I -- “

“Just tell me what it is,” you repeat, patience hanging by a thread.

Your mother sighs, lifting one weak hand in the direction of her dresser.  You turn to stare at the pile of papers stacked there, realization dawning in an instant.  You move on unsteady legs to walk over and take hold of them.

Radiology, pulmonology, chemotherapy.  

You know exactly how much is owed on each of those bills because the numbers are burned into your mind. Those numbers are the reason you leave your mother for hours on end every day to go to work.  Those numbers are the reason why it’s so hard to sleep at night.

You don’t realize that your hands are shaking until you hear the papers rustling.

Every bill bears the same neat, handwritten marking.

paid -- knj

***************************

NAMJOON

Namjoon watched his sister leave early tonight with Hoseok. Seokjin is out to dinner with his wife.  And Yoongi is off doing -- well, whatever the hell Yoongi does when he’s not around.

There’s no one here tonight to tell Namjoon to go home.  No one to point out that he’s had too much to drink or that it’s happening far too often.

So he pours another scotch.

The glass sweats in his hand as he stands in front of his window, deep in thought.

Thinking about you.

Thinking about the way you struggled in silence, caring for your mother alone -- too proud to ask for help. The way you catered to Namjoon’s every need and whim without ever making mention of yours.  The way he’d let it go on for far too long, selfishly wrapped up in the way you made him feel.

“That girl is going to get you killed.”

Namjoon tells himself the sound of your voice is a figment of his imagination, an entirely predictable side-effect of too much scotch.  But it’s followed quickly by your soft footsteps against the plush carpet in his office and both sounds are too real to ignore.

He turns to assess you, quietly sipping his drink.

Fuck, you are beautiful.  

You have no right turning up here tonight -- looking like that -- testing him when he is at his weakest.  Your dark eyes flash with something like a challenge and Namjoon feels his blood warm.

“That girl is never at her desk and she has no idea who’s coming or going,” you accuse quietly.  “She’s putting you at risk.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow half-smirk that teases the edge of his mouth.

“Perhaps,” he admits.  “But there are different kinds of risk.  Maybe you put me at risk, too.”

He shouldn’t take pleasure from the way your eyes go wide at that statement.  Or from the way you overcompensate by standing taller, chin lifted high.

But he does.

“Mister Kim -- “ you start.

“ -- Namjoon,” he interrupts.  “Don’t you think it’s time you called me Namjoon? Haven’t we known one another since we were kids?”

“Namjoon,” you correct yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know about everything.  Jinjoo, the bills, all of it.”

Namjoon says nothing for a moment, draining his glass before setting it down on his desk with a heavy thud.

“Why?” you ask quietly.  “Why did you do this for me?”

Because I would do anything for you.  

He doesn’t voice that thought out loud.  He knows he shouldn’t.

But he also knows he shouldn’t be closing the distance between you right now, and he’s doing that anyway.  He steps closer, quietly, and you swallow hard, thrown by his silence and his advance.

“That’s not -- that’s not something you do for an employee,” you protest, slowly backing away.  You stop only when the ledge of his desk hits you on the backside.  

“The late nights and the extra hours.  Everything else you did,” Namjoon murmurs, stepping close, chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.  “Did you do that for your boss?  Or did you do that for me?”

He leans closer, caging your body against his desk.  Your lips part in surprise and Namjoon forces himself not to react when your tongue slips out to wet them.

“Namjoon, I -- ” your voice is barely above a whisper when you find it.  “-- I don’t understand you right now.”

“How could I have every resource at my fingertips and not help you?” he asks, reaching one hand out to cup your face.  The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips and you shudder under his touch.  “Why didn’t you come to me when you knew I could help?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, pupils blown and cheeks flushed.

“You should have come to me,” he admonishes quietly.  You lean into the touch of his hand.  “I would have given you anything you asked for. Anything.”

“I understand that,” you say quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying your attempt at calm.  “Because I would give you anything you asked for, too.”

Something about the way you say that snaps Namjoon back to reality.  

He looks down at you like he’s only just now realized that he’s loaded on scotch, leaning you over his desk -- and well on his way to taking advantage of this situation.  He tenses, pulling away.

“This is -- this is not --” he sputters pathetically for a moment.  “Go home,” he pleads.  “Please.”

He’s never hated himself as much as he does right now -- when you’re looking up at him with hurt and confusion in those wide, dark eyes.

“Go home before I do something I can’t take back.”

************************

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[yoichichi]

To Call You Mine

college!tsuki x reader series

Ch. 2 - ew, small talk

warning(s): Tsukishima’s behavior 😐

a/n: I’m happy you guys seemed to really enjoy the introductory chapter!! I hope you enjoy this one just as much, and more tsuki content!! Ahhh I’d love to hear your thoughts per usual, and enjoy !! <3

ch. 1

“So, why d-“

“Thanks for-“

Oh my god.

At this point you’d rather have a failing grade than have to keep talking to this guy.

Maybe it was just the fact you’ve felt like you’ve made a fool of yourself about 59 million times, but you were officially over it.

Tsuki leaned back into his chair with that same smirk he gave you earlier, raised eyebrows and all. You’re starting to wonder if that’s maybe just how his face rests.

“No no, go ahead. You first.” His voice was quiet and monotone, very appropriate for the setting, not so much for your nerves.

The way he held himself was, interesting. You know it’s only been maybe 5 minutes since you’ve met which is most definitely not enough time to start making any kind of assumptions about a person, but with the air around him so tense and serious, how could you not?

You could see his legs were just slightly spread in his seat, as far as it would allow it. And instead of doing the casual thing and resting his head in his hand while he waited for you to speak, it was tilted just slightly upward. Chin just barely jutting out at you, head leaning to the left just a tad. His forearms rested on the arms of the chair rather than the table, too.

Everything about his body language said, go on, I’m waiting for you to answer me. Rather than, go ahead, I’m listening.

It made your nerves congregate in your throat and made it difficult for you to speak.

He does not need to be making me this nervous.

You fiddled with the clicker of your pen as you began to speak, doing your best to keep your nervous fidgeting to a minimum. There should be no reason he should have such a knack for making you feel this way, he’s a random guy who takes your same calculus class. Regardless of the way he seems to carry himself, he’s nothing more than that. Some guy.

Besides, he probably wasn’t doing it on purpose. He just has one of those, faces.

“I was just gonna say thanks for agreeing to help me out. Even if it is so early.” You chuckled lightly and brought your hands up to rest on the top of the table.

Enough fidgeting.

“You’re welcome.” Another monotone reply.

You smiled thinly as you waited for him to continue his sentence, cause surely he wasn’t done.

….

Really?

You sat in another few moments of silence while he sighed and looked down at the open pages of his textbook, unable to tell if he was being serious.

“Alright. Why don’t we start with talking about the last lesson you felt most confident in understanding, okay?”

He was being serious.

“Yeah, sure.” You sighed and took a glance down at your notes.

A long hour indeed.

—

It hasn’t even been 20 minutes, yet you’re already starting to get a better grasp on bits of the material you couldn’t even begin to comprehend just a few hours earlier. It certainly isn’t enough to be rid of a tutor, but enough to know you were referred to him for a reason.

Maybe his aloof attitude was worth it.

“Well, that explains why I couldn’t get the numbers to plug in right on that next weird step of the equation. And why it looked so funky when I tried to illustrate the graph. God, that’s a lot.” You stated matter of factly, dumbfounded at how easy he was making this all seem.

“Go ahead and try these other problems from the back of the book, and then we’ll go over what you get after. And if you get stuck just ask. I’m gonna work on some other homework in the meantime.”

His voice had more lilt to it now. Maybe it was because his own version of morning grogginess had warn off. Or he could’ve been just as nervous as you at first. Regardless, you appreciate he seems to be less stiff than when you first percieved him.

You nodded your head and immediately got to work. Having a sudden epiphany about the content was definitely a boost to your motivation to get it done.

He chuckled softly to himself at your eagerness and got started on his own work.

It was nice, actually.

The next few minutes were quiet, but they weren’t awkward. The pair of you having your own focus on the work at hand, merely keeping each other company at this point with the soft scribbles of pencil against paper. That was until you had a question of course.

You looked up to ask him a question but almost felt bad for interrupting him, you could tell he was really focused.

His head was turned downward slightly making his glasses slide farther down the bridge of his nose. His fingers, which you noticed were slightly scuffed up, looked like they were gripping his pen so delicately no matter how fast he was writing. Your eyes followed the trail from his hand up to his shoulder, past the tendons twitching in his forearms at each flick of his wrist, and past his lean yet distinctly toned bicep.

Your gaze stopped on his shoulder when his other hand reached over to squeeze at the apparently tender spot, watching him roll it a few times before he leaned back down to write some more.

His jaw seemed tight, maybe he was having a tough time with this particular class he was working on. Or maybe it was because he appeared to be sore from, something. Taking in his physique and condition of his hands, you decided it wouldn’t be surprising if a sport was what was straini-

“Are you stuck?”

Your eyes shot over just a bit to look directly at his face, realizing you were staring and he probably assumed you needed help, which technically you did.

He was looking up at you above the top of the frame of his glasses and through his eyelashes, eyes just slightly wider than usual as he waited for you to answer.

You had to admit, he was a pretty guy.

“Yeah, kinda. This integral just isn’t clicking for me, I don’t really know where to start.” You held your stare on his face as he leaned in closer to reach over and flip your notebook around, taking a peek at your work thus far.

He hummed almost silently to himself before he spoke up, realizing what was confusing you.

Hm, he smells kind of minty. But not toothpaste minty more like, organic clean minty. Or maybe that’s eucalyptus I’m smelling? I wonder if it’s a cologne or if he just showered before he got here. Jesus, how early would he have to get up to shower before he got here? Cause his hair wasn’t even wet when - well, was it? I could’ve mis-

“Make sense?”

You blinked once, hard, as you internally chastised yourself for being a bit of a creep as you sat analyzing his smell rather than listen to what he had to say.

Nodding your head you stared back down at your paper, contemplating how you were gonna pretend to do better with an equation you didn’t even know where to begin.

“Oh, thank you for agreeing to meet so early, by the way.”

His words caught you off guard as you looked up to see his nose still buried in his work, but his mouth moving.

“I have a team practice in a couple hours and I’m already tutoring someone else afterwards, and this was the only free time I had before your next class.” He looked up at you and offered the tiniest of smiles.

So he did do a sport.

“What do you play?” You asked, genuinely intrigued to know the answer.

His height definitely made him look like a basketball kind of guy, no, you’d know if he played basketball. Maybe soccer.

“Oh, I’m on the volleyball team.” His hand kept its steady pace at writing down notes in his notebook, not even sparing you a glance when he answered.

“Oh wow. How long have you been playing?” You rested your head in your hand, patiently waiting for his response. It was nice to talk about something besides math for a little bit.

“Mmm, I’ve been playing for a good amount of time. This is my first year on the team though, so not long with them I guess. Do you play any sports?” He set his pen down now, rolling his neck out with his eyes closed, leaning back in his chair and waiting for your response this time.

“No, I don’t. My boyfriend plays basketball, though.”

His eyes opened and locked onto yours for a brief moment before looking back down onto that god forbidden work. It was silent for just a second, an unexplainable tension quietly passing between the two of you, so fast you almost missed it, before you spoke up again.

“He’s a sophomore though, so, a little more familiar with his team you could say.” You smile fondly and let out a small chuckle, doing your best to keep the flow of the conversation going,

“He-“

“Hm, nice.” He let out a deep breath and gingerly placed a hand on your notebook, as if he was unaware he cut you off just now, and continued to speak.

Maybe this wasn’t the time for getting to know each other, then.

“Let’s take a look at what you’ve gotten done so far, yeah?”

—

It’s been three days since you last had your first meeting with Tsuki, you hadn’t seen each other since, and yet somehow he was still working you to pieces.

He’d text you around dinner time each day since then like clockwork, just one word:

- ‘Studying?’

- ‘Yes Tsukishima.’

- ‘Good job.’

And it’d be the same thing in the mornings:

- ‘Study guide treat you well?’

- ‘Lol yes Tsukishima. It was actually really helpful so ty :)’

- ‘👍🏼’

I mean, he hand made you study guides to use. And enough of them so that they would last you till he met back up with you on the following Sunday.

It was like he knew you’d feel bad if you didn’t use them and study. But you’d be lying if you said they weren’t helping. You were walking through the door to said class now, and actually feeling semi confident as you sat at your desk and pulled out your belongings, and you had Tsukishima to thank for that.

You noticed it was quiet today as you waited for class to start. October slump was definitely hitting your fellow peers hard, that and the weather. Even your professor was quiet as he walked in and prepared the lesson.

Feeling fatigued and bored yourself, you pulled your phone out to pass the time when you noticed you had a text from Tsukishima still sitting on your lockscreen. It must be pretty recent.

Hm, that’s odd.

Tsukishima

‘Good luck in class today. I hope it all makes a little more sense. :).’

…

A smiley face?

You shut your phone off quickly and shoved it back into your pocket, not particularly fond of the way your heart swelled just the slightest at the fact he texted you.

And remembered you had class today.

And texted you a smiley face at that.

Hm. Looks like he’s warming up to me.

————————

OKOK DONT YELL AT ME AKEKEKE I’m currently writing chapter 3 already ok 😭 i feel like this is kind of short but it just felt weird to do another transition for what I wanted to write rather than just doing a whole chapter and yeah - MIND UR BUSINESS OK I KNOW WHERE IM GOING WITH THIS. Anywayyysss Ahhhh I hope this fed yall well heheheh and you know I love your thoughts and stuff :3 !! MWAH

taglist for series: @plutowrites @c0rncheez @ruetaro @daniagabriela48 @toyas-wife @devilkou @anime-and-kpop-trash (if you’d like to be added or removed let me know!)