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elliewithcellie · 7 months ago

Text

Protector

summary: After months working for the BAU, your harbored feelings for your boss seem unrequited until your hunt for the unsub goes awry. (hotch x fem!reader)

wc: 9.8k (oh my god)

cw: slow burn, boss/employee dynamic, age gap pairing, criminal minds level violence, mention of alcoholism, implication of father issues, hurt/comfort, reader gets hurt, fluff, angst, SMUT (18+ MDNI), oral (f receiving), p in v sex, Hotch is a professional at heart and takes work boundaries seriously

a/n: Back in the saddle with a new man to hyper-fixate on. Hotch can GET IT. Also, let me know if anyone wants the SFW version I'm working on

“Looks like we’re doubling up,” Hotch announced, a sigh escaping his lips.

Before you could even process his words, the rest of the team sounded off, choosing their roommates for the duration of the case. All that remained were you and your boss. With the team dispersing, you awkwardly shifted your duffle bag to your other shoulder and looked up at Hotch.

His stern expression didn’t change as he looked back at you. “Come on. We’re 202.”

You followed him to the elevators, still unsure what to think. This was not only your boss but someone you had garnered quite a fondness for since you joined the BAU. Of course, you had managed yourself professionally thus far, but you were sure this was going to test your limits.

You understood the immediate pairings among the rest of the team. You were still fairly new, not quite to the rapport that the team had formed with each other. But it also made you think about how no one chose Hotch. The pressure to be Unit Chief also had to be lonely.

The elevator chimed, and the two of you shuffled in. You kept to yourself, trying to maintain composure. The lift from the first floor to the second felt like an hour, the silence deafening. You couldn’t shake your nerves. The doors opened, and he stepped out. You quickly followed.

Hotch opened the door and allowed you in first. The two double beds, office chair, mini fridge, and small bathroom were all less comforting to you than normal.

“Do you mind if I take the bed by the door?” Hotch asked, his voice softer than usual.

You blinked up at him, stirred from your preoccupation. “Yeah, of course. I like the window side anyway.”

“Thank you. If you’d like, you can have the shower first. I’d like to call Jack before he heads to bed.”

“Sounds good.”

You began to unpack your belongings and sighed in dismay. You had assumed that you would have a room to yourself as usual, so your pajamas were a little more revealing than you’d prefer your boss to see. Still, a t-shirt and shorts were reasonable sleep attire, so you tried not to dwell on it. You collected your things as Hotch dialed a number on his phone.

“Hey, buddy, how was your day?”

You smiled to yourself as you entered the bathroom. His “dad” voice was more upbeat, yet calm and soothing. With Hotch distracted on the phone, you could relax in the shower. The boiling water stung your skin, just the way you needed it. As you relaxed, you realized how silly it was for you to stress over the rooming situation. Hotch was here to do his job, just like you. And other than his intelligence, his kindness, and his fierce compassion for kids, you were sure you were only infatuated with him.

You finished up your shower and towel-dried your hair once you could no longer hear his muffled voice through the door. You were desperate not to waste Hotch’s time. With your hair still wet and your large t-shirt hanging over your shorts, you timidly exited the bathroom back to your bed, on your toes as if you were sneaking around. Hotch sat on his bed, his coat jacket now on the desk chair. He flipped through channels with the remote in one hand and loosened his tie with the other.

“All yours,” you spoke, struggling to get the words out.

Hotch looked up at you and gave a small smile. “Thanks.” He gathered up his things and closed the bathroom door behind him.

Another sigh of relief left your lips. You grabbed the book from your duffle and climbed into bed. You rolled over to turn on the lamp next to you and began to read, but before you knew it, sleep overtook you.

------

“Hotchner.”

You woke up to Hotch answering his phone. The sky was still dark. The only light illuminating the room was the alarm clock. You realized that you hadn’t turned off the lamp before you fell asleep, nor did you place your book carefully on the side table with a hotel pen as the bookmark.

“Alright. Yes. Right. Understood. We’ll be right over.”

You looked up at Hotch expectantly. He looked at you, then averted his eyes as he got out of bed. “Another young girl missing. She’s only 16.” He paced the floor for a moment, a short-lived break from the stoic leader he always has to be.

“I’ll call the others,” you said sitting up. His eyes returned to yours, the strain turning into relief. He only nodded and headed for the closet, suiting up right there.

You called the others and followed suit, leaving the hotel parking lot by 3:46 am.

------

The next 18 hours were long, stressful, and only moderately successful. The team was able to work out an arrangement with the kidnapper before their 24 hours were up. The girl, Heather, was returned to her parents with only a few bruises. But the kidnapper got away, practically goading you all at the ability to remain anonymous. The team was exhausted and out of ideas.

The team drove back to the hotel without a single word exchanged. The kidnapper’s voice rang in your head. He was so confident, arrogant even. There was almost never a moment where he fumbled over his words or cracked. His ruse lasted for hours. But he got sloppy in the end, fessing up to her location just enough for Garcia to triangulate. But something wasn’t adding up to you: his willingness to run instead of killing her when he had the chance.

Hotch spoke up, stirring you from your ruminations. “We need to start from scratch. Reid, give us a rundown on what, where, and why.”

“Well, we know his victims are all young women now ranging from 16 to 23. They come from middle to upper-class families. He sends messages to the families always demanding ransom within 24 hours. Three women have been killed, and now two have survived. The strange part is whether or not he stays truthful to his word. The parents have always given him what he wants, but then it’s up to his discretion whether he follows through.”

“Based on these girls,” Prentiss interjected, “this guy’s intelligent. He prides himself on the ability to get away with this.”

“That’s good,” Hotch said, eyes still on the road. “But why work with us sometimes and not others?

The SUV hummed as its passengers sat in silence.

You decided to speak up. “Prentiss said he prides himself on the ability to get away with this, right?” Everyone sat still, expectant for you to continue. “We’re looking at this the wrong way. This isn’t a sadist who gets off on killing. This isn’t a psychopath with a compulsion. This is a narcissistic sociopath who has been evading capture for weeks now. This is a game to him. It’s a game he knows he can win.”

“Which is why when he’s pressured, he releases the girl.” Hotch nodded along.

“He can take a loss where he can because, to him, the ultimate win is to not get caught,” Reid agreed.

“Great work,” Hotch said, parking the car. “You guys head in and get some good sleep. I’ll fill in the other van. Be ready for a big day of planning.”

You walked up with Reid and Prentiss, a small smile refusing to leave your lips. You cracked it, you thought to yourself.

Your two teammates teased each other up to the rooms, you following close behind. You weren’t the type to inject yourself into other people’s conversations, which ended up making it hard to connect with them. It was as if you had been adopted into a family that has known each other their whole lives. You were respected, sure, so there was no need to complain. You just wished that you could make jokes with them and have the levity they had during intense cases like this.

Still, even hearing your teammates laugh was enough for you tonight. You longed for a moment longer, but they said their goodnights and headed off.

You entered your room, much more relaxed than the night before. You had yourself all worked up, and for what? You gathered your things and headed to the shower, sure that Hotch wasn’t far behind and would call his son again.

As you exited the bathroom, Hotch entered the room. You jumped despite yourself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

“It’s ok,” was all you said in response. You returned your things to your bag and slid into bed. You turned on the lamp and began reading while Hotch took his turn in the shower.

You were still reading when he returned, the book more interesting now than it was the night before. You glanced up only for a moment. Hotch wore striped pajama pants tonight, contrasted to the boxers you accidentally noticed earlier that morning. You looked back at your book but couldn’t read it. Your mind wandered to the message Hotch could be sending. Maybe your shorts were inappropriate. Maybe you weren’t meant to see his boxer shorts at all. Maybe he was just cold.

“Good work today,” Hotch said, interrupting your thoughts.

You smiled up at him. “It was a team effort.”

“We may have never come to the conclusion you did. Take the compliment.” Hotch’s lips raised to a subtle smirk, something you’ve only seen a handful of times and certainly never directed toward you.

“Yes, sir,” you said. “Thank you.” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Your eyes drifted back to your book.

“What’s your book about?”

Was Hotch trying to make conversation with you? True, it wasn’t as late as yesterday’s arrival, but in all of your months of working for the BAU, any discussion with the team had been strictly professional. Still, you blushed at the question.

“It’s a romance,” you confessed.

“I have to say,” Hotch began, “I’ve never read a romance novel. What about it appeals to you?”

You thought for a moment. “I guess it’s the suspension of disbelief. The relief to enter a reality where people love in big, romantic ways. Don’t you ever want to get swept off your feet?”

You cringed at the question, debating on whether it was appropriate to ask your superior about romance.

“I think I’d rather do the sweeping,” Hotch said thoughtfully.

You smiled at his words.

“You don’t think people love in romantic ways in this reality?” Hotch asked, looking up at the ceiling. His breaths were calm, and his face seemed to soften from serious to curious.

“I don’t know,” you said sincerely. “My sister is about to marry a real stand-up guy. He’s caring and has a good family who loves her, too. It’s one of those one-and-done fairy tale deals. Like truly made for each other. But I wouldn’t say that’s the norm. It’s not my norm, at least. So, yeah, I guess you could say I’m skeptical.”

You crossed your legs and fiddled with your thumbs. You tried not to reflect on your history, tried not to give any clue to your boss of your true beliefs. It didn’t ultimately matter to the conversation, anyway. The silence stewed as it stirred up new thoughts and old patterns, feeling yourself shut down the conversation. You didn’t mean to. You hated being seen as the one that was boring outside of work. The one that wasn’t friendly enough to get to know.

“I’m sure you don’t know,” Hotch began again, shaking you from your anxious thoughts, “but bringing up your sister reminded me that I met your dad a few years ago.”

You shot up. “You know about him?” You covered your face with your hands.

“He was nationally awarded for his work in counterterrorism. Of course, I know about him.” He laughed softly, a sound you weren’t used to but would never complain to hear it again. “I met him on a job in Bakersfield. He knew the town like the back of his hand. Is he why you joined?”

“In a roundabout way,” you sighed.

“He brought up his girls every chance he could.” Hotch smiled and turned to face you. “One was a soccer star in South Carolina on track to be a doctor. One was a track star a semester away from graduating with honors and applying to Physician Assistant programs, I believe.”

“My sisters are overachievers,” you said.

“Then it’s you he talked about the most. The musician, the future psychologist, the one who found fascination with the minute details of life.”

“My dad said all that?”

“He did. He had offered us beers when it was all over, and he shared photos of you all. You’re certainly much more grown now.” He chuckled.

Your cheeks flushed red at the comment.

“I showed him Jack playing tee-ball, and we both shared some stories before it was time to go. He had some great advice to give.”

“I’m sure he did,” you mumbled. “Sir, I don’t want you to think I got in because of him. He didn’t know until I made it to Quantico. I mean, yes, he always pushed the army and West Point like him, but I did this all on my own, Mr. Hotchner, I swear.”

“Hotch is fine,” he gently corrected. “I’m not worried about where you came from. I knew the entire time. But your qualifications are what got you on the team, not your father. Keep up the good work, and I’ll continue to remember that.”

“Yes, sir.” You thought to yourself for a moment. The candor of the conversation may have added to your bravery in this moment. “Hotch?”

He raised his eyebrows to imply he was listening.

“Umm, Is there anything that I can do to, like… never mind. I’m about to sound pathetic.” You huffed back down into your pillow. You couldn’t believe you were about to ask Hotch how to make friends.

“They’ll warm up to you, just like you’ll warm up to them. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and I’m sure they’ll see you for who you are.”

You sighed again. Of course, he knew what you were stressing about. He’s the chief profiler after all.

“I’ll let you read now,” Hotch said, getting up from bed. “I’m going to call Jack.”

You gave a small smile and nodded, and he left the room.

------

You woke up the next morning to Hotch returning to the room, two disposable coffee cups and a case file in his hands.

You jerked up from bed. “Am I late?” you asked, scared you slept through the alarm.

“No, no,” he said, walking over to you. “I’m early. Coffee?”

He held out one of the cups to you. You gently accepted.

“Thank you.” You looked over at the clock. 5:54. You rubbed your eyes. “Are you always up this early?”

“On the job, yes,” he said with no inflection. “Much to think about, and much to be done.” He sat back on his bed and reviewed the file you knew he had reviewed countless times. If he was anything like you, he was searching for some hidden puzzle piece, something that the team must have missed to solve the case once and for all. But it was never that easy. Still, maybe some fresh eyes could help.

You slid out of your bed and rested on top of his. “Can I help?”

“Be my guest.” He shifted the file your way for a better vantage point. You crossed your legs and sipped your coffee before getting to work.

You found yourself lost in thought, jotting down those thoughts in the margins. It helped to visualize your connections, even drawing physical lines to connect them. You noticed that the most recent girl didn’t fit the age range of the others, 19-23. You dug deeper, making a note to ask Garcia to run the connection between all of these girls. College? you wrote. There was a college campus within ten minutes of the hotel. One more thing struck you. All of the victims had their hair up in a high ponytail. You weren’t sure how that was associated yet, but you wrote beside each of the photos anyway.

As the early sun began to rise, you grew brutally aware of Hotch’s presence. His body leaned closer to yours, and you felt his eyes sear into your skin. You grew distracted, your mind wandering to the fact that you were wearing only a loose shirt and small shorts in Hotch’s bed. Was he noticing the same thing? Was this a breach of professionalism? Were you making him uncomfortable? Against all your will, you felt your body temperature rise in the form of a blush.

The alarm clock rang out, pulling both Hotch and your attention. You stretched over to turn it off.

“I’ll let you get ready,” Hotch said, jumping out of bed. He headed to the door, refusing to meet your gaze. “Meet me downstairs?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, slightly surprised by the questioning tone of your superior. He nodded and left the room before another word could be spoken.

-------

In the conference room of the local police station sat the team, all watching Hotch interact with the captain of the squad through the glass. You stayed facing the table with your head low. You couldn’t help the bounce of your leg. While the others inferred the conversation outside, your mind had fixated on the morning’s events. The heat of your boss’s breath had tattooed your skin, a branding to the back of your neck. The intimacy, the closeness, and then the flustered nature Hotch left in replayed in your mind. You couldn’t look at him until you could properly collect yourself.

“What’s on your mind, kiddo?” Morgan asked. Your head shot up. All eyes were on you now. You failed to hide the rouging in your cheeks.

“Nothing.” You shrugged, though you knew the contradiction in your body language.

JJ chuckled. “Nothing? You’re so tense, so distracted.”

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?” Morgan asked again, a smile growing on his face. “Hotch keeping you up all night?”

You flinched at his name. You couldn’t help it, but you outed yourself all the same.

“No, I slept fine. I swear.”

“You flinched!” Prentiss laughed and pointed. “It is about Hotch, isn’t it?”

“Leave the poor girl alone,” Rossi said, not bothering to look up from his newspaper.

“Hon, you better tell us what happened in the next three seconds.” Derek swatted at Spencer’s chest. “Reid, help us out, here.”

“Based on the months we’ve known her, she tends to—”

“Don’t you start profiling me, Reid.” You glared at Spencer across the table.

His arms shot up in the air as if to surrender, but a smirk remained on his face. “All I’m saying is that I know the physical signs of a crush when I see one.”

Your jaw dropped. The conference room filled with laughter.

“Leave her alone!” Garcia yelled from behind you. “She’s our sensitive little one!”

“I’m not 5,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. Penelope hugged you from behind as if to protect you from the others. The others continued to laugh, causing you to smile despite yourself. Morgan took a photo of you and Garcia, and warmth spread through you. Even with all the teasing, being here with the team felt good.

Just then Hotch rushed through the door. “Alright, let’s be seated and get to work. We have a big day ahead of us.” Garcia took her seat, but Hotch stayed standing, opting to position himself in front of the whiteboard. “After speaking with the captain and going through the case file with Y/N this morning, I determined our best attack on the situation. Though, it is rather unorthodox.”

The rest of the team stayed silent, waiting for the punchline. Hotch continued. “What do we know about our killer better than anything? His victimology. We know that he goes after girls and young women aged 16-23. They are middle to upper-class, and not the type to find themselves in trouble. Now, who do we all know who fits this very description?”

“Y/N,” Reid said.

All eyes returned to you, this time with a seriousness looming in the air.

“If we don’t want any other kidnappings, we need to give him what he wants. Going after the 16-year-old was off for him. He’s devolving. Which means we need to act fast before he kills again. This is the only way we can approach this head-on.”

“Hotch,” Emily began, “with all due respect, let me take this on. Or JJ. JJ has experience.”

“With his victimology going as low as 16 now, it should be someone who looks the part,” Reid replied.

“She’s just a kid, Hotch.” Morgan reached his hand toward your shoulder, but you gently nudged it away.

“But I’m not a kid at all,” you spoke up. “I have two degrees and the same job as the rest of you. I know I’m young and look younger, but I’m qualified. If my appearance can be used to put this guy away, then let me help. Let me do my job.” You looked up at Hotch, a sudden confidence flowing through your veins. “What do you need me to do?”

-------

For the rest of the day, the team helped you prepare for your role as a 22-year-old college student. The team strategized and planned, desperate to ensure your safety. Everyone added their two cents, but you were happy to receive all the insight you were given. You weren’t going to screw this up for them.

You, Hotch, Prentiss, and Morgan returned to the hotel to pick among your belongings to dress the part. Rossi, Reid, and JJ stayed behind with Garcia to set up intel at the station.

“The shorts you wore to bed,” Hotch began, “go put those on while we find a sweatshirt or jacket. In fact, wear the shirt you wore, too. The size could conceal the mic better.”

You nodded and grabbed your things before heading into the bathroom. It was not lost on you that your boss was thoroughly aware of your pajama situation, but due to the pivotal role you were to perform, it was easier to focus on the task at hand.

You returned from the bathroom where Emily greeted you with the mic. You lifted your arms, allowing Emily to snake the mic underneath your shirt, securing it to your sternum with sports tape. While doing so, Hotch and Morgan returned with a single sweatshirt in Morgan’s hand. It was grungy and old, not quite the goal aesthetic.

Still, Morgan handed it to you to try on. The three profilers evaluated your look.

“This isn’t gonna work,” Morgan said. Prentiss pinched her eyebrows together in dismay. Hotch stayed staring.

“Take off the sweatshirt,” Hotch ordered. “I think I have something better.”

You did as he said while he rummaged through his duffle bag. He pulled out a quarter zip of excellent quality, something he only wears on a successful plane ride home.

“Put it on.”

You didn’t hesitate to follow his instructions. It was a large fit, hanging just above the hem of your shorts and the sleeves landing at your fingertips. The three of them looked at you, then to their reference photos, then back at you. Something was missing.

“Call Reid. Maybe he can find any other similarity we’re missing,” Hotch said.

“No, I got it.” You remembered the notes you made earlier that morning. You took the hair tie from your wrist and pulled your hair up into a high ponytail. “Now, what do you think?”

“That’s it,” Morgan said.

“And just in time,” Emily noted, “We gotta get you to the college fast.”

On the ride to the school, Hotch reiterated the goals in place.

“All you need to do is walk across campus using the roads. Keep to yourself, and most importantly, do not—and I mean it—do NOT, get into the vehicle under any circumstances. Stall him, flirt with him, do anything you can to keep him in place. We’ll be right there. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. I got it.”

“We’re counting on you.”

“Good luck.” Prentiss smiled with seriousness behind her eyes.

Morgan grabbed your shoulder, turning you around. “Be smart, kiddo.”

You returned a small smile and left the van to venture on your walk.

------

You had to have walked the streets for at least an hour. The campus was massive, larger than any school you attended. You did as you were told and kept to yourself. The sun had long since set, so there was no warmth to guard you from the biting breeze. A car or two passed periodically, but none slowed down beside you. There was a peace in the solitude. One could chalk it up to the calm before the storm, but you weren’t afraid.

Another car passed, but this time it slowed down. Your heart stopped and landed in your throat.

“Excuse me,” the man called out. The voice was unforgettable. The very same voice that threatened to kill the girl over the phone. The voice that replayed in your mind for hours. You knew it was him.

You turned to face him, trying to commit every detail to memory. He was a conventionally attractive man with lighter hair and a smile that you would have swooned over under any other circumstance. He wore a white polo and jeans and drove a two-door black convertible with the top down.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m looking for a party my buddy’s throwing, but I don’t go here.”

“I’ll say you don’t,” you chuckled as you walked closer. “Your car must cost my tuition!”

The man grinned. “You like? I could take you for a spin. But I’ll have you know; I like to go fast.”

“Mmmm, top-down, wind in my hair,”—you inched closer still, to feign some sort of interest— “but don’t you have a party you’re missing?”

“Well, if you show me where to go, maybe I’ll consider you my plus one.” He winked.

“Now, do I look like the partying type to you?” You laughed and rested your arms on his car door.

Without another word, he grabbed you by the upper arms and pulled you into the driver’s seat. You screamed at the top of your lungs. You tried to fight him from your disadvantaged position, but he was stronger, quicker. He forced you into the passenger seat as he wailed punch after punch into your jaw.

“Nice. Girls. Don’t. Scream!” he yelled. He punctuated his words with one final blow to the head. And as you drifted out of consciousness, you weren’t sure if the roof was closing above you or if the sky was turning black.

------

The sound of fireworks stirred you from your unconsciousness. Lights of reds and blues lit the night sky. You smiled at the serenity of the celebration. You didn’t want to go, but the strong hands beneath you lifted you away. You were much too tired to argue, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. The faint words “stay with me” echoed in your mind, and if staying meant remaining in the comfort of the person who held you, you’d be content to stay there forever.

------

You woke up to blinding white lights. This must be heaven you assumed. You blinked through the searing lights and realized it wasn’t heaven at all. You were in a hospital. The sheets, the gown, the blinking monitors, and a small TV playing all clouded your senses. You reached up to rub your head, but someone was holding your hand.

Hotch moved with you, stirring him out of his strained slumber. He had pulled a chair to your bed, his head resting next to your knee. He lifted his head and looked up at you, an urgency deep within his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” He didn’t let go of your hand.

“I—uhhh—Hotch, what’s goin’ on?” You found your breathing quickening at the sound of your slurred speech, the confusion becoming too much to handle.

“You’re ok. You’re gonna be ok. The doctor said they want to keep you overnight, but the team’s on their way.”

“No, no.” You pulled your hand away. “They can’t see me like this. You can’t see me like this! I’m not put together. I—I feel like I'm gonna be sick. I can’t feel my arms. Are my hands shaking? I'm freaking out. I'm freaking out!”

Hotch all but jumped at your ramblings, his eyebrows raised in shock. Before he could answer you burst into tears.

“Hotch, I’m gonna be sick,” you said through your convulsions.

Hotch jumped up in search of a bucket. He grabbed the trashcan at the corner of the room and brought it to you just in time. Tears streamed down your face as you threw up into the trashcan. Hotch held your hair back and gently rubbed your back.

Your nausea subsided, but your panic remained. Hotch sat on the bed, pulling you into his chest. You gripped him with all your might, desperate for the shakes to go away.

“You're alright. You're safe, ok? I think the medicine is messing with you a little. Take some deep breaths for me. I need you to relax, ok?”

You tried to take breaths at the pace Hotch set. Hotch’s hand combed through your hair as he tried to soothe you. Eventually, you were able to cool off. Hotch gently rested you back on your pillow. “Why don’t we go back to sleep for a little, ok? I think you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

You nodded, your face still wet from the tears. You repositioned yourself and fell asleep within moments.

When you woke up again, your mind was your own. Your head was pounding, and your body ached. You allowed yourself to adjust to your environment before searching for Hotch. There he sat by your bed, talking to a nurse. You cleared your throat effortfully. Hotch stood and approached you.

“How are you?”

“Everything hurts.”

“They’re giving you ibuprofen now. It seems like you were reacting to the morphine poorly.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Not at all,” Hotch said seriously. “Do you remember what I told you? That they want to keep you overnight?”

“That does ring a bell,” you said as you rubbed your head. “Is the team here?”

“They are. I told them to wait outside until you were ready.”

“Oh, ok.” You thought for a moment. “Hotch?”

“Yes?”

“Can—Can you tell me what happened? Like, did we win? Is everyone ok?”

Hotch chuckled, but his eyes appeared sad. “Everyone is fine. We got him. Are you sure you want to talk about this now? Why don’t we wait until you—”

“Hotch. Please.”

Hotch sighed and took a moment to think. “Well, we knew we were looking for an expensive convertible thanks to you.” He smiled. “So, we began our search as you spoke. But then, we all heard you scream.”

You flinched at the word, your memory of the gruesome event beginning to reassemble.

“Of course, it was full speed at that point. He had you, and we weren’t going to lose you. We cornered him on a dead-end road just outside of campus. We didn’t let him get far. Prentiss shot out one of his tires, so he started running. Prentiss and Morgan ran for him, and I ran to you.”

He paused. He looked away as his bottom lip trembled. He took a deep breath in as he settled into his natural professionalism again.

“We had EMT on standby, so we were able to get here quickly.”

You nodded, realizing it was Hotch who carried you out. The fireworks, the lights, the “stay with me”, the reality of it all crashed in on you in the form of a shudder.

“It was you?” you asked.

Hotch knit his eyebrows together and tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“You pulled me out. I felt you. I think I heard you.”

“Someone had to make sure you were ok.”

The fact that it was Hotch warmed your heart. Still, a question lingered in your mind. “Is he still alive?”

Hotch shook his head no.

“Mm,” was all you could say in response. There was no room for emotion. No time to process an opinion. You were just glad it was over. “What time is it?”

Hotch checked his watch. “It’s 2:43.”

“In the morning? Sir, with all good intentions, go to bed. Go tell the team to—”

Just behind Hotch, you caught a glimpse of Spencer in the doorway. “Is now a good time?” he asked.

You smiled and nodded. Spencer peeked his head back out and in a loud whisper said, “It’s clear! Go, go, go!”

The rest of the team hustled into the room and crowded around your bed. One by one, greetings and gentle hugs made their rounds, and your smile grew bigger and bigger.

“It’s a party now,” you said, a giggle bubbling out of your throat.

“Oh, she’s got the right idea,” JJ said as she sat close to you on the bed. She carefully moved a strand of hair from your face.

Prentiss laughed. “All we need now is some good music, a dance floor, and some drinks.”

The room filled with a few laughs and overall agreement.

“Too bad you all aren’t even supposed to be here,” Hotch said, slightly scolding the team. “It’s probably time for you all to call it a night.”

“Aw, Hotch, just a few minutes?” Garcia asked.

“We’ll be quiet!” Reid said.

Everyone looked at Hotch expectantly. You looked around at your teammates. They all were begging for a couple more minutes with you. That alone allowed your pain to subside.

Hotch sighed. “Just a couple more minutes.” A small smile formed on his face.

Everyone crowded around the bed, content murmurs and chatter filling the room again.

“Now be honest, guys. How bad do I look?” You shot them all a cheesy smile to sell it.

A few of them chuckled at your antics.

“I think you’ll be back to dating in no time,” Prentiss joked. “Guys love a badass scar.”

“Yeah, ’cause she was dating before,” JJ teased as she played with your hair.

“Shut up!” you giggled, coughing a little.

“I’ll get you water.” Hotch shot up and walked off.

“I’ll go with him,” Rossi said, sighing.

A seriousness enveloped the room. Derek was the first to speak up. “You know, you really scared us today, kiddo. Not to get all big brother on you, but it was tough seeing Hotch carrying you like that. Just limp.”

“And imagine how Hotch must have felt,” Reid said.

You looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

Just then Hotch and Rossi returned with your water.

“Drink,” he said, his arm outstretched. You grabbed the water from him, your fingers overlapping his. The memory of his hands shot through your spine. His frantic begging for you to stay with him, much more panicked than you remembered the phrase.

Imagine how Hotch must have felt.

“It’s getting late,” Rossi said.

The rest of the team grumbled and said their goodbyes. Hotch allowed the rest of the team to go, lingering in the room with you.

“If you need me to stay, I’d be happy to do so.”

“You need sleep, sir.”

“I’ll sleep on the plane,” he said as if it was nothing to him. “If you don’t think you’ll need me, I can let you be. We can be here early to pick you up.”

You thought for a moment. You didn’t want him to go, just in case. “Would you be willing to stay?”

“It’s why I offered.”

You felt your lip begin to tremble, the brave face for the rest of the team beginning to fade. “Hotch?”

“What can I do?”

“Well, I just… Can I use your phone? I think my mom should know I’m alright.”

“Of course.” He handed you his phone. “I’ll wait right outside for you.”

When the phone call was finished, Hotch returned and sat down in the chair.

“If you’re going to stay, I at least want you comfortable,” you said.

“The chair is fine,” Hotch said, taking his coat off for the first time today. “Get some sleep.”

You scooted to the side of your bed. “Here. At least sit up here where there’s some cushion.”

He didn’t respond right away. You knew you could convince him.

“I promise I’ll sleep,” you continued. “I’d be up worrying about your discomfort otherwise.”

Hotch sighed and stood up. “Only because I want you to sleep.”

He sat in the space you made for him at your feet. He stretched his legs alongside yours and rested his back against the footboard of the hospital bed.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you curled up on your side. The comfort in knowing that he was there to take care of you was enough to send you off to sleep in minutes.

“Goodnight, Hotch.”

“Goodnight.”

------

You woke up to something you had never seen before. Hotch was asleep at the foot of your bed, resting his head against your shins. A hand was placed just below your knee as if he planned to protect you in his sleep. It was the most peaceful you had ever seen him. He didn’t look cross or serious. He was calm and relaxed. You smiled to yourself. You had to fight the urge to return his touch. You knew the moment he woke up he’d return to his professional senses, and you weren’t quite ready for this moment to be over.

The doctor walked in to check on you, stirring him awake, anyway.

“I’m clearing you. Take these twice a day. Your jaw is going to be sore for a couple weeks, so work up to crunchy and chewy foods. And please, no strenuous activity for at least a full week.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said, taking the bottle of pills.

“Thank you,” Hotch said. He stood up from your bed as the doctor left. He threw his jacket on and fixed his hair in the window’s reflection.

You sat up and swung your legs off the bed. Hotch spun around and met you at your side.

“How can I help?”

You chuckled. “I think I can stand on my own.”

His eyes shared signs of concern and disbelief. Still, he took a small step back and allowed you to gather your bearings. Standing on your own, you closed the small gap between you. You began to become painstakingly aware of your attire being only a hospital gown and rubber socks.

“You got it?” Hotch asked, his arms out like you were a baby taking your first steps.

“Mmhmm,” you said. “Are my clothes here?”

“Yes, let me grab them for you.” He rushed to the corner of the room where your clothes had been neatly folded, including his sweater. He handed them all to you, his hands brushing against yours. Your heart fluttered in your chest as he stood over you. You looked up at him. His eyes returned your gaze, though you weren’t able to read him. His chest rose and fell as if his breathing was slow and deliberate.

“I’m going to call the team,” Hotch said, his voice low. “Do you—do you need help with anything before I do?”

All you could do was shake your head no on instinct, your eyes not leaving his. He stayed still. His eyes scanned you like he was contemplating something. He backed up carefully and pulled his phone from his coat pocket.

“Wait,” you said.

He froze.

You felt your face redden as you worked up the courage to continue. “Could—could you untie the top for me? My shoulder—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said softly as he inched forward again. “Turn around.”

You did as you were told. He brushed your hair over your shoulder and began to work on the knot. His calloused fingers feathered your skin. His warm breath betrayed you as chills ran down your spine. He untied the knot, allowing cool air to reach the back of your now-open gown. Hotch turned to leave.

“Be careful,” he said at the door. “If you need me, knock on the glass.”

You nodded.

He closed the door behind him, leaving you alone.

------

The drive from the hospital to the hotel rendered the air stale. Hotch had insisted on helping you out of the hospital and into the car. But he didn’t speak. He drove while you sat in the back seat. Every once in a while, you’d catch him checking on you in the rear-view mirror, only to direct his attention back to the road.

When you returned to the hotel, Hotch stopped you from leaving the car.

“I’ll grab your things. You stay here.”

“I can get my things just fine.”

“Your bag is heavy. Doctor’s orders. No strenuous activity. Stay here.”

You huffed and sat back in your seat as Hotch closed the door for you.

The plane ride was the same: silent. Hotch sat opposite you as if he refused to allow you to leave his sight. But he kept to himself all the same. The others rested or played their card games, but you stayed put, almost waiting for Hotch to make his next move. He didn’t speak the entire flight.

Upon your return, Hotch dismissed the rest of the team.

“Thank you for the hard work this weekend. Rest up, and I will see you all Monday.”

You all headed out to leave, but Hotch stopped you. “Let me take you home,” he said.

You sighed. “Is driving a strenuous task now?”

“It’s late, and I’m not asking,” he said, returning your attitude.

You followed him to his car. He carried both his and your bag and placed them in the backseat before joining you up front.

Again, not a word was spoken between the two of you. You felt your blood boiling beneath your skin. It was as if the trip never happened, as if the distance between you never closed. The babying was the worst of all. You were sure he was seeing you as the rest of the team did now, incapable, fragile, only a child.

Hotch walked you up to your apartment. He waited for you to open your door, placing your bag directly inside.

“Well,” you began, “I guess I’ll see you Monday.”

He stood in your doorway for a moment, something on his mind. “Are you sure you’re ok? Is there anything else you think you may need before I go?”

“Hotch, what is all this?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

You tried to maintain your sanity, but the anger had bubbled into your throat. “All this, this, this coddling! You’re treating me like I’m fragile or, or useless!”

“Do I have to remind you that you were in the hospital this morning?” Hotch asked, aggravation coating his throat.

“I don’t need this from you, too, ok? The rest of them, I can take it, but you were different! I thought you were different.”

Hotch closed the door behind him and crossed his arms. “What are you talking about?”

“Have you not noticed that all of them treat me like I’m a child? Derek literally calls me kiddo, and the girls act like I’m some innocent girl fresh out of high school. Reid and JJ are five years older than me. That’s it! Rossi, forget it. I’m like a grandchild to him at this point. But you, you never belittled me. So, what is this? Did I fail you? I’d rather you just tell me than refuse to speak to me.”

“I – you didn’t fail me. How could you think that?”

“You couldn’t even look at me after the hospital.”

Hotch’s face turned a light shade of pink, his eyes leaving yours for only a moment. “We were successful because of you. But you got hurt. I just want to make sure you’re ok. That’s all.”

You thought for a moment, still not satisfied with his answer. “Then why didn’t you talk to me? I thought we were—I thought maybe there was something—”

“Please,” Hotch interrupted, “don’t say anything you might regret.” He took a step back.

“Are you saying I’m imagining this? That I imagined this morning?”

“No, no, no. We’re not doing this.”

“The coffee, the book put away neatly,”

“I would do that for anyone.”

“What about when you stormed out yesterday? When we were going over the file on your bed.” Your voice started to shake.

“That’s when I—I realized we had to use you.” He looked down, almost ashamed.

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear that you’ve outed yourself and maybe you were more delusional than you thought.

“This morning…” you said.

“You asked for my help, and I helped you. Just like I’m happy to do for you now if you need. Look, it’s late, and you’ve gone through a lot.”

“Then what did Reid mean?”

Hotch looked back up at you. He looked nervous, something you may have never seen in his eyes before. “What do you mean?”

“He said imagine how you must have felt when you found me. What did he mean by that if it doesn’t mean you care about me?”

“Of course, I care about you!” he exclaimed, moving closer to you. “I almost lost you! And when I found you, I thought you were gone. You were lifeless. So, forgive me for wanting to be careful with you, because I refuse to let that happen again. I refuse to lose you again.”

You looked at him in shock.

He sighed. “I shouldn’t have said any of this. Listen, the only reason you’re feeling anything for me is because it’s me you woke up to. Nothing more. If Reid or Morgan found you, the same thing would happen with them.”

“Do not chalk this up to some damsel in distress situation,” you said a little too boldly. “The whole team knows I have a thing for you.”

Now Hotch was in shock. He shook his head. “It’s not me you want.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“I know you’re desperate for romance in your life because you either don’t make time for it in real life or were burned so bad in the past, that you gave it up entirely.”

“Hotch, don’t you dare profile me right now.”

“I know you have a rocky relationship with men in general, rooted in your relationship with your father.”

“Stop it, now.”

“You refuse to associate with him in any way. You don’t even allow us to call you by your last name. He views you differently from your sisters for some reason, and you hate him for it.”

“Hotch, I swear to god—”

“You mocked him for giving good advice, and you flinched when I brought up getting beers with him. He’s an alcoholic, isn’t he?”

“So, what, honestly? Literally who cares if he drinks? He gets mean, so what? What gives you the right to tell me what I can and cannot have?”

“But he’s not just mean, is he?”

The air in your lungs got caught in your throat.

“That’s it, isn’t it? That’s how he treats you differently.”

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice cold.

Hotch stepped closer, grabbing your shoulders with both hands. You shuddered in his grasp. “You don’t want me, ok? I can’t fix what you’ve gone through. I can’t even protect you at work. Do you know the guilt I feel for what happened to you? I’m the one who got you hurt. And now I have to live with that. What makes you think that I can be what you need if I can’t even keep you safe here?”

You closed what little space was left between you. You looked up at him, your face only inches from his. “Stop telling me what I want. I’m an adult. I can make my own choices. You’re not going to push me away like this.”

Hotch’s breath hitched in his throat. His chest heaved up and down, and his eyes darkened. “This is wrong. I’m your superior. This isn’t appropriate.”

“If you truly don’t want me, I’ll stop. We’ll go back to how things were. But you have to say you don’t want me.”

His grip on your shoulders strengthened, his touch burning into your skin. His now wild eyes scanned you as if he couldn’t have fathomed this happening. A lump formed in your throat as you waited for him to find the words. Instead, he pulled you flush against him and pressed his lips against yours. His kiss was raw and desperate, rougher than your healing jaw could take, but you couldn’t care less. He wrapped his arms around your back and gripped your hair as if it was instinctual. Your breathing hitched, causing you to moan into his mouth.

He pulled away, slightly out of breath. “I need you to tell me this is ok.”

“This is ok,” you said, breathless.

“Good,” Hotch said, “because I don’t want to stop.”

A smirk formed on your face. You grabbed a hold of his tie and pulled him closer to you. “Then I think you need to take this off.”

You dropped the tie and kissed him as he took his coat off. Your mouth wandered to his jaw. Hotch let out a groan.

“Your room. Now.”

His words sent chills down your spine. You took his hand and led him to your room. You turned around and watched Hotch remove his tie, sliding it through his collar. His eyes stayed on yours, his already dark eyes now almost black with desire. The moment his tie came off, he was back on you, kissing you like his life depended on it. His hands wandered to your ass and lifted you up, his lips never leaving your skin. You wrapped your legs around him as he carried you to your bed.

Hotch laid you down, now hovering over you. His lips drifted from yours down to your neck.

“Seeing you in this had me thinking horrible things,” Hotch confessed, slightly pulling on the quarter zip you were still wearing.

You blushed. “Really?” you asked, a smug smile growing on your face. “Is that why you were avoiding me?”

“Was it really that obvious?” Hotch asked, his large hands finding their way under your shirt.

You couldn’t even answer as his hands ventured up to your chest. His hands pulled a moan from your mouth.

“Take this off,” Hotch said as he pulled the hem of your shirt.

“You, first.”

Hotch’s eyebrows raised as if surprised by your reply. He sat up and unbuttoned his shirt. You practically drooled at the sight of him shirtless. You could only assume he was fit when he rolled up his sleeves or manhandled unsubs, but this was all the confirmation you needed.

“Your turn,” he said.

You did as you were told, revealing yourself to him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he sighed as he kissed your chest.

You fought off a moan. You couldn’t believe this was happening. This was only something you pictured in your wildest dreams, and here he was in the flesh.

“I wanted this for so long,” you found yourself saying out loud.

“Me, too,” he agreed. “You have no idea how much I thought about this.”

Your cheeks flushed red. He began leaving marks past your breasts, down your stomach to the hem of your shorts.

“Can I take these off?” Hotch asked.

You nodded.

“Use your words, honey.”

Your stomach did a flip hearing the phrase. “Yes, sir. Take them off.”

He all but growled in response. He pulled at your shorts, taking them off in a swift motion.

“So much for no strenuous activities,” you joked.

“I can be gentle,” Hotch said as he settled in between your legs. “Let me take care of you.”

Your head fell back onto your pillow. You knew you were in for it.

Hotch spread your legs apart, the stretch enough for you to arch into his touch.

A smirk graced his lips, and without another word, he licked into your core. His mouth against you was like a gift from God, something you had only hoped could feel so good. You couldn’t help but squirm against him, grabbing his hair to pull him closer, if at all possible. He placed a hand on your stomach to keep you still. You could feel him smile against you, turning you on even more.

“Hotch,” you breathed out. You were close faster than you had ever been.

“Say my name,” he said as he placed a finger inside you.

“A-Aaron,” you choked out, the new sensation too much to handle. He filled you with another finger, his hitting the spot your fingers never could.

“Fuck, Aaron, don’t stop. Please.” Your breathing quickened, and as he pumped his fingers in and out, you felt the coil in your stomach snap, expletives and his name leaving your lips. Hotch continued to pump you as you rode your high, a daze overtaking you.

When you caught your breath, you pulled Hotch back up for a kiss, your hands finding their way to his belt.

Hotch’s hands stopped yours. You looked up at him, confused.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

“I want this if you do. Do you?” you asked.

“I really do,” he said. “I need to feel you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. “Then please let me help you.”

He released your hands and kissed your forehead as you unbuckled his belt. The moment felt ironically wholesome until you pulled at his dress pants. You couldn’t help but gawk at his cock springing free. You were suddenly nervous, not quite sure it would fit after all this time practically revirginizing. If your jaw weren’t so sore, you’d have him in your mouth without a second thought.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he said as if he could hear your thoughts. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Hotch hovered over you and kissed your lips softly. You returned the kiss and nodded.

Hotch lined himself up with your entrance and carefully pushed in. He and you both groaned at the sensation, the stretch of him filling you something you hadn’t experienced in years.

“Jesus Christ. You’re so, this isn’t your first time, is it?”

“No, no,” you said, slightly embarrassed. “It’s just been a while. Just, just go slow, ok?”

Hotch nodded and started to move. He rested his forehead on yours, sighs and pants escaping both of your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Hotch asked.

You chuckled at his question. “We’re a little past that, aren’t we?”

Hotch smiled as he placed his lips on yours, much more tender than before. He moved a stray hair from your face and cupped your cheek with the utmost gentility. The urgency was gone, replaced by something deeper. Everything had culminated to this moment, and neither of you wanted to waste it.

Still, the need for more overtook you. “Aaron,” you said, your hips bucking up into his.

“What do you need? I need you to tell me.”

“Faster, please,” you said.

His pace quickened, one hand still around you. He used the other to stabilize himself, allowing you to view the tension in his muscles. You bit back a moan as the pressure inside you built.

“Don’t hold back,” Hotch said. “Let me hear you.”

He slammed into you, a smirk growing on his face as your breath caught in your throat.

“Just like that!” you blurted out.

He did just that, slamming into you again and again.

“Fuck. I don’t know how much longer I can last,” Hotch said, his voice almost shaking.

“I’m close, too. Please don’t stop,” you begged.

He pounded into you harder and faster, no longer a rhythm but a motive, a goal to achieve.

“Come for me, honey. I’ve got you. Just come for me.”

You clenched around him as you came, all but screaming his name. His pace didn’t let up as you rode your orgasm, your legs trembling around him.

“Oh, god. I’m gonna, where do I—”

“Chest!”

He pulled out and came on your chest, making the most attractive groans you had ever heard in your life. You watched in awe, absolute shock overtaking you. Never in your wildest dreams did you picture this. And for the love of god, you hoped this wasn’t the last time this happened.

Hotch crawled over you, still catching his breath, and captured your lips in a kiss.

“How are you feeling?” Hotch asked. “Is your head ok?”

“I’m good,” you said smiling at his return to his overprotective self. “I’m really good. I promise.”

Hotch rested his forehead on yours then kissed you, the tenderness returning.

“I like when you do that,” you said, your cheeks reddening.

“Me, too,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“You don’t have to help, if you don’t want to.”

“What, and miss showering with you?” Hotch smiled. “Just lead the way.”

In the shower, the two of you washed up, and you couldn’t knock the smile from your face if you tried, until you thought about showing up to work Monday morning.

“What are you thinking about?” Hotch asked.

“The team’s gonna know,” you said.

Hotch thought for a moment. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, well, I wouldn’t have done it in this order, but would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow evening?”

You blushed, despite the state you were both in. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Hotch smiled. “I’m asking you on a date, yes. I have to be honest, though, I’m out of practice.”

“If tonight was you out of practice, I think tomorrow will go just fine.”

Hotch laughed and kissed you again, something you hoped would never fade in your memory.

************

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@lizziedizzie3 @heavennleeee-blog @hunterswearingplaid @thisismysecrethappyplace @geekinator9 @ronnie248-blog @oliolioxiclean @phonegalhelp @because-you-never-know-when @roonyxx @keithseabrook27 @ericaprice2008 @heythereamigodude

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #bau team #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fluff

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hoseoksluna · 7 months ago

Text

TIME | knj

pairing: fiancé!namjoon x oc

genre: smut

word count: 13.0k

summary: namjoon makes your dream come true in a much better way than you ever wanted.

pinterest board: divine | playlist: time | taglist: join

warnings: basic relationship fears, oc is heartbroken in the beginning, fight, minor violence, oc has daddy issues (like the writer), namjoon and oc smoke (like the writer as well <3), family sickness, punishment, spanking, choking, hair pulling, a mention of throat fucking and squirting, namjoon has an obsession with oc's boobies, dirty talk, use of a blindfold during intercourse, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, raw sex, namjoon talks her through it, praise kink

note: i will cherish this work until the day i die. i will carry it in my heart and never, ever forget it. this might be my best piece and i don't think i'll ever write anything as good as this. i love namjoon with all my heart and i want to thank him for inspiring me to write this. if he weren't such an amazing person, such a dear person to me and if he never released cbtm, this work wouldn't be here and i wouldn't brim with so many warm emotions. i gotta tell you guys—while writing the smut, this was the first time i wasn't affected by it in a way that i normally am because i found so much beauty in their relationship. enjoy this, my loves. let me know what you think. i love you. <3

The orange light in the hotel room causes bile to rise in your throat. It exudes a zephyr of mockery, such profound air of scorn, and you feel it thumping upon its reflection on the bare skin of your arms. You want to pinch it—make it hurt somehow, cause it the same agony that’s poisoning your system through and through because in all truth, that’s all you’re left to do.

The Eiffel tower out beyond your window, blanketed in a soft layer of snow, has begun to twinkle. The perception of how long you’ve waited for your fiancé to come back that even such a monumental structure, your dream, has descended to its sleep full of blinding light beckons gooseflesh to mar your skin and it doesn’t go away. Not when your sight blurs, unfocuses, and the stars that have latched themselves to the tower enlarge into bulbs with softened edges, a myriad of bokeh that seem to have a slither of pity for you, lessening their grandness as the falling snow thickens. Not when both of your waterlines become rivulets of tears that heat your cold cheeks, despite the burning bushes of fury that incinerate your lungs.

Just one more hour and the twigs of flames will perforate the chambers of your heart and sweep it clean of any emotions, any feelings, any understanding for the man that took you to Paris and left you all alone in the hotel room he paid for. You thought he took you here to give you the experience of seeing something new as you’ve never been to Europe and you’ve shared with him on several occasions that it’s always been your dream to see the Eiffel tower. Especially at night when it glimmers with such pretty, pretty stars. But considering he brought you here under the pretense of doing business, you carry nothing but contempt for the strange iron structure. So much for dreaming, so much for putting trust in a man.

There will always be the other woman. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the form of a female, of alcohol, of ignorance. In this case, the mistress is Namjoon’s company and you should’ve known you’ll have her haunting your back for the rest of the trajectory of your secret relationship with him, with Mr. President.

You should’ve seen it coming the moment she created a realm for you to soften, privately, in and fall in love with him until your ears turned red, the petals of roses. A realm between an ordinary employee and her boss. Between the walls of unknowing people—the way he would lean in to hear you talk because in comparison to his large stature and broad proportions, made even more prominent by his short hair, you were a mere stone on the ground, an ametrine—split in half with a tendril of yellow—but a stone regardless, fearing the tip of his lacquered dress shoes stomping on you until you’re left crumbled in the dying grass, the jagged pieces of you consoled by the ruthless wind.

You were terribly afraid of him. Briefly, but ardently. A true personification of desire, whenever you had to look up into his eyes. Whenever a whiff of his oriental cologne tickled your nostrils. Whenever the allure of secrecy between you two heightened. All because he was a powerful man, on the cusp of saving you from the lowest of the dirt. Saving you and digging you back inside, left to your own decay.

Left to. That’s the wisp of tendency in your relationship. The wisp of force that drove you to give your yes to him. The wisp of the engagement ring encased around the fourth finger on your left hand. Left to—because you’d been single for so long and your mother pined after grandchildren and Namjoon was there, a knight in shining armor, dressed in suit and tie underneath, at the very age and position to settle down. Left to—because the special attention he gave you grazed your fear of him, gently, and helped it blossom into a bush of hyacinths growing in your lungs.

It’s how you found out you were in a severe destitute of a fatherly figure in your life.

Because Namjoon paid your bills. Put food on your mother’s table. In the form of a generous paycheck, overtime pay—even though you always clocked out at five, and odd bonuses that rose in monetary value the more he spent time with you. You’ve told him to stop, asked for fairness among his employees, even though nobody liked you there and would do quite the opposite if they ever happened to be in your shoes. But Namjoon never agreed to your offer. No, he stroked your hair and told you to save that money for your mother. And because you never heard that come out of man’s mouth, you nodded, meekly. Listened. The fear of him stroking the violet petals of hyacinths in you because as of now, he owned you. Owned your life. Owned the comfort of your mother.

All because you made the faux pas and took off your heels when you thought your presentation was done and nobody answered when you asked if anyone had any questions left. Except for that one employee who didn’t have, evidently, a sense of decency and suddenly remembered he had a groundbreaking question to ask you in regards to the matter of your presentation, when everyone else, including Namjoon, was gathering their possessions and rising to their feet.

He had noticed your nylon-clad feet, your swollen little toes, the way you rolled the ball of your foot on the carpet to alleviate yourself of the pain. And he changed the decades-old policy of dress code the next day. Forbade all women to wear high heels. Flat shoes only—loafers, ballet shoes. Incorporated bonuses that appeared in their bank accounts that very day, demanding an instant payment.

He paid for every woman’s shoes in his company, including you.

You never had to go through the torment of wearing heels again, no matter how pretty they seemed to you.

And then it was easy—languid and smooth, the innocent eye contact from across the room, the constant attention, the brushing of hands when walking past each other. And then you ran into him everywhere. He was always alone, which caused you to suspect he was single, so you smiled a little more and found it the easiest thing in the world, conversing with him about everything and nothing. Put a lot more care into the clothes you wore and the daily choice of your perfumes. Not forcing yourself and not being in control of it at the same time, something in the very middle. Something so natural that allowed you to turn your brain off for a moment and let yourself be led by your instincts.

Then, your mother got sick and you lost your smile. Spent all your free time with her, taking care of her and you never ran into Namjoon again.

Which is why he began to call you into his office behind the pretense that he needs something from you. And perhaps he did. He needed to be a friend for you. And you needed it just the same.

He helped you cope with the gravity of a burden regarding a sickly parent and you became his.

And you gave more of yourself to him with every fleeting touch, every secret invitation to his office in broad daylight when he had meetings to attend to but wanted to get to know you instead, get to know your dreams because he has the money and the power to make them come true. Tenderly, despite the potency, the violence of his instrument. And tenderly, he always treated you. Tenderly, he held you steady as you made it a regular thing between you and him to sit on his lap. Not straddling him, but sideways—like a little girl sitting on the lap of her father. Tenderly, he led you through new parts of your life with poetic advice and viewpoints, meeting you outside of work, intertwining his fingers with yours and reassuring you. And tenderly, he became the stable male figure you invariably needed and never knew you did.

And tenderness is what you need right now. In this shadowed hotel room, with only your arms to wrap around your torso and a ring on your left fourth finger, a ghost of his presence, ever so lingering, but not quite here. And you clutch at your dress, scrape your fingernails along the side of your ribs, etching the words that he said to your slowly awakening form in the late afternoon before he left.

“I won’t be long. I just have some business to attend to. I’ll be back in an hour.”

It has been more than an hour and you wonder if he’s going to miss the twinkling of the tower. It’s your first night here. You had dinner after you landed, napped, didn’t even walk around the poetry-woven city and Namjoon chose his work. You showered for him, wore the long black dress you saved up the little of your last two paychecks for and he’s not here to see it.

You feel so betrayed. He found work in your spare time, the time saved only for you both, the time that should’ve been saved for the romance part of your relationship. All he knows is work and so do you—as the entirety of your hours spent together have been solely work-related. This vacation should have been anything but.

You sigh, hand ready at the zipper at the back of your dress. Once he comes home, he’ll be tired. Too tired to take a walk and immerse himself in the European beauty, so you should save this dress for a better occasion, one which he’s present for. Whenever that is. If that ever comes, at all.

The squeak of the zipper going down is interrupted when you hear the lock make a sing-song melody, a signal that someone is coming in. Your breath quivers. A twist of events you didn’t expect, but you don’t get your hopes up. You know your fiancé well enough not to expect him to be full of life and elation after a work meeting. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but you let it slide past every time, aware that if he didn’t work so hard, your mother wouldn’t have the comfort she has. And neither would you.

That doesn’t mean you’ll let it slide past this time. Not when he reserved his special time for you, for you both.

Namjoon emerges out of the soft-toned yellow hall with a hand behind his back. You rise from the bed, facing him. Notice his sagged, broad shoulders, the sweat that lines his forehead and the narrow thin line that his lips are pursed in. A petulant, gray aura swathes him, despite the vibrancy of the colors of the hotel room and when he comes in, it’s almost like he absorbs them. His brows quirk at the sight of you, nearly relieved to see you dressed and waiting for him, but that expression falters once he takes in the mirror of you. The same wrinkle on your forehead stamps itself onto his and the sag of his coat-clad shoulders deepens. He stops at the edge of the bed, in front of you. Remains silent. And when you give him a few more seconds to speak and he doesn’t, your fists clench at your sides, against the linen puffiness of your dress.

“An hour, huh?”

He sighs and lowers his gaze. But not onto the ground. No, he lowers it onto your dress, swallowing dryly at the accentuation of your waist and the bunched up fabric at the hips cascading down, clothing you in the prosaic night of Paris, not the poetic, not the lively. He missed it.

“You look so beautiful in this dress,” Namjoon comments and you scoff. If that’s his way of apologizing for leaving you for almost four hours, you don’t really understand it. It merely adds fuel to the flames of the indignation underneath that fucking dress.

“Do you know what time it is?” you bite, your fingers instinctively grabbing onto the fabric of your garment for some kind of stability as your blood boils. Abruptly, his eyes flick to the window and when you follow his gaze, you discover the tower dressed similarly as you. Shrouded, entirely, in the night, clouds drifting past in place of the twinkles. Your blood is scorching hot and even though you didn’t expect him to take you to it, your stomach still drops at the disappointment that you missed the thing you looked forward to for weeks, knowing it won’t be the same tomorrow or the day after that. Your eyes prick with tears and you hate them. Don’t want to cry. Don’t want to be a spoiled brat, in fact. Not when you grew up the way you did—dreamless, poor and independent. But you can’t stop the words from rushing out. “I can see you wearing that watch that costs more than the house I grew up in and I know your habit of checking the time often, so tell me. Why didn’t you text me? Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Why did you bring me here in the first place if you knew you had business?”

Mouth ends rounding ever so slightly, at last he shows what he’s been hiding behind his back. A bouquet of fresh, violet chrysanthemums and baby’s breath of the same muted tones. A symbol of thoughtfulness and care. The oxymoron makes you seethe and you grit your teeth.

“I ran around the city trying to find one flower shop that was still open. I bought the first flowers that reminded me of you.” He pushes them your way, trying to get you to take them and you do, the wrapper rustling as your hands touch and electricity zaps you. Damn it. “Purple, your favorite color.”

The audacity this man has, walking over that one word of apology, avoiding it. He takes your anger to another level and the fact that it seems to be endless makes you even angrier. Enough to want to hit him with the flowers.

And you do.

The flowers hover in the air in slow motion before their petals scatter around his troubled shoulders and the ruffled bed, where you sat so restlessly. Namjoon raises his arms in defense and you don’t stop, not until he grabs your arms and stills you.

He calls you by your name, his hold on you deathly, and he shakes you, just once, in effort to bring some sense into you. “Calm down.”

The stems from the chrysanthemums lay crooked on the floor between your bare feet and his black dress shoes. Ruined, devastated. Just like your dream. Some snapped in half, never to be whole again. Just like your heart.

“You think some flowers are gonna bring my dream back, huh?” you snap, raising your voice, quivering in his grasp. You push at his chest, trying to get out of his clutches, but to no avail. You remain firm and unmoving in his hold. He doesn’t even budge. And once again you feel like a stone—an amethyst this time. Bigger, stronger, yet it still pales in comparison to the mountain that Namjoon is. You give very little fuck about that, however. “You knew it was my dream to see the Eiffel Tower at night. You brought me here knowing that, so I’m asking you once again why. Why did you bring me here when you knew you weren’t gonna make that dream come true for me?”

He sucks in a breath and it looks as though he’s hanging by the edge of his composure. A thick vein bulges on his forehead and he clenches his jaw, his mouth a small button on his face. Anger. A mirror of you. But it’s not directed towards you—not at all.

Namjoon withdraws and steps away, taking off his coat and his jacket, slinging his outerwear onto the edge of the bed. And as you simmer in the middle of the tense silence, he casually rolls his sleeves upwards, focusing his gaze, momentarily, on the action before he bores it into yours. The other sleeve gets the same treatment meanwhile he keeps the boiling temperature of your fury at a fixed degree with that stare. You want to boil over and so does he, but he doesn’t let that happen.

The tiniest wisp of lust curls in your bloodstream, steamed by the heat, creating something dangerous. Oh, he’s playing with fire and he shouldn’t.

All forest fires end catastrophically. The ruined flowers are enough proof of that, and yet it’s just the beginning.

Namjoon loosens his tie a little bit, tipping his chin, and you can’t help but to ogle the slender material, his long fingers as they hook over the knot and pull it down. They way he’s asserting his dominance—the way he’s making you wait, making you tremble all fucking over by the silence and the slowness of his motions, by his stance and the clenched jaw. You hate the way it’s working; hate, with all your crumbling, stony being the pressure of your craving to get on your knees.

Your tremor causes your fallen strap to tickle your arm and it snaps you out of the indecent daze, head swiveling to it, hand fixing it right away. You tug your dress down so it doesn’t slip down again, your plunging sweetheart neckline exposing your full breasts.

“Why don’t you ask me what the business was about?” Namjoon challenges and it causes your head to swivel back to him, facing him. He’s sunk his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants, anticipation and tension hanging heavily in the stuffed air.

You raise your brows. Fuck if you care about it. “Do I look like I give a fuck? I don’t wanna hear it.”

Namjoon drops his gaze onto the ground, the clench of his jaw tightening enough that a dimple appears on the side of his cheek. For some reason you can’t really explain it aches and you don’t want to look at him anymore. You edge around him, the soles of your feet stepping on the violet petals and when you’re side by side, he stops you with one hand.

“You’re gonna want to hear this,” he murmurs, his hold on you softening once your movement is halted.

You roll your eyes, untangling your arm from it. “Too bad I don’t.”

Namjoon sighs, deeply. “I’m telling you this one last time. You’re gonna sit on this fucking bed like the nice girl I know you are and you’re gonna listen to me.”

A pulse sneaks to your sensitive parts and you furrow your brows, not liking the words he chose, not liking the way they made you feel. A half of you is torn, though. A half of you forces your body to do as he says, liking it very much. Too fucking much. “You don’t get to talk to me like this. It’s unfair.”

“Sit.”

That half of you wins. That easily.

You sit on the bed and cross your leg over the knee, obnoxiously dangling your shin back and forth. The hem of your dress flutters, gains momentum when Namjoon opens the balcony door, letting the winter air in. Then, he moves over to stand a foot away from you, the stems crunching beneath his feet, his hand fishing out his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out, popping it into his mouth. Yellow, almost brownish butt. Golden Marlboros. Typical.

Your own parts in dismay. “You’re gonna set the fire alarm off.”

“You’re gonna get rained on, then. Look pretty in that soaking dress with the petals and all.” He lights up his addiction and the flow of your fire changes its course. Burns differently now. Burns lustfully. “You think I didn’t tell them to turn it off when we arrived? You were too sleepy. Barely knew where we were.”

Flying while drifting through dreamland does that to you. Why it is a surprise to you that Mr. President made such a demand is beyond you. What’s more, it annoys you. His power, his influence. While it once sparked fear, you’re glad it’s lukewarm to you now.

Sucking deeply, he puffs out the smoke, its tendrils curling around his eyes that he narrows to protect them from the sting. Your fingers, instinctively, play with your engagement ring. You’ve always loved the way he smoked. Especially in his office. Especially the way it never smelled. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness perpetually mesmerized you. You wonder where it’s gone at the cusp of the realization of your dream.

“I fought tooth and nail to get a deal. To make a connection. For you.”

You scowl at him, pull your wandering fingers away from your engagement ring. What the fuck does he mean by that?

“For me?”

“Yes, for you. For your mother.”

You grip the edge of the mattress at the mention of your mother, left behind on her sick bed while you’re fussy about your mindless dream. A jolt of guilt runs down your body and your scowl smoothens. You don’t think the madness disappears from your eyes. Not entirely.

“I risked having some very powerful people knowing about us because I wanted you to have a stable place here. There’s a five star hotel that has shares in Korea. I wanted to become their partner. Get you in there. Get you another source of income. Get you a house here. For your mother. For our children. Have you commute here whenever you’d like,” Namjoon breathes out, moving his busy hand with each word, the smoke clouding the air. He takes a drag, holding the cigarette. “Come to think of it, you’d get to see this.” He points behind himself at the Eiffel Tower with his thumb. “For a week straight if you’d like. Splurge on dresses, shoes and croissants and whatnot. Have not one care in the world. You make the call and we fly.”

From Korea to Paris. Whenever you’d like. Namjoon is the CEO of a five star hotel he built with his own hands. You’re the marketing manager, but you oversee almost everything you find time for. From banquets to room beddings, only because you enjoy it. It’s the main reason why you’re so disliked. You’re favored. And if there’s conflict of interest, there’s only one person who wins in the eyes and the final say of the CEO.

Namjoon’s hidden thoughtfulness opens in the shadows of the room and you’re stupefied.

He wanted to partner with another five star hotel in Paris.

For you. For your mother. For your future. For your comfort.

For your dream.

For your children.

Your mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

How would you possibly handle having your job times two? You already have enough on your plate. Have wished, multiple times, that there was more of you cloned, who could do each job that you have to do each day. Doing that twice would be difficult, agonizingly so, but knowing your own work ethic, you’d make it manageable. You’d make do. Not for yourself, per say—but for your mother and your future children.

Your heart constricts. Constricts so tightly that you let out a pained breath, overcome by his plan for the future, by the actions he’s willing to do for it. By the very raw fact that he spent three hours trying to make that happen—make that come true for you.

“Namjoon, I—”

“They said no, though. No matter how hard I pushed, no matter what I was willing to risk, to sacrifice. They said no. So I made a quick phone call and forbade them from ever entering our hotel.”

Our hotel.

You almost sob, touched by him, but a gust of the icy breath of winter seizes you and you visibly shudder. Namjoon takes a last drag of his addiction and, putting it out on the ashtray on the confined balcony, he closes its door. But the freshness grazes you still, grazes you with the allure of this too-good-to-be-true fantasy and while it feels nice momentarily—the futile, brand new dream—you settle on the contentment that it will never come true.

And that’s okay. You were brought up having nothing. Having someone like Namjoon intertwined with your future doesn’t change it. You don’t need to have everything. It’s enough that you’re in Paris just for the prolonged weekend, even though you didn’t get to see the sparkling Eiffel Tower up close on your first night here. That was the only dream you ever had and you can die peacefully now. Knowing the reason behind his late arrival, it doesn’t disappoint you anymore that your dream was altered. As a matter of fact, you don’t consider it ruined any longer. Not when Namjoon tried his hardest to create a beautiful future for you and your closest. You regret being mad at him, regret hitting him with the flowers and you brim with the wish to gather them, fix them, and put the little what’s left of them in a vase. Cherish them like he cherishes you. Cherish him.

Namjoon crouches at your feet, cradling your ankle. “Your mom would’ve had a house right next to ours. Our kids would visit her everyday and vice versa. The air would’ve done her good here. The change of scenery. It would’ve prolonged her life. She’d be happy.”

You nod, believing him, your heart untouched by the weakening fire, tender, squeezing. A mist of liquid emotion pools at your eyes. “You spent three hours trying to make that become a reality.”

It’s not a question, but rather an expression of your procession of his goodness. Of his selflessness. And all over again, you’re reminded of the way you grew close in your relation because of your poor mother, of the way you bonded. And in place of the fire, it’s love that blooms those hyacinths in your lungs back to life.

Your mother would’ve loved Paris. Because you know how much she loved listening to you talk about your dream when she was healthy and you were a young schoolgirl, you’re certain she would’ve fallen in love with the stark difference that lines these history-wrought streets.

Namjoon focuses his gaze on your bare foot, fondling his thumbs over your silky skin. Your declaration of his actions loosened the heft on his shoulders and he relaxes, leaning his temple against your knee, fleetingly. When he speaks, he looks up at you. A certain light, covered in pity, flickers in his eyes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just took that long and I had no idea. And when I checked the time once it was over, I googled when they turn off the lights. Knew I had some time to spare, so to fix my mistake for taking so long, I ran through these streets, trying to make it up to you. I thought I’d make it in time, but you let out your frustration on me, which is understandable. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.”

The coolness of the growing flower buds in you fills you with such gentleness that it’s not relief that you feel upon hearing his explanation and apology. It’s love. A profound, sinking capacity of love for the man beneath you taking on the likeness of the stone that certain energies and events of life invariably minimalized you into.

He’s the stone and you’re the mountain.

And when you bolster his face in your hands, Namjoon releases a breath at the touch and you find that relief streaming in him, seeping color back into his cheeks. You’ll paint them redder. Feel obligated to do so.

“I’m sorry for hitting you. You left me alone for so long and I had so many bad thoughts,” you say, internally cringing at your neediness and you would regret uttering your admission had he not rubbed your legs in such a reassuring manner that it revitalizes your body, guiding briskness into your veins.

“I’m sorry that I missed it,” Namjoon says, subduedly, his hands warm like the fire that burned in you, giving you back your heat that you’re lacking. He kisses the top of your knee and your breath is but a vine of poison ivy inside your throat. Such tenderness, such healing gentleness, such pity that permeates your skin. He truly is regretful that he messed up and you want to weep. He doesn’t have to be, not anymore. “What kinda bad thoughts?”

You feel your heart rotate on its axis and you stifle back your tears, taking a deep breath to be able to talk. “I thought you chose work over me. Thought your business had nothing to do with me. Thought you left me here all alone for selfish reasons.”

Namjoon coos, a softened emotion screwing his face—eyes enlarging and a slight pout forming on his face. A leeway for your tears to spurt onto your cheeks, unabashedly, with nothing holding them back any longer. He cups your face, like you did, and he sweeps back that rivulet with his thumb. “I didn’t, baby. I didn’t. And I’m here. I’m here with you.”

You nod and it’s all that you’re left to do because it’s the truth. He’s here. He’s come back. And he’s sorrowful that he let those thoughts plague your brain with such a small mistake.

“Don’t go anywhere again,” you beg, hushedly, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry you worked so hard for nothing.”

It’s the last straw for Namjoon because he straightens his form, guides you to stand up and he sets you down on his lap, pushing your legs onto the bed—holding you as if he were holding a child.

And that’s precisely what you need at the moment.

“It’s not over. Pick a place and we’ll go there. Start over. With you present this time. What are you dreaming of these days?”

Your heart swells. Nothing has been flooding your dreamland as much as Paris was. Even that seemed unrealistic, let alone a much different place. It overcomes you and, peculiarly, stops you from crying. You feel like a spoiled girl getting what she wanted after she had a meltdown and, internally, you blame Namjoon for it. He spoils you. Exudes such overtones of fatherliness that makes a way for it to happen. Most naturally.

“Paris has always been my dream. No other city,” you say and Namjoon clicks his tongue. A smile widens your mouth, liking the way he senses your custom of modesty, liking the way he dislikes it. You laugh, softly, through your nose. “I’ll think of something.”

“That’s my nice girl.”

Taken aback, you clutch the side of his neck. Namjoon is bathed in the orange light and it no longer causes bile to lodge in your esophagus. No, it sparks up something else. Something very rapid, spreading throughout your body. The energy shifts and it’s you who clicks their tongue. “What did I tell you about talking to me like that?”

You move your hand to the middle of his throat, tightening your hold around his Adam’s apple, tipping his chin. Namjoon grins, hums, wraps his fingers around your wrist.

“What did I tell you about choking me, hm?”

A flashback flickers across your vision. One of the last time you were intimate in bed and he was rocking your shit in missionary, using your throat as a leverage. You mirrored him, as you usually do in these endeavors, and choked the air out of him, making him come prematurely. Namjoon scolded you until your ears turned red and refused to make you come. You had to bring yourself over that edge and you managed to squirt your love and your enjoyment of fucking with him all over his body. Namjoon made sure to feed you your elated essence, but he also made it very hard for you to swallow, telling you to hold it as he drilled your throat, making it trickle down the corners of your mouth.

The memory effortlessly brings back the pulse in your sensitive parts and you begin to crave the repetition of that filthy rendezvous. Badly.

And so you squeeze his throat.

Namjoon squeaks your name. You laugh, ferally.

That is until he pins you down. Hand on your throat this time, the other holding down both of your wrist, the petals sticking to the silk of his pants-clad knees on either side of you. You didn’t even catch the movement as he did it, his strength overbearing and so incomparable to yours. But you don’t feel like the amethyst. No, you feel like a mountain connected to another, to him. Two peaks staring at each other, grinning, your laughter unfaltering, even though it’s you who’s squeaking now.

Elated, giddy, aroused, equal, your tears sunk deeply within your skin, giving life to your rhapsody, giving it the body it needs in order to come out.

You love it when he’s like this. And you love that he’s come back to you.

Of course you have the means to prolong it, to tease it out of him.

“I don’t really care when it turns me on this much,” you rasp, your smile glinting in the dimmed light, arching your back until your chest kisses his. Just once. “When it turns you on this much.”

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. The corners of your mouth widen, all over again.

You can’t help it.

Namjoon cocks a brow, his mouth ends following the same directions, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. “Oh, so you don’t need to be reminded?” He mimics your intonation, angling his head.

You shake yours, eyes dipping to his clefts, teeth instinctively finding your bottom lip, biting down. You feel the heaviness of his stare and it urges you to bite down harder, the tension quickening your blood circulation. And it isn’t until you meet his adoring gaze that it stops, for a mere second, scattering tingles down every vein. And Namjoon resumes the flow by pressing a chaste kiss down onto your lips, lingering there.

“I know you’re a nice girl and that you didn’t mean it, but I have to spank you for it, anyway. Do you understand?” He whispers against those pillows, each movement of his mouth brushing against yours, making you needy for more.

You make a face. “But I did mean it. Meant it with everything in me.”

Namjoon laughs, endearingly. “No, you didn’t, baby. Not when you know what I’m capable of doing to you. Or not doing to you.”

You smirk, catching onto his game. He’ll disagree until you grow so frustrated that you burst, disobeying him to the point that he has to tame you. He wants to get you to the lowest point, because the lower you dig, the bigger treasure you find—the more you stimulate the brain, the chemistry, the bigger the pleasure. Namjoon is an intelligent man; knows what the fuck he’s doing and you’re so transfixed by it that you’ll let yourself be led into his little trap that he watches over. Just to please him because ultimately, you’ll be pleased beyond measure.

You tip your chin and trace his lips with your own. “No, I did, because I love how whiny you get. Makes me wanna bruise my knees for you, take all of you down my throat until it hurts to speak.”

Namjoon is so awestruck by your words that his mouth parts as he gawks down at you and he moans. There it is. That’s precisely what you wanted.

“You know,” he starts, pausing to swallow. “I had different plans with you in terms of this. Good fucking plans. But you just ruined them.”

The precipice of what that could be hangs over your clavicles and suddenly you brim with the need to know what it was. What his smart, business brain came up with. And not only that—you want it to happen, your curiosity piqued, blaming the choice of words he used, the work-tinged colors he splattered them with.

“What plans?”

He straightens, setting your hands free. “Take off your dress.”

You’re taken aback. “Namjoon.” You stress his name. “What plans?”

“No, I’m not telling you. You’re gonna take off this dress and you’re gonna take what I give you.”

You frown. Your curiosity won’t let up. “Namjoon, please.”

The pretty word curls his mouth. Perhaps, you’ve softened his stubbornness. You surely hope so, but to no avail.

He gets on his feet and swivels you onto your stomach, fingers finding your zipper and dragging it down. Being manhandled like this causes butterflies to swarm not just in your tummy, but over your arms and legs as well, fluttering all over, making your head spin and again, you can’t help the smile blossoming. In the middle of winter, spring opens in you at the touch of his dominance.

Spreading his hands over your back, sinking his warmth beneath the skin, he leans in, mouth at your ear. “What word do you use when you say please?”

You know what he wants you to say, but, peculiarly, you’re in such a good mood that you crave to disobey. Just for the fun of it. Just for the pain of it.

“Pretty please?” you chirp, pursing your lips to hide the slyness of your smile. Delighted, excited.

Namjoon pulls your hair, causing your head to tip, harshly, pain shooting up your scalp. Your tongue runs over your bottom lip, moaning almost soundlessly, only to realize that he can see you. Your pleasure wasn’t private. Not at all. Never is when he’s involved.

You flick your eyes up at him, meeting his darkened stare, and you flutter your lashes at him, playing the stupid girl when you’re well educated by him in reality.

Maybe you do need to be reminded, after all. Again, for the fun of it. For the pain of it.

To distract him from his failure. Help him forget. You know how it gets to him. Deem he deserves it; deem it’s a duty of your fiancée privileges.

“Pretty please is an addition. Something to help me have a sliver of pity for you. You seem to have forgotten who I am to you.”

Oh, he’s a myriad of things.

Mountain. Stability. Dependability. A most grand picture of beauty. Of intelligence. The sun and the moon, his brain cells the planets in the universe. The second heart you’ve grown over the trajectory of your relationship. The pulse of your emotions, especially the one between your legs.

He’s everything in your life while you remain your own person.

And only Namjoon would have achieved something like that.

“No, I haven’t. You’re my husband,” you say, allure dripping in your tone, wiggling your hips, causing the fabric of your dress to ripple over your bum.

Namjoon coos, quite pleased with the title, and he pats your behind before he grabs you by your waist and pulls you to your feet—flush against his body and the rock solid situation in his pants. You sway your hips, the gasp that slips out of your mouth goes almost unnoticed by you as you’re entirely focused on his hardness. You look down to follow the movement of his hands like a cat. They drift upwards—from your ribs, over the swell of your breasts until his long fingers reach the straps of your dress and drag them down, exposing you, exposing your arousal evident on your stiffened nipples. You could blame the cool temperature hanging in the room for it, but both of you know that would be a lie. A fat lie that your husband doesn’t deserve, not when he’s so dominant, so strict and so fucking provocative, spreading tendrils of heated life in you with each subtle touch.

Subtle? Oh, Namjoon gropes your tits, rolling your nubs between his slender fingers, softly moaning behind you. And then he pinches them, coaxing your squeaks out and you feel that familiar, wet warmth pooling in your core, mingling with the throbbing sensation that intoxicates you. Enough for you to clasp your hands over his and tighten his hold, squirming against him, loving—loving terribly the sparks of pleasure coursing down your figure. Loving the feeling of dampness against your panties that’s nothing but evidence of the way your body savors his special attention.

“Husband, that’s right. Your fucking husband,” Namjoon murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, causing your head to knock back against his chest and make space for him, inviting him to continue—and he does. Places tiny little kisses down to your shoulder, where he licks the skin before he sucks it into his mouth. “But there’s something else you call me when I treat you this good. What is it? Think.”

Those kisses and his command for the wheels in your mind to quicken alone make you give in, make you submit to his craving to call you by that filthy, rightful title. Even more so when he pinches your nipples again. You whine, feeling your neediness for more taking greater highs in your system, feeling your own body yearning to scream out that name.

“Daddy,” you cry out, desperately, awfully. How well it fits him, how well he deserves to be called by something like that—how gratified you sense your body to be right now. No poetic string of verses could ever manage to do it justice.

Namjoon hums, his pleasure deepening. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. I love it when you use that brain of yours.”

You blush. A tableau unseen by Namjoon yet, for he busies himself with undressing you. Your garment gets plopped onto the mattress, your underwear along with it. A silky strip that hardly covers anything. You’re bare while he remains fully dressed and something about that turns you wild. The silkiness of his slacks, the cotton of his white shirt against your skin—such softness, such balminess, such caress for the undomesticated freedom that you profoundly feel within. You sigh at the sensation, your lingering curiosity bubbling in you, slowly rising to the tip of your tongue.

“Will you tell me now? What you planned?”

Namjoon chuckles, humorlessly. “You think you’ve earned it? No, baby.” He runs his hand down your ribs and your tummy, halting at your mound. His middle finger can nearly reach your swollenness and you quiver in response. “You’ve got spanks to take first. Maybe then I’ll tell you.”

You whine, softly, and Namjoon grabs your chin and turns your head so you can look at him. A mad, mad smile adorns his shadowed, taut face and you realize there’s pent-up frustration still swirling in him. One you will do anything to help him steam off.

Anything.

Anything for your husband.

And so, by your own whim, you lay down onto the bed, anticipating the pleasure of pain. Namjoon lets out a sound of approval and you sense the vibrations of his nearness as he props a knee on the bedding, flattening down a violet petal. He fixes your position, lifts your bum in the air, and he kisses your bare cheek with all the world’s affection, sucking the skin, nibbling on it before smoothing the pain with a swipe of his tongue.

“You’re my nice girl, aren’t you?” Namjoon questions and you nod, but that’s not good enough of an answer for him. He spanks you, harshly, coaxing a hiss out of you before the pleasure draws in and you let out a breath, turning your head, so you can have a perfect view of him. Namjoon gives you another chance to fix your mistake. “Aren’t you?”

Licking your lips, you make it your focal point to be good for him. “I’m your nice girl.”

Humming, he caresses your back to praise you. Spanks you with the same tenderness, rubbing the flesh to alleviate the faint sting. The love you carry for him grows with each brush of his calloused hand and you stifle back your needy sounds, your little whines and sobs of a small girl very seldom loved by an even smaller number of male figures in her life.

Most strangely, it heightens the experience.

“You’re my wife, aren’t you?” Namjoon purrs, his fingers sneaking to the place that yearns for him more than anywhere else, finding you bedewed, dripping as he rubs your folds—just touching you there without giving you any friction.

The touch is so nice that you can’t help but mewl most happily.

“Yes, I’m your wife, Daddy.”

Namjoon moans, the pads of his fingers sneaking over to your clit and stroking it. You arch your back, your noises rising in volume��the wetness, the pleasure in tandem. Your body begins to shudder in reaction, mimicking his motions, the pressure coiling in the lowest of your tummy.

“Good, good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re my good little wife, but you were bad, weren’t you? You were a bad little wife?”

He quickens his speed, testing your focus and your mind spins again as the pressure deepens. From his words, from the very gravity of the title ‘wife’, from the very pleasure stemming from the principle of being bad, and you stutter a few times before you’re able to get out the full sentence in a perfect flow.

“I was your bad little wife.”

Namjoon growls, liking it just the same. “And what did you do?”

He slows down, stalling your climax, keeping you halfway from the edge, right where he wants—the pressure of his touch light and gentle. Letting you work your brain.

You smile up at him, from the clouds of shadows and petals you’re surrounded by. Namjoon deepens the eye contact, returning the smile. Your heart thuds in your chest.

“I choked you.”

Clefts of dimples—you, yourself, choke out a breath. Another one, too, when Namjoon spanks you hard, his fingers wet and sticky on your skin, the pain tingling all over your body, beckoning out more of your slick for him.

“That’s right, you choked me, even though I punished you for it quite severely the last time,” he rasps and spanks you again, again and again. You hiss and flatten your lips to stifle it back, grasping the bed sheets to overcome that burn—and overcome your craving for more.

You’re at a crossroad. You find yourself wanting to be bad in order to get spanked again, but at the same time you want to be good, so he tells you what he planned for you. Your fucked out brain can’t decide which side is better, but when Namjoon spanks you again—he reminds you that it doesn’t matter at all. You’re getting punished either way while the goal is to tell you.

Such a good, intelligent husband. And you tell him.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper, your knuckles white as you’re grasping the sheets with all your might. “I’m sorry for being bad. I’m sorry for choking you, but I love it when you spank me.”

Namjoon chuckles, warmly, spanking your clit once in affection, drawing out your squeaks.

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. All over again.

Close to your ear now, he kisses your cheek, his body heat enveloping you in an embrace. “My naughty little wifey loves it when Daddy punishes her. Loves to do the bad things Daddy doesn’t like just so he spanks her. That’s it, isn’t it?”

You moan out, puckering your lips against the sheets and Namjoon half-kisses your pout, humming against you. He lifts you up onto your knees with your torso upright and he cradles your face. Waits for your answer.

You’re more than happy to douse yourself in that truth.

“Yeah, I love it. I love being bad for you.”

He descends one hand to your bum while the other wraps around your waist and pulls you flush to the hardness of his body. And as he expresses to you how much he liked your words with guttural moans, he spanks you. Again and again, your head tipped back, eyes wandering in the darkened maze of his, where you lose count of how many you’ve taken.

“But you do realize that’s a big no-no, don’t you?”

You nod. “I do, Daddy.”

A hum. “Will you do it again?”

You whisk your irises up, thinking about it while already knowing the answer in your heart. “Probably.”

Namjoon laughs and kisses you, feverishly. Moves his mouth against yours, parts it, so he can slip his tongue inside. Plays a game of chase while both of your noises and his interlock and create a music that echoes around the hotel room. He adds a high-pitched tone into the song, yours, as he spanks you again, playfully this time, grabbing the flesh of your bum with both of his hands now, kneading it, drawing it closer until you feel his aroused length against your tummy.

Moans, squeaks, skin slapping and lip smacking. A song of beauty that will resonate within your body, mind and soul for days to come.

And another thing.

“God, I love you so much,” Namjoon whispers, bringing his hands to your ribs until his thumbs brush across your nipples.

That, too, will ring in your veins.

You melt. Become nothing but liquid devotion in his hands. And as he begins to focus on your neck, you roll your eyes back and resound your love back to him.

“I love you, Namjoon.”

He sighs against your collarbone, mutedly. “You love me?”

You sink your fingers into his short hair, kissing his temple. “I love you so fucking much.”

When he emerges with puffy, reddened lips, you can see it on his face that he did it again. Made you say the words he wanted to hear. And so you say it again, again and again. Each time with more intensity, with more verve, embedding it into his lips, his cheeks, jawline, his chin and his neck. All skin you can reach until you stumble upon the cotton of his shirt, at which you frown.

“Take this off. Now.”

And he listens. Loosens his tie, places it upon the petals on the bedding. Begins to unbutton his shirt. All while staring you down. And all you can do is watch him in awe, licking your lips, hungry for him, hungry for the intelligent plan he’s keeping from you.

Once he bends at the waist to get his arms out of the sleeves, you press on the matter.

“Tell me,” you say, softly, despite the tension of your curiosity. “Tell me what you planned.”

Namjoon tilts his head and light flickers across his eyes, fires of stars—the ones that twinkled on the Eiffel Tower before his arrival. You spent your entire life dreaming about seeing it when it stands right in front of you, half naked. Has been standing before your eyes for years.

Your mouth parts at the tenderness of it all and emotion bubbles within you.

Sizzles, ferociously, when Namjoon reveals his secret.

“Speeding down the road to this hotel, I saw it before my eyes. What I was going to do to you,” he starts, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off the loops. Your heart thumps, violently, against your ribcage, longing to jump onto his big palms. He pauses his motions to concentrate on his words. “I was going to apologize. Tell you what happened. And then I was going to make it up to you. Undress you, keep only the shoes on you were going to wear.” He looks over to the side, where your black YSL heels have been waiting for hours to be worn. Before he even asks if those were the ones, you nod your head and Namjoon fetches them and puts them on your feet. “I was going to have these digging into my back while I ate you out. While I would transfer us to the park before the Eiffel Tower with my words.” Securing the straps, he straightens, knees on either side of yours, and grabs his tie, smoothing it out with his thumbs. “I was going to blindfold you. Make you imagine you were there with me. No one else but us. On a blanket. Describe to you in great detail what we were doing as I’d be balls deep in you. Here but there at the same time.”

Your throat dries as you take in his words and there’s only a few words you’re capable of saying. Your eyes flick to the tie, then back up to his dark chocolate irises, wet with a glint of deep arousal, one that you feel pulsing in you just as well. You hook your arms on his hips and nod at the slender fabric in his grasp.

A man of the world’s intelligence. How attractive, how alluring. Your shadowed cloud swathes you tighter and you spill with the need to be fucked. Fucked with that smartness. That capability. All wrapped around that big cock of his.

You need it. Won’t live if he doesn’t ruin you with it.

“Do it,” you choke out, swallowing with great difficulty. “Please.”

Fingers curling around his belt loops, it doesn’t go unnoticed the way his manhood twitches in the tight confines of his slacks and the sound you let out at the sight would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so endeared by it, caressing your face with his thumb, lifting it so you pay attention to what he wants to say to you.

“Are you comfortable with me blindfolding you? We’ve never done that before.”

Even though your trust wavered merely an hour ago, it happened so it would get strengthened at this very moment. You don’t detect any no’s echoing within you, any worries or fears, anything that would cause you to stand in the way of this endeavor unfolding. It excites you, the newness, the principle of placing not just your trust, but your control, your senses and your safety in his hands. Allowing him to proceed with his would solely mean that you deepen what you already practice in your sex life, take it to another level. And these things are of great importance to Namjoon. He never disappointed you—never failed, never missed.

He takes care of you. Through and through. From the beginning to the end. Until you close your eyes, only to take it from the top the following morning.

Your trust in terms of that could never waver. It’s impossible. It’s so strong, so held steadily that it would never come across your mind, even.

And so you give him your consent.

“Yes, I am. I’m excited to do this. I want this.”

Namjoon strokes your hair, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. “All right, my love, but remember that we can stop anytime. I’ll take it off as soon as you say the word. Tell me you understand.”

And along with your consent, you give him a big smile. “I understand, baby.”

He kisses you, stealing a thousand tiny kisses more in the same lip lock. “That’s a good girl. So smart. Are you thirsty?”

You fold your hands on your lap and nod your head. The tie slung over his broad shoulder, Namjoon walks over to the mini bar, fishes out a bottle of ice cold water and opens it for you, tipping it to your mouth, encouraging you to drink.

The coldness streaming down your stomach only enlivens your arousal and it seems as though the matter is naked to the eye as Namjoon bites his lip at the sight of you, screwing the bottle shut and placing it on the bedside table. You tug at the tie, your eyes crinkling as your smile simply can’t leave your mouth alone and Namjoon hums out a laugh at your excitement.

“Ready?”

Your whole figure is fluttering, of course you’re ready—and you tell him. “Born ready.”

It prolongs his expression of lighthearted endearment. “Good. Remember to stop me when it gets too much. Close your eyes.” Obeying, the softness of the silk grazes, fondly, your eyelids as pitch-blackness encompasses you. Namjoon ties the thick wisp at the back of your head, careful not to intermingle any strands of your hair into the knot, attentive enough not to pull it too tight and not too loose either, causing you to ache for him so badly that you almost want to scream. “How does it feel?”

Uncanny. You hear his voice and, peculiarly, it’s louder in your ears, although he’s speaking in the same volume as he was before he blindfolded you. You sense something missing from you—and it’s a feeling that you detect in the pit of your stomach and at the ends of your abruptly numb fingertips.

You clench those digits, but the sensation remains. It is only when you raise them and bump into the sturdiness of his chest that you perceive what it truly is.

Groundedness is what you’re missing.

The softness of his skin brings back a sense of realness back to you. When you drift your palms up to his shoulders and hold onto them, you feel real; you feel like a person that has limbs, that has someone right there with them to look out for them because aloneness is what comes with the darkness of the sight and that is absolutely terrifying.

You cling to his neck, causing him to stumble into you, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of his weight. He goes to lift himself up, but you stop him—tightening your headlock, pressing the side of your face against his, eating that realness as you trace your lips against his cheek, run your hand across the back of his head.

He’s here with you and he’s not going anywhere. With that stability, you can walk further in this rendezvous because you’re not alone at all, despite the fact it’s what your eyesight is telling you.

“It feels really strange. I need you close. I need to feel you. To know I’m not by myself,” you whisper, sensing your chest to become lighter once the truth is out. Your naivety and excitement didn’t expect this to happen, but you’re comfortable with trying this out and feel where it takes you.

“Do you want to stop?” Namjoon asks and you can identify where he roots that question on your body. Right there upon your left collarbone, where his breath seems warmer than ever before and where he begins to scatter tiny kisses.

That thrills you—the identification of where he is, the loudness of his voice, the depth of his touch and the unusually scorching body heat he radiates as all of your other senses are heightened and you want more of it. You crave to know what it would feel like to have his tongue on your sensitive parts like this. What it would feel like to have him drilling you.

That alone makes you shiver with something beyond excitement. With something feral and undomesticated, again.

Another thing for him to tame.

Your body sings to him. To the stars. To the tower. And Namjoon can hear it, incorporating his tongue into his not so chaste kisses in response.

“No, I don’t want to stop. I want you to keep going,” you say at last, caressing the wholeness of his back, reveling in the discovery of his muscles, his shoulder blades. It feels so new, so different. You quake all over.

Namjoon pulls himself upwards, nudges his nose against yours and you smile. “Okay, baby. I’m right here.” He kisses both of your eyelids, the right one first before the left one. You feel at one with your heart as it palpitates; feel as though you were inside your body. “Fuck, your eyelashes are so long that I can see them curled around the tie. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You blush, the heat of your cheeks akin to a blanket pulled to your nose. Such coziness. You hum and try to find his lips, but he’s out of reach. You crane your neck until it hurts, giving up with a huff.

“God, don’t do that to me. That was so cute,” Namjoon husks and moans when you pull him down and kiss him at last.

It’s at this moment that you thank the God that he mentioned for writing into the Book of Life that Namjoon was to be late and miss your dream because this kiss does more than make up for it. This kiss creates new dreams that begin to swirl within you. Dreams of the Mediterranean sea, the sand and sun rays so hot that they bronze your skin. Dreams of sultry nights, black dresses and flats for all the roads you shall walk upon while following the starlight, hand in hand with Namjoon dressed in linen of the same color.

Dreams of Asia, but not where you first opened your eyes in as a newborn. The western side of Asia, the one you’ve never seen and never dreamed of until now.

Your heart enlarges and you overspill with so many emotions that they trickle out of your hidden tear ducts. Newness, possibilities—for both you and Namjoon, but mainly for him. For his happiness.

He calls your name, fearfully, but you shake your head. “What’s wrong?”

You feel his fingers sneaking over to the knot of the tie, but you stop him. “I know where we’re going next time.”

His breath of relief becomes the new cloud you rest upon. “You scared me. Don’t cry, baby.”

You fondle his wrist. “Namjoon, we’re going to Turkey.”

Silence. Then, a kiss. “Is that where you want to go?”

A nod. That’s where your soul will escape to once you lay down to sleep. “That’s the place I’m dreaming of.”

A kiss on your neck. A hum. “Then, that’s where we’ll go.” A stripe of his tongue down to your collarbones—you feel your slick drip down onto the bedding. “Do you remember where we are right now?”

An inhale of breath. “Paris.”

Namjoon sucks the supple skin above your nipple. “That’s right. We’re at the park in front of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of summer. You’re sat on my lap like this.” He manhandles you to the position he describes and you gasp, not expecting it. “My back is facing it while you have a perfect view of the twinkling lights. Can you see them?” If your memory serves you well, he’s painting a picture of reality as well and you’re so touched by it that another, secret tear rolls down your cheek.

“Yes, they’re shining so brightly. They’re so pretty, too. You’re making my dream come true. Thank you.”

Wetness against your sternum. Namjoon must be crying as well and the realization makes you sob. Makes you find his lips again and kiss him.

“I love you,” Namjoon croaks out and you break, holding onto him so tightly that you clench all of your muscles.

“I love you, Namjoon.”

A final kiss before the continuation of his depiction of the dream.

“Nobody is around. They’ve all gone to sleep. It’s just us, the Tower and the moon. You’re so beautiful, so lost in the pleasure as I’m kissing you like this.” He shows you by resuming leaving kisses along your breasts. “And when I do this—” He licks over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. You whimper, flexing your eyelids at the sensation swarming in your core. “You make pretty sounds just like that, but I tell you to be quiet. We don’t wanna wake up those people and ruin the fun. And you’re so good that you listen, taking the pleasure so well.”

He sets you down onto the bed, moves down to your tummy, placing the rest of his kisses there.

“Then, I lay you down on the blanket. You’re naked for my eyes only and I spread your legs.” His hands follow his words, lifting your thighs and pinning them down. “I blow on your needy little pussy and you shiver so beautifully for me. I can see you shining for me, shining brighter than the lights and I give it to you.”

There you feel it. The lick of his tongue on your clit and you shudder, moan so loudly that it reverberates down your body, the pleasure unlike any other you ever had the grace to experience. You roll your body into his mouth and Namjoon moans in tandem with you, even more so when your heel digs into his shoulder blade like he dreamed of.

“I lick your clit in circles and I feel you come alive on my tongue, so I pick up the pace.”

You chase the movement as he does, reveling in it to the point that you curl your body, rising yourself to your elbows and grasping the nape of his neck, knocking your head back once he prods a finger into your heat.

“I need more of it. I need to feel you around my fingers, so I stretch you out.”

He adds another digit, fucking you diligently, and you whine out his name, squeezing his neck, your thumb pressing the spot above his Adam’s apple.

“But my baby is doing something she knows is making my cock needy for her. She’s choking me, making me so fucking hard for her, so I pin her hands down.”

He rips your hand from his neck and pushes it down onto the bedding, holding it in place with his forearm as he rounds an arm around your tummy, fingers spreading your folds apart from this angle, leaning his weight on it, freeing up space for his other hand to fuck you harder.

You plop down onto the bedding, unable to resist him. And with your submission comes your orgasm, the rope uncoiling right at the place where the pulse on his wrist thumps.

And your dreams explode across the blackness of your vision.

“And you come like this. On my tongue. Around my fingers and I go fucking crazy for you, lick up everything you gave me. So fucking crazy that I turn you around and take you like this.”

You’re glad for the way he worded this part because you don’t jump when he does swivel you and licks over the red marks over your bum. He prepared you. The coolness of the petals on your skin causes you to whimper and you move your hand in effort to grab one of them. Namjoon settles between the sides of your thighs and when he sees what you’ve found, he chuckles, taking it from you, turning you halfway and brushing it against your cheek.

You gasp, liking the heightened softness, and you purr. Seeing your reaction, Namjoon drifts it down your neck, your collarbone until he reaches the peak of your breast. And when he circles that stiffened nub—an endeavor just between you, outside of the dream—your whimpers have so much tension and opulent seductiveness to them that you feel his bare manhood twitch against the line of your bum.

It drives you to thrash your hand until you find him, too, and you wrap your hand around his thick manhood, pumping him as he stimulates your nipple like this, your position—halfway on your side, with your leg crossed, propped on the bedding, brings friction to your clit as your body moves where the pleasure wants it.

Namjoon breathes hard, groaning gutturally, and you could almost come like this.

“Fuck, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whine and it causes Namjoon to turn you fully onto your back and take that petal down to your wet clit. “Oh, my God.”

Faint, yet so nice. You tremble, feeling the petal drifting over your folds, your lips, gathering your slick over your heat. And when Namjoon rubs circles on your clit with it, the membrane of the petal so fucking slippery now that it’s coated with your wetness, his title falls from your lips like the rain that keeps those flowers alive out there in Paris.

“Keep fucking me with your wrist,” Namjoon rasps and you moan, loving to be ordered around, loving being told what to do.

You fix your mistake of neglecting him while lost in the new delight, concentrating on his equally wet tip as you tighten your hold, pumping him swiftly, his foreskin closing around him in tandem with your movement coaxing his growls out that envelop you in firelight, hotter than anything you’ve ever felt.

Even gripping him you perceive to be different and as that firelight flickers vastly across the night you see, splattering it with makeshift stars that Namjoon calls to creation with each of his deep sounds, your orgasm comes as an explosion that brings color to his art.

Purples, yellows, reds and pinks. Stars that brim with colors. Such paintwork of beauty that Namjoon strums to life on your clit and your scream gets muffled by the sheets as he turns you back onto your tummy without withdrawing his hand.

He begins to kiss your shoulder, knowing you need a minute before he can fill you up.

“My pretty girl, my wife,” he moans against your skin, marking you there. “I’m gonna fuck you with that petal on your clit. With the rest of them clinging to your beautiful body like that. Gonna fuck you nice and hard against them.” You whimper your vulgarities, so out of it—so intoxicated by the picture, looking forward to it. “You came so well on my fingers. With the petal. Fuck, I’m gonna ruin you just for that. And for the way you made me forget where we were.”

You laugh and your stomach flips, love hormones coursing in your veins like the strongest drug. And you laugh even harder when it dawns on you that you’ve also forgotten.

“I don’t remember either,” you sputter between your giggles, contagious as Namjoon laughs as well, brushing your hair back to one side to kiss your cheek.

“How are you feeling? Has it gotten too much, hm?”

He takes the time to check up on you, instead of picking up where he left off and, fuck, you dissolve, becoming one with the petals—no edges to you, only liquid affection.

You’ve gotten used to the darkness. No traces of fear or uneasiness can be found trickling in your system—as a matter of fact, you can’t wait to be fucked, can’t wait to find out how it’ll feel once he’s inside you. The way he’s talking to you, constantly touching you and making it known to you that he’s present with you doesn’t let the previous disturbing feeling to sidle up to you and you’re terribly, terribly grateful.

“I feel great. I want you inside me, baby. I’m ready.”

Namjoon growls, biting into the skin of your shoulder until you whimper, kissing the pain away. Rubs his petal-clad fingers on your clit, prolonging your noises. The pleasure begins to build up, the colors you’ve seen stacking back on top of each other and you sigh, nuzzling your face into the sheets, most comfortable.

He cradles your jaw, though. Makes you look forward. Augments the dream, resuming.

“You’re looking at the Tower and I’m holding you like this so your neck doesn’t cramp up. I’m inside you, just like you wanted.”

Namjoon merges the reality into the retelling, creating something more expanse than this world can bear and you’re awestruck. He sinks himself into your wonder, knees on either side of you as you lay flat on your tummy, your bum lifted a little, heels dangling off of the bed.

Your eyes flutter beneath the tie as his girth stretches you and the colors you see are adjacent to the picture he paints. They blossom into shapes, swirly edges that grow into flowers and cling to the Tower like the violet petals cling to your body. Namjoon pulls out and gives you a long stroke and more flowers bloom, hanging by the lights. You lose your breath, the vibrancy of the pleasure so heavenly that you lose track of time, day and space as well, floating in that dream that the reality you thought about ripped away from you once he bottoms out.

You can’t even hear yourself. Can only hear him as your senses wrap around him.

“I’m not choking you. I’m not giving you a taste of your own delicious poison; I’m just holding you like this, helping you see your dream alive in front of your eyes. I look at you and I can’t help it. You’re illuminated by those lights, yet shining brighter. Kissed by the moon so much that I get jealous. Can you see that fucker up above?”

As if he drew the planet with his finger, it appears in your vision as soon as he pulls out again and fills you in all entirety in one swift, but hard motion. And it’s now that you hear yourself scream as your clit rubs against his fingers flat against it with that collision.

“Fuck, Namjoon, I—I can’t take it. It’s too good.”

“I didn’t ask you if you could take it. I asked you something else,” he husks, moving his mouth against your neck. You feel your eyes rolling back underneath your closed eyelids and you moan, his hips picking up the speed. “You can take it and you will. Tell me, baby. Can you imagine that moon in your vision?”

It’s right there, beaming at you, but you can’t focus, not when you can feel his cock in your throat. He huffs against you, overcome just the same, resuming his circles on your clit and you’re dead.

“You’re so deep, Daddy,” you utter in one breath. “So good, fuck.”

Soaked flowers. Stars flickering more quicker. White dots joining in, along with hot flashes. You’re face to face with your orgasm.

“Focus, baby,” Namjoon scolds, voice straining nearing you closer, falling in step with you the more you clench your walls against him.

“Can’t. Gonna come.”

“Come, then,” he encourages, drilling you harder into the mattress, your clit yet again rubbing against his flat fingers. “Let go and give it to me like the nice girl you are. Come for me, baby.”

Fireworks shoot through that picture and you cling to it as you come around him. Namjoon praises you through it all, darkening those flowers that surround it and your orgasm convulses through you, lasting as long as the flying colors bursting through the night-tinged sky. And white gushes in as he loses himself in your climax, his own triggered and he stuffs you with it, fucking you through it until the bed makes such terrible sounds that he stills, letting you milk it out of him.

Panting, Namjoon swivels you halfway around while still buried inside you. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold now. Keep your eyes closed, baby.”

You listen and he flings it off, kissing you, ravagedly, whimpering into your mouth. Exhaustion seeps so deeply inside you that you can barely reciprocate the energy of the movement of his mouth and with one last peck, he lets you breathe.

When you open your eyes, it’s not the light that stings your pupils, but the exhilarated, flushed and content sight of Namjoon, his chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You blink a few times to get used to the beauty, touching him all over, spreading your love for him everywhere you can.

“That was so perfect,” you whisper, sleepily. “Thank you. Thank you for making my dream come true. For making it better than I ever dreamed of. I love you, Joonie.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles—with bruised, puffy, reddened lips that make you weak.

“I love you.”

You lay like this for quite some time, stroking each other’s skin, enjoying the rest and the silence. Namjoon takes off your heels then, massaging your feet as if they were in pain and you smile down at him, fondly.

“Like hell, I’d let you wear these to the park.”

You laugh through your nose, your love for him blooming, and he carries you in the shower.

You join him on the balcony later, sharing a cigarette with him, wearing matching, thick and warm hotel bathrobes to protect you from winter’s cold. You look up at the moon as you take a drag and send your thank you to God for the contended joy that clothes your heart. Namjoon pulls you in, kissing the top of your head.

“So, Turkey next time?” he asks, inhaling your vanilla scent from your body wash that you brought along.

You sigh and life overflows from you. “In the summer. No business, just vacation. Just us. And if business does find you there, it’ll find me, too. It’ll be different this time.”

Namjoon presses his mouth against your forehead, sinks his words there. “I’d marry you right now if I could.”

Tears prick at your waterline, your throat aching. “If I pray hard enough, she’ll get better by spring,” you say, voice wobbling, speaking of your poor mother. You couldn’t get married without her—it’s the sole reason why your wedding is left in the hands of fate.

“We’ll bring her to Turkey, then. I’ll make sure to tell her to pack her hanbok and I’ll marry you there. What do you say?”

Rivulets of tears stream down your face and you look up at him, catching the same liquid lining his eyes. You nod, your mouth rounding in a pout.

“Perfect,” you whisper.

Namjoon gives you the last kiss of the night, sealing that plan shut and you believe, with everything in you, that he will bring it into reality.

You trust him.

Forever.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

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#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x oc #namjoon x you #btscreatorscorner #bts smut #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon fluff #kpop smut #knj x reader #knj #kim namjoon #namjoon

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indecisivemuch · 3 months ago

Note

hii first of all luv the username cause as a libra rising, samedt ;-; i'd like to make a request for a luke x f!reader fic pls!! um, so they're best friends, and luke decides to confess to r by giving her gifts, letters, trinkets, etc. with hints about his identity, but she doesn't know who they're from. so she asks for luke's help to find out about the identity of her secret admirer. but what if there's like a mistaken identity and she thinks it's someone from the hermes cabin (maybe chris? or one of the stoll brothers idk) and luke's just all pouty but nonchalant or something, but deep down he's like 'how do i even make her see' or something (while also second guessing that maybe he shouldn't confess it's him) like fluff with tiny angst :>

Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You got a secret admirer and recruited Luke to help you find out who they are...ignoring the most obvious option (Fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: I'm so sorry for the six month hiatus. It wasn't by choice, I swear 😭. So many bad things kept happening that prevented me from writing (is this the writers curse people kept talking about?). Also, the request wanted only a sprinkle of angst, but I kinda got out of hand with it I think 😭 (sorry).

Word count: 4.4k (whoops)

You’ve always thought that too much of something is bad. Yet, ever since the day your life intertwined with Luke Castellan’s, you weren’t very sure about that anymore.

The two of you arrived at camp around the same time, entering a friendship that felt like hitting the jackpot. Your early days together were something that you both treasured dearly. Every time you thought a certain time period would someday be reminisced as the golden days of your friendships, new things would come, and top it off.

However, golden skies were soon evaded by clouds of pink hues. You found yourself noticing and appreciating small details you haven’t noticed before about your best friend. Initially, you acknowledged the growing feeling but decided that they better remain as footnotes in chapters of your life. However, fate’s design was different to your plans, because two years later, here you were: you looked at him almost in the same way a fool would look at the world with rose-colored glasses (but then again, maybe it was because you have learned to embrace and adore his flaws).

“Luke!”

The Hermes cabin counselor snapped his head towards the sound of your voice, eyes straying from his duty of the hour. A smile began forming on his face as you came to view, almost like he has always been programmed to do so. There was a certain spring in your steps. Moments like these made Luke feel like he was a minimalist because your happiness was somehow enough to guarantee his own.

You situated yourself next to Luke on the ground, not minding the dirt.

“Hey now, I’m meant to be watching these kids train, don’t come over and distract me,” the Hermes cabin counselor warned, though he didn’t move his eyes away from you. He simply couldn’t.

Everything about you served as a distraction to him. From the soft smirk gracing your lips to the innocent tilting of your head. Every little detail about you was captivating and was equally capable of drawing his attention away from wherever it was meant to be.

In fact, his attention issue around you was getting rather shameless because his friends have begun picking up on it and started teasing him for it. Personally, Luke doesn’t think it was his fault. His eyes just happen to draw to you in every room like second nature, while his mind short-circuited every time you were near.

Maybe, and just maybe being rational and able to function properly has stopped being his forte…at least whenever you were around.

Your eyes moved to the group of kids that were only going to be at camp for the summer. From the looks of it, Luke has just assigned them to practice sword fighting in pairs. You then glanced back at your best friend, discreetly drinking in the sight of him.

No doubt he did his fair share of demonstration before letting these kids go off on their own, because right now, his face was slightly flushed, veins evident on his forearm while the familiar orange shirt clung onto his body with glistening sweat.

You shook away the non-platonic thoughts and teased him, “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t pass up on talking to me. You adore me too much.”

Damn right, he does. Luke could feel his cheeks heat up again.

“Fine. What are you here for, firecracker?”

“I got another gift,” you informed, presenting the bracelet in your hand.

For the past month, you have been receiving small letters and gifts. This time it was a handmade bracelet with beads of your favorite colors, as well as charms that represented some of your hobbies and favorite things. It was clear that your anonymous admirer had put a lot of thought into such a small item. However, as always, there were no identities attached to it, leaving you clueless about the person behind these gestures.

Luke took your hand in his, eying the accessory that perfectly fitted your wrist. He started toying with the beads around your wrist that were shining in your favorite color.

The boy’s gaze flicked from the object to you, catching your soft and warm look. Gods, if you kept looking at him like that, he might just actually stop thinking logically. He could practically feel a confession lingering behind his lips, threatening to spew the second his ropes of restraint died.

“Anyway, I came here with an idea,” you broke the silence. “What if I try to find out who this person is? I mean, some of these gifts are quite specific. They seem to know my favorite color, flowers, and things I like. Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to narrow it down and figure it out?”

Something shifted in your best friend’s behavior and you could feel it. There was a slight flustering look on Luke’s face as he avoided eye contact with you. It was rather strange to see the Hermes cabin counselor so fidgety. Luke has always been confident and composed, and you’d often be the one to humble down his playful cocky remarks. Half-way through looking at his behavior, you began speaking:

“You…”

Luke could feel the blood draining from his face at your facial expression, his face paling despite how flushed he was seconds ago from demonstrating sword fighting. The boy tried to regain his composure, though his attempt at seeming nonchalant failed as you touched his arm. Did you—

“You can be my inside man, talk to these guys to see if they’d slip up or something like that.”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Luke hastily replied, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that come across as a suggestion? I hate to break it to you but being best friends means you sorta have to participate in my schemes,” your lips curled as Luke grunted at your words.

“Yeah, but—”

“Luke, please…it’ll be fun,” he almost scoffed at your words and unconvincing argument. Clearly, the two of you had different definitions of fun. Just as he opened his mouth to reject your idea again, his eyes caught yours. You were looking at him in such an eager and heart-warming gaze that it made him forget what he was intending to say.

Ah, there was no denying anymore. Being rational and able to function properly has truly stopped being his forte.

“Fine,” Luke uttered, the word pricking his tongue as regret started kicking in as he accepted being your accomplice. This decision could only come back to bite him in the ass. He watched as you quickly celebrated his lack of restraint.

“Ah, you gave in quite quickly,” you jabbed.

“Shut up.”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two days have passed since you got Luke to agree to help you find your secret admirer. Though, the boy must say, the last forty eight hours have been slightly comedic for him, watching you trying to track down your secret admirer…

While the real sender of those gifts was right beside you, nodding along to your every word.

Luke’s mind trailed to the origin of this “secret admirer” idea. He started it as a way to abate the urge of straight-up blurting out how love-struck he was with his own best friend, while also testing out the waters before finally confessing his feelings for you.

Though it was slightly amusing how the idea led him to where he was right at that moment. The Hermes cabin counselor zoned out as he pretended to speak to another boy you thought was behind those sweet gifts and letters.

Luke used to have those feelings under rein, but self-repression only caused it to grow exponentially. Initially, the Hermes cabin counselor dismissed those beyond friendly thoughts, thinking they would eventually fizzle away. However, against his predictions, this fondness towards you became a sort of companion to him for three long years.

Not only that, years of excessively burying these feelings six feet underground also came back to bite him in the ass because instead of having his feelings under control, they now have the upper hand.

Sometimes he felt like a puppet, while his feelings plucked the strings. His facial expressions were forever cursed to be sculpted in raw yearning whenever around you, having no choice over how he reacts to everything related to you.

But it didn’t matter, because he was going to finally confess soon.

Luke almost burst out laughing at the way you were standing in anticipation, waiting for his intel on the most recent candidate. It was entertaining, to say the least, pretending to engage in investigative conversation before heading back to you, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.

However, it didn’t take long before the Hermes cabin counselor started feeling sour.

Just as he made it back to your side, he watched as you started talking again, already discussing the next guy you thought might have done these things that Luke himself came up with. He eyed your in sync footsteps with a heavy heart. Despite the matching movement, he somehow still felt eternally behind. Luke was so close, yet so far away, and never quite able to grasp onto your ever moving attention.

Did you not consider him as an option at all? Did you truly not see him as anything other than a good friend? It started stinging him knowing you were considering all these other guys as potential candidates — the faces that now haunt him in his sleep, poisoning his mind with an acidic jealousy that was eating away his common senses and fueling immoral thoughts.

Soon enough, that same jealousy seared his mind with this overwhelming self-doubt. Luke’s foot started feeling cold at the thought of confessing. Gods, he never thought the same security behind anonymity would now make him feel desperate to be seen by you.

“Maybe I should give up,” you concluded, mindlessly staring ahead. Your attention elsewhere gave Clarisse and Chris an opportunity to send each other knowing looks. The two have been watching you run around in circles on a goose hunt, not knowing to look right behind at the sulking figure that was trailing after you.

Your distracted state also meant you didn’t notice the moping human situated beside you. However, hearing your declaration of ending your chase, Luke saw a window of opportunity. Maybe now was finally the time to be truthful. After all, if he doesn’t tell you, then how will you know and see him? Luke’s momentary motivation carried him through waves of dejection.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Luke blurted out without much more thought or preparation, and his tone made you fully turn to him. Just as words finally formed and the boy opened his mouth to tell you—

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you privately?” Somebody interrupted. Your eyes didn’t leave Luke immediately, but when you saw your best friend’s momentum had faltered, you turned to the stranger. It was another Hermes boy, somebody who you’ve seen around. You politely agreed and left with him.

“So, I heard you’ve been looking for the person who’s been giving you anonymous gifts. And well, it’s your lucky day, 'cause…” the boy stared you up and down while you subconsciously took a small step back when he leaned forward. “...I’ve decided to come forward and reveal myself.”

“Okay…well, prove it” you squinted. Though your skepticism didn’t make the Hermes boy in front of you falter. Clearly, he expected this.

“The first thing you were given was a note, and…the two most recent gifts were a cassette tape and a bracelet — which was made from beads of your favorite color and charms like…” you zoned out as the boy started listing out some of your favorite activities that were indeed the charms on your bracelet. You fiddled with the bracelet that you had purposefully hidden out of his view right behind your back.

There was a pinch in your heart that signaled the last bit of hope dying.

Oh…so Luke really wasn’t your secret admirer.

You internally scoffed at yourself. You should have known right after he said yes to helping you out with finding your secret admirer — which was originally an idea used as bait to determine if Luke was the sender or not, because if it was really him then he wouldn’t have agreed to help you out with this. However, not only did your best friend agree without much convincing from you, but he had seemed so nonchalant and unaffected as you named all these boys you wanted him to talk to.

Perhaps this secret admirer thing was something good. Somebody has shown interest and their actions have been nothing but sweet. Those letters contained words that were eternally bound to your memories, even altering the way you view yourself for the better. Maybe you could get to know this person and move on from hopelessly crushing on your best friend.

Halfway through, you realize you were so engulfed in your thoughts that you have zoned out to half of the things the Hermes boy was saying, and merely caught onto the last bit of his speech:

“...thinking maybe we could go on a date and get to know each other more tonight?”

Your stomach churned again, yet you nodded your head.

Move on. Move on. Move on. Move on.

Your friends gave you questioning looks when you got back to where they were, clearly curious about what you were pulled away for.

“So…that was my secret admirer, and I’m going on a date with him tonight,” you hoped you sounded more enthusiastic than you were feeling. You tried convincing yourself at least it was good knowing definitely how your best friend actually felt about you. Quickly sitting down, you kept your eyes on Clarisse, knowing if you even looked over at Luke, he’d be able to tell straight away that something was wrong.

Your lack of focus also meant you didn’t think much of the quiet murmur from your best friend: “Sorry, I just remember I need to do something.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. It was now the afternoon and you just finished getting ready for your date. As you were leaving, you spotted a note at the foot of your cabin. Seeing your name written on the paper, you picked it up while eying it peculiarly.

“You could be the one that I love,

I could be the one that you dream of,

Message in a bottle is all I can do,

Standing here hoping it gets to you.”

Your gut feeling stirred, hitting you with waves of higher certainty over suspicions you have previously had and denied.

Those lyrics were directly associated with a memory from summer two years ago.

Luke and you were sitting by the campfire when he asked what your favorite song was. You told him the name and mentioned you hadn’t listened to it in a while because using technology devices with signals were dangerous for Demigods. The conversation slipped your mind but clearly loitered in your best friend’s mind, because two months later while on your way back to camp from your quest together, he gifted you a tape player along with a cassette of said song along with others that you liked.

You blinked away the image of you leaning on Luke’s shoulder while the two of you listened to the song together on the train back to camp.

You re-read the note again while shaking your head. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps, that Hermes boy knew the song and it was also one of his favorites. Perhaps—

Your hand started trembling around the paper. Your eyes landed on one small detail in the note: a particular handwriting choice. The rest of it matched with previous notes, but there was one singular scribbling feature you’ve never seen used before.

Everything came crashing down and your internal eternal cycle of excuses and denial shattered.

You ran. It didn’t matter that it was raining and your attire was getting soaked. It didn’t matter at all because you were frustrated and confused. In other instances, you would have been elated at the possibility of mutual affection, but in that moment, exasperation blinded you from sensibility.

If what you have concluded was true, then why on Earth would he allow you to go on a date with a person who stole credit for things they didn’t do? This whole time, he made you feel like a fool — for waiting that long and having hope after all that time; for asking the person you were looking for to hunt them down with you; for sulking despite having what you thought was a good opportunity to come along; for borderline going on a date with an imposter; and for not seeing it all along that it was him.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” you called out.

Despite the rain, you could see your best friend’s figure stiffened before turning around to face you. The boy stood with his hands behind his back, not yet daring to look at you.

“The “th”. You connected the cross in the ‘t’ directly to the ‘h’,” you presented the note in your hand, pointing specifically at the slip up that Luke had made in the latest note, not caring of the raindrops that were hitting the paper. “It’s how I write it, and you started writing it the same way a year after we got to know each other because you liked the way it looked,” you pressed further.

The expression on Luke’s face painted your theory into the truth of the situation. You felt your hand slightly shaking at the revelation.

“Why? You left anonymous gifts and notes and watched me put on this hunt — which by the way, was for you. And didn’t even say anything when a guy lied and said he was my secret admirer? Is this one big cruel prank?”

“No—”

“Oh! Well then, surely at one point in this whole thing, you felt like you should just tell me?”

“I was going to.”

“Then where were you when I was just about to head out with that fraud? Maybe if you really liked me and really cared for me, like all those damn notes say, you would have fought for m—”

“I did,” Luke finally raised his voice, his face briefly hardened in an attempt to convey his desperation. His chest heaved, and the way it did almost made you think the anger radiating off every inch of his skin right then was directed towards you. But it wasn’t, and he knew you knew.

“I confronted him right after he claimed that he was the one who gave you all those things.”

Invisible ivies rooted your foot to the ground. You gulped, trying to digest the information you were given. However, it finally sunk in when Luke’s hands appeared from behind his back. It was then that you could see the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Your breath hiccuped in both flattery and worry at the implication of what he had done. The darkness behind those deep hazel-brown orbs reflected a certain side of your best friend that you hadn’t seen before. Although, part of you felt like you wouldn’t mind it.

It made Luke’s blood boil knowing what he dedicated to you from the bottom of his heart was spoiled by ill intentions. Luke should have known better than to carelessly write all the letters and craft those gifts right on his bunk bed, rather than discreetly.

Once again, the Hermes cabin counselor was pulled back to memories from an hour ago. The way the other boy shot remarks at Luke’s lack of precautions, boasting his wrong-doings like someone incapable of having a guilty conscience. Luke's jaw tightened as the image of the sly smirk on the other Hermes boy's face flashed in his mind, but a wave of satisfaction ran through him as he recalled how quickly that smirk was wiped away by his own fist.

They might be brothers by a fraction, but blood or not, that boy was dead to Luke the second he tried tricking you.

“And no, I wouldn’t have let you go out with a fraudster. Never,” Luke’s eyes softened. “And in case it’s not implied enough: I like you…a lot. I was going to confess but then this guy came along lying,” Luke could feel that tremor returning once more to his fist. He hated that something he built, from scratch, on the foundation of sincerity was momentarily tainted by the hands of a spineless liar. Not only that, he hated witnessing somebody so dear to him getting deceived in such a tasteless manner.

“I also…didn’t want to get hurt. It was starting to seem like you would ever consider me as more than just a friend with the way you were listing out all these other guys. So for a bit there I was considering just keeping quiet…forever” he confessed, eyes now straying away from you and down to his shoes.

You observed your best friend through a new perspective. So your initial suspicions were true. You had thought it was him because all the things you have received hinted to somebody who knew you so well, and who else at camp but Luke knew this many things about you. But ultimately, another part of you — the proclaimed “logical” side — has hyper-analyzed every split second you two have shared and deemed that Luke has not given any true signs of interest in you beyond as a friend. Thus, you dismissed the thought of Luke being your secret admirer.

You know now to trust your gut feelings more.

“Oh, Luke Castellan, you dumb ass…” you spoke softly underneath your breath, but you knew he heard you perfectly clearly from the way he slightly peered up. Your heart almost shattered at the dejected look on your best friend’s face and the thought of him burying his feelings eternally. You sure as hell would not allow that to be this timeline.

“I’ve liked you ever since the day you went out of your way and gave me that first cassette tape,” the marveled look on Luke’s face over your confession made you continue, “I guess I should have known it was you…cause gift giving has always been your love language.” It seemed like the boy was too stunned and struck frozen. However, his shell-shock state didn’t last long, because soon, your best friend’s gaze reverted back to the way he has always looked at you, only slightly more intense.

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of Luke Castellan in front of you at that moment. You were finally able to see the effect you’ve always had on him. The way his lips hung slightly agape, eyes dilated in such a way you were no longer able to see their usual color anymore, chest slightly heaving despite lack of physical reasons for such a reaction. You almost wanted to hit yourself for being such a fool and not spotting these details sooner.

“Now, Castellan…you have two options,” you stepped closer to him, leaving an appropriate amount of personal space in between. “You either kiss me or—”

Luke grabbed your wrist with his uninjured hand and pulled you in. The same hand-guided your arms around his neck while also effectively eliminating the remaining distance between you two.

Without hesitation, he kissed you.

Likewise, you returned the action without a second thought. You frankly didn’t care about the rain that was soaking the both of you. Kissing Luke felt like such a natural act that it felt simply like diving home. The way he held you made you feel like you were a national treasure he was so afraid of losing. Gods, you don’t think you mind doing this ever so often.

Though, there was a certain urgency in the way Luke kissed you, as if afraid you’d either vanish or you’d change your mind. You pressed your lips harder against his, hoping he’d understand you didn’t intend on leaving or having a change of heart.

A grunt escaped his throat as you kissed him harder. Oh, Luke Castellan already knew he was in immense trouble. He knew almost immediately that the concerning number of thoughts he had about you each day would only increase tenfold from this day on. He wondered if you could taste all of his unspoken words. If kissing you felt like this, he might as well sign away his heart, body, and mind to you. In fact, he’d sign anything you put in front of him without even considering the fine prints.

Luke slowly backed you against a tree, giving you a bit of support to lean against whilst shielding the both of you from the heavy rain. He smiled into the kiss as you hummed at his action, feeling it echo against his lips. His heart tugged, almost leaping out of his chest when your hands made their way to both sides of his face, cupping it intently like holding something yours. Yours. Fuck, he loved the sound of that.

You were the first to break the kiss. The both of you gasped for air while maintaining eye contact. The close-up view of his intense gaze drove your cheeks rosy. You could not help but admire the way his locks of wet curly hair clung onto his forehead, while raindrops fell from his face, some following the length of his eyelashes before falling — Oh, the way he glanced down at your lips at that second made you feel almost like you had the power to convince him into anything at the moment.

“You’re my best friend…” he broke the silence.

“Mhm.”

“...but what if I want you to be more than that?”

“I can be both,” Luke’s lips broke out into a smile, and you mirrored his facial expression. He leaned his forehead against yours whilst softly rubbing his thumb soothingly against your waist.

“I’m not against that.”

As a larger grin broke out on your lips, Luke’s eyes further softened. He realized right there and then that anything you wanted, he would not be against it. A breath of relief quietly escaped beneath Luke’s breath. He could not wait for whatever was in store for the both of you in the future.

Good thing his messages in a bottle did get to you.

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

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woso-dreamzzz · 5 months ago

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Heart V

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You're sick

Ingrid knew there would be health issues throughout your life. She knew that routine doctor's appointments would happen every year for you. She knew that the medication you took lowered your immune system.

She knew that at some point, you'd get sick.

She didn't realise it would be this quickly.

You woke with the sniffles which turned into a sore throat and then a headache and a bad tummy. It all spiralled from there.

It started on the weekend.

Saturday was spent going to a check up. Sunday was game day but on the drive home, you threw up all over yourself.

Monday was a day off and it was clear that you had no hope of getting better quickly. You were sniffly and tearful and it was an all-around bad time for everyone.

They take it in shifts with you. Ingrid stays with you for one half of the night. Mapi takes the rest of it.

There's twenty minute powernaps fitted in between it all when they can manage but most of their time is spent up with you as you struggle to find sleep.

"Mapi!" Ingrid calls," Come on, we've got to get to the car!"

She paces the length of the apartment with you in her arms. Your nose is all stuffy and you've woken up with the worst case of blocked ears of your life.

It's clear your ears are giving you the most grief. You whine and huff and desperately pull at them as if it will dislodge the build up in them.

Mapi's getting changed from her evening shift with you and Ingrid can do nothing but pace and pat your back in the hope of settling you back down.

It's been another bad night. You slept in short half an hour bursts in between crying, puking and crying some more.

Mapi skids into the room, still in her socks as she throws things into your bag, stocking up on medicine and water and your favourite toys. She hops around the room as she forces her shoes onto her feet before practically sprinting out of the door.

You make it to training just on time despite your awful wails the entire journey.

Patri and Pina both wince as Ingrid walks in with your sobbing form.

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's sick," Ingrid says plainly," Badly. The doctor said it's the flu."

As if to prove her point, you burst into a violent coughing fit and Mapi is instantly trying to soothe your throat with water as soon as it's over.

"Did you give her medicine?"

Ingrid angrily drops her bag into her cubby. "Oh, wow, Patri! What a revolutionary concept?! Giving medicine to my sick toddler! Why didn't we think of that?!" She snaps.

Ingrid sighs deeply as she looks at herself in the mirror.

"Sorry," She says after a long breadth of silence," I'm tired. I didn't mean to shout."

"No," Patri says quickly," You've clearly got a lot on your plate. I hope the little one feels better soon."

There's a respite briefly during training when you decide the hot Barcelona sun is perfect for napping in and you sleep under a tree nearby, wrapped up in a blanket despite the warm weather.

Mapi learnt very quickly not to fight you when you said you were cold despite the fever ravaging your body. All she can do is hope that the extra warmth breaks your fever so you can feel better when you wake up.

She's kind of happy with the outcome of your nap.

You've sweated out your fever which is good but you still feel bad. Your nose is still stuffy and you keep rubbing at your ears to unblock them.

The worst part of this now is that you've got clingier than ever before. You latch onto Mapi as soon as you see her and refuse to let go.

She's kind of glad all they're doing now is general fitness stuff because there's no way she could do anything technical with you still attached.

It's pushing it doing fitness stuff too but Mapi had come prepared.

It was an impulse purchase when you first fell sick and Ingrid had laughed until she cried when it arrived. Mapi was not dissuaded and she brought out her purchase, ignoring the snickering from Patri and Pina behind her.

With you still clingy and wanting nothing more than to crawl into Mami's skin, you let her manipulate your limbs into the toddler carrier.

She straps you in and then straps it to her chest.

She stands and has to find her balance quickly before triumphantly turning around to show everyone her solution.

They all laugh but Mapi doesn't care, not with the way you relax so easily against her and not when you fall into another fitful sleep.

#woso x reader #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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your-nanas-house · 9 months ago

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"Mr. Coleman said that..."

◇ Pairing: stepdad!Austin Butler X stepdaughter!Reader

◇ Warnings: kind of dark, SMUT, sessions, therapy (invented by me, dunno if it exists), pervy, stepdad x stepdaughter dynamic.

◇ Summary: Austin gets bit lost in the feelings that the "bond" therapy gifted him.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. It took me so long, thanks for the kind anon that reminded me what Austin fic I wanted to publish. I think it's the very first Austin fic that I wrote... 🫣. For other fics like this.

A small click and the front door of his attic was open, allowing him to enter and finally drop down the bag he carried all day around... plus the new script.

Austin had been out all day and he honestly felt all those hours on his shoulders other than his mood. He really was tired but happy, since he was about to see his little princess.

As his feet lead him to the open kitchen he could already hear her soft humming, which informed him that she was busy entertain herself with something

"Hi stepdaddy, how was your day?" Her sweet voice beamed after his footsteps popped her little bubble of calm. She didn't look upset or annoyed when seeing him... which was a good thing since they had some issues when her mom left them both.

Issues that with a bit of father and daughter therapy should had quickly disappear... or so the man, who was following the process, had told them the first meeting.

"Bit tiring but... it was good. How about yours? What did you do while I was out?" Austin's low raspy voice asked as his hand removed carefully his AirPods before his coat so that he could focus his attention on her completely.

She was still in her cute pajamas, a silly one that she had begged him to buy her as soon as she finished watching one of the latest movies of his... 'Elvis' 2022. Reason because her pants were of a baby pink filled with pictures of the king, matched by a baggy shirt with the quote 'Keep Calm and Love Elvis Presley'.

"Bit boring, studied a bit... and nothing much, I cleaned the house though" Y/n informed him after taking a big sip of her tea, humming softly when the older man's arms wrapped around her torso.. hugging her close to himself.

"So sweet of you" he murmured in her ear, tickling her with his short beard as his face snuggled in the crock of her neck more so to make her chuckle before pressing his lips against hers for a quick 'hello' kiss.

His head now resting on top of hers calmly.

"Also!.. I need your help" Y/n hummed out, putting down her cup as her heart beat faster in her chest.. butterflies forming in her stomach at her stepdad's cuddles.

She could already feel his chest vibrating softly as he replied with his voice which became even more lower that it used to be due to the time and work.

"With what, kid?" His big hand ruffled her hair playfully while his body moved to rest against the table of the kitchen so that his beautiful eyes could stare at her as she talked.

She really was so cute like that, her hair bit messy because of him and the glasses she put on just when she used her laptop so to protect them. It seemed quite domestic... bit too domestic since his body started to react a bit, aroused by the innocent scenario.

And the cute mad face she made every time he would tease or annoy her, was so cute but also such a strong turn on for him... expecially those pouty pretty lips, now covered by a watermelon lip gloss.

"Do you remember what Mr. Coleman suggested?" Y/n asked casually, glancing at him with the face he grow to know as 'the testing face'; a serious but funny expression that she always used when she wanted to see if he remembered something or if he forgot about it.

"Of what, sweetheart?" Austin replied with her same tone as he put down the script, pouring himself a glass of water before sitting on the counter to look in her direction. She was giving him her back but he could already see the pouty face accompanied by a small snort of disappointment since he didn't remember.

"The bonding exercises, Baba!" She whined out, looking at him while scoffing softly at his amused expression. He really knew her too well.

"Of course I remember, baby" Austin lied as he placed his glass on the surface so he wouldn't look her in the eyes without distractions

"He said at least once a week, two is better though..." she repeated what their therapist said to them some weeks ago, her eyes looking at him lazily bit tired of her lonesome day. Even too tired to notice his stare taking her whole in shamefully.

"You know that I'm always free to spend some quality time with you, baby" he rasped out before clearing his throat and finish his water, his body warming up at the mere view of her cute behaviour.

"That's a lie but anyway... Let's start it, hm" the young woman murmured, pecking back as soon as he leaned down to steal a bit of love while picking her up easily and move them on the sofa in the living room where there was more space.

"What were the exercises again?" Austin asked, his hands rubbing soft circles on her hips while his eyes pierced intensely in hers the whole time she explained to him "The 5 senses exercises to feel more connected. Touch.. with the yoga, hearing.. by listening and talking, taste.. by eating together, and.. view.. the stare".

Those were all topics they had to go through in their therapist's opinion.. a way to bond with each other better and share some quality moments as father... even though he wasn't her real dad, and daughter.

"I remember perfectly now... and what was the last one?" He asked while playing with a lock of her hair, smiling slightly when her index finger pressed against his nose while talking "It's the smell... we have to take in our scent... and that should be all. So!... where do we start?" The young woman beamed, getting up from his lap.

The older man really enjoyed seeing her so full of energy and joy, it was addicting.

"Okay, little one, let's start. You can choose with which one we begin".

Her choose was quickly and he found himself warming slightly up to start the first step. The Touch.. aka Yoga exercises.

Simple but helpful positions they had to do together to feel the struggles and the moving of their bodies.

"Need to change! Mr. Coleman said that we have to be as bare as possible for this one." The young woman reminded the older man from the other room, busy changing into something to start the exercise and have yoga behind so they could relax.

He said that?, Austin questioned in his mind and raised his eyebrows... he really didn't listen so much when that man spoke with them. He clearly needed to stay more focused in the next sessions.

"You need to change as well!" Her sweet voice urged him as she was now standing in front of him in the set of underwear he gifted her that Christmas. Matching bra and panties which colors were identical to her favourite bun that she had used to tie her hair up.

"Sweet baby Jesus above, you are stunning" he commented, holding himself from just cursing in front of her since he scolded her more than once when some bad words left her pretty mouth. It had became a game of theirs just saying some silly things instead of vulgar language.

"It's the set you gave me!" She informed him with a smile, her hands busy fixing her hair happy and warm to start

"I know, little one" the actor murmured while still staring, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

His body was reacting bit too much for his liking and he started to sweat a bit so he decided to get quickly ready and just move his hands to pull off his shirt and threw it away, exposing his built body to the air so that they could begin with the yoga.

Y/n was the first to lead and help, her smaller frame kept doing her best to keep up and help Austin while ending up most of the time just clinging on him like a koala or bouncing to reach his hands.. way too high for her reach.

It was funny, adorable and relaxing... till the sensations changed when he was the one leading the exercise.

"Baba! You have to follow my body" Y/n explained in a whiny playful voice as her young body bent down in front of him, her ass brushing against his crotch and then pressing lovingly when he moved on her, hugging her hips with his strong arms.

Fucking hot, he thought now that his cock overpowered his brain.

His breath became bit heavier while his hands massaged her flesh, he could have stayed like that all day... with his boner pressed between her firm and round ass cheeks still barely covered by those damn panties.

"Ready for the rhythm? Remember sync to let our bodies connect" she parrot what Mr. Coleman told them, making Austin curse internally since he had forgot about the movements... not that he minded though, since his worries disappeared as soon as her ass hit his half-hard dick.

His hips started to follow, taking the lead unconsciously, grinding his clothed cock against her soft flesh shamelessly.

"You got your phone in your pocket, Baba?" Y/n asked after a while, glancing behind to check on him, yelping softly when he moves her head easily by her chin. Making her look back ahead.

"Mhhm... focus, little one. Sync, remember?" Austin rasped out as his hips increased their rhythm, making her loose the balance she had and end up flat against the floor with him on top.

Her heart was beating fast and she couldn't deny that her panties were getting wet by his movements... she wasn't sure it was part of the exercises but who was her to correct her stepdad.

"You're doing so good, baby. So good" his low voice praised, making her maintain the rhythm and match his when his hips increased the tempo as his big hand, which was on her tummy, helped her continue it.

It was starting to get tired, her breath becoming breathless as she heard him grunting next to her ear.

"Austin, I'm not sure this is part of Mr. Coleman's exercises—" Y/n weakly spoke, letting a broken whine escape her mouth when his little finger pressed roughly against her clothed clit

"It's all part of Mr. Coleman's exercises to bond, baby. And call me like he said you should.. don't you want to make the sessions pay off?" Austin murmured huskily, inhaling deeply while lowering quickly his sweatpants and press his bare, rock-hard angry cock against her ass again, pulling the fabric of her panties so that it was stuck between her ass cheeks like his lenght.

"I said call me like Mr. Coleman said, little one" his tone became more stern as his hand spanked her soft flesh making her jolt

"Sorry, daddy! Sorry" she whined out, moving her ass up so to allow him to continue without interruptions... just like a good girl.

It was twisted but felt so good, so... damn good, with the soft skin of his cock caressing her inner thighs as he made sure to keep them closed so that he could fuck them. Hitting her clit with each thrust.

Her stepdad was dry humping her and she was loving it as much as he was... and she could tell that he was enjoying himself pretty much due to all the noises and praises that escaped his lips.

"Such a good girl! Fuck— fuck, fuck. Little one!" His horsed voice growled in her ear as his body shook against hers before something started to wet her thighs and panties. The young woman didn't had time to check before her own orgasm hit her whole and her back arched, a soft curse, which earned her a harsh spank, escaped her innocent sweet mouth.

"Language, baby... now how about we move to the food now, hm?" Austin suggested while massaging her warm flesh, moving his softening cock away from her shaking thighs.

#austin butler fandom #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler smut #austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #austin butler fluff #austin butler imagine

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harrywavycurly · 10 days ago

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Worst Mob Boss Ever: Mafia!Harry One Shot

Pairing: Mafia!harry x Rowland!reader

CW: Language, slight mentions of threats of violence

A/N: I got hella inspired by this post, the accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss one and this is where my mind took it. I wrote this in one sitting sorry if it’s shit I had to get it out of my head!

Summary: Harry gets into the wrong car when your brother Mitch picks you up from work and you just want to go to book club✨

Harry let’s out an annoyed sigh as he reaches over to grab his suit jacket, giving the man behind the coat check a tip before he looks down at the watch on his wrist. In all the years he’s worked for him, Harry can’t remember a time when David has ever been late to pick him up from his Monday lunch meeting. After putting his jacket on he quickly reaches in one of the pockets for his sunglasses before stepping outside the restaurant, Eric the head of his security detail already standing outside waiting for him.

“He got held up at the red light the construction on the new apartment complex down the block it’s causing some issues.” Eric informs Harry as the two men walk down the short staircase in front of the restaurant. Harry just nods as he slides his sunglasses on, Eric stands to his right and looks around to see if he can spot the black suburban anywhere.

“You’re looking to the left and to the right when the car is right in front of you.” Harry snaps harshly as a big black suv pulls up in front of the restaurant. Eric quirks a brow when he notices a disco ball hanging from the rearview mirror, he takes a step to the side to try to get a glimpse of the license plate. “Why do I even keep you around?” Harry questions mostly to himself but he says it loud enough Eric can hear him as he takes a step towards the car.

“Wait boss that’s not-” before Eric can do anything Harry is already climbing into the suv and shutting the door. Eric watches in horror as the suv begins to drive off and all he can do is reach into his back pocket for his phone and begin making a few phone calls as the head of one of the most powerful families in New York disappears around the corner.

Harry doesn’t hear what Eric says as he sits down and gets comfortable in the leather seat and lets out a sigh as he brings a hand up to take his sunglasses off and place them back in his jacket pocket. That’s when Harry notices a pink fuzzy pair of what he can only describe as slippers next to a bright purple backpack on the seat next to him. Now if he was a normal person this is when he would probably begin to either panic or get anxious because Harry doesn’t own any fuzzy slippers nor does he own a purple backpack, but Harry isn’t exactly built to panic so he just reaches over and picks up the backpack and brings it over to sit in his lap. He opens it up and rolls his eyes when the first thing he sees is a romance novel with a book mark half way through it, he reaches in and moves a few things around and finds it’s just mostly filled with clothes but then he spots a wallet. He picks the wallet up and to his surprise when he opens it all he finds is a library card with “Rowland” written on the back making him assume that’s the card holder’s last name and some cash, he finds it a bit odd because he wasn’t aware people even still used library cards anymore. He lets out a disapproving tsk when he doesn’t find any form of identification having hoped he would at least find out whose car he was in.

“Who the fuck are you?” A loud startled voice causes Harry’s gaze to move from the tacky silver glittery wallet in his hands to the man in the driver’s seat that’s turning to glare at Harry over the console that sits between the two front seats.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well I asked you first so…who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Harry Styles.”

“Cool so what the hell are you doing in my sister’s car?” Harry looks at the wallet in his hand and then to the slippers in the seat next to him and nods his head upon learning these items don’t belong to the long haired man driving the vehicle but possibly his sister, not that he’s one to judge but the slippers are god awful no matter who’s wearing them.

“Why did you stop in front of me in the valet line?” Harry questions as he looks out the window and notices they are parked in what just looks to be the back of the restaurant he was just inside of.

“I stopped because that’s what you do when the car in front of you stops. What did you want me to do? Ram into them? It’s basic driving manners you dick. Now get the fuck-”

“Oh thank god that shift is over it was hell in there.” The door beside Harry opens briefly as a jacket and apron are roughly tossed on top of him before the door is slammed shut. He feels his jaw clench slightly as he tosses the items to the seat next to him making them land on the slippers before sliding to the floor. The man in the driver’s seat turns his attention away from Harry as the passenger door opens so who Harry can only assume is the man’s sister can climb inside.

“What’s with the face? Mitch are you-”

“So your name is Mitch?” You slowly turn your head to face the backseat as Harry’s deep voice fills yours ears, it’s one you’ve heard many times seeing as he’s a regular at your job having a set reservation for every Monday at noon with four other guests.

“Uh Mitch why is Harry Styles in my backseat?” Your eyes meet Harry’s and for a moment he feels the corners of his mouth twitch as if he wants to smile but he fights it. Your eyes travel down to the wallet in his hands and the backpack that’s open and sitting in his lap and without thinking you turn your body so you can reach into the back seat and snatch the wallet from his hands with a glare.

“Where are your manners? Why are you going through my stuff? Are you some kind of weirdo?” You fire off questions as you close your wallet back up before reaching for your backpack and pulling it to sit in the front with you by your feet.

“You know this guy?”

“I don’t know him like we’re friends I just know his name and that he eats here every Monday.”

“I don’t eat here I just have a meeting here every Monday. The food here is-”

“Why are you still in the car? Just get out.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Harry watches you and Mitch both turn to look at him with raised brows making him let out a sigh. “If I get out of this car without informing my guys that you’re not a threat then the moment you drive on any open road I’m afraid it’ll only be a matter of hours before I hear about how your car is now a flaming heap of metal on the side of the road.” He explains calmly as he reaches down for your jacket that fell off the seat and places it neatly on top of your slippers.

“Listen the only threat in this car seems to be you and I’m sorry did you say-”

“Flaming heap of metal? Like what you’re-you’re going to blow my car up? You can’t just blow up people’s cars that’s so rude.”

“I can. Because I have. Many times.”

“Dude I’m gonna have to ask you again. Who the fuck are you?” Harry glares at Mitch because he hates repeating himself as you let out a sigh of frustration while running a hand over your face. Harry takes a moment to consider how much he should actually divulge about who he is but when he looks over at the pink fuzzy slippers, he decides that since he now knows your last name and where you work he can subtly keep tabs on you so if he ever needs to pay you a little visit you won’t be hard to find, so what he says next doesn’t seem risky at least not to him.

“I’m Harry Styles the current head of the Styles family and before you ask-”

“Say no more man. You said you’re head of a family that has to mean mafia and I’ve seen the god father so I don’t need the run down on how your little family works.” You look at your brother with wide eyes as he talks a mile a minute and runs his hands through his hair as an attempt to calm himself down and Harry has to hold back a chuckle because so far he was having a pretty shitty day and oddly enough ending up in the wrong car with the two of you has slightly begun to turn it around.

“You’ve got to be the worst mob boss ever then because how did you even end up in my car? Don’t you have security or something?” Mitch shoots you a glare as you turn to look at Harry who can only shrug because honestly this was all his own doing since Eric did seem like he was trying to warn him before he got into the car.

“I thought he was my driver because he stopped right in front of me in the valet line outside the restaurant.” Harry answers honestly making you roll your eyes, an action Harry usually doesn’t tolerate when it’s directed at him but for some reason watching you do it makes him smirk at how annoyed you are.

“Oh right because every black suburban must be for you is that it? That’s so narcissistic of you.”

“Please stop insulting the mob boss in the backseat.” Mitch mumbles as he reaches over and gives your shoulder a light shove, you just smack his hand away and let out a huff as you go back to facing the front.

“I’m sorry but he’s ruining my plans.” You inform your brother who then turns to look at Harry.

“So can you call your dudes and tell them we aren’t a threat so you can get out of the car?” Mitch asks as nicely as possible and Harry licks his lips before giving Mitch a small smile because he knows the long haired man isn’t going to like his answer.

“I can’t do that.” Mitch lets out a groan as Harry runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t have my phone. Phones aren’t allowed at family meetings.” He explains as you lean your head back so it’s resting on the headrest and close your eyes and take a few calming breaths. Harry seeming to be so unbothered by the whole situation has you on the verge of causing a full on scene in the back parking lot of your work because you just got off a hellacious shift and all you want to do is go to your book club and change into your comfy clothes with a glass of wine while taking about the steamy scenes of the romance novel in your backpack.

“See what I’m saying? Worst mob boss ever. He doesn’t even have his phone.” Harry can’t help but laugh and that seems to not be a reaction you find acceptable because all of a sudden your glaring at him and Mitch is looking at Harry through the rearview mirror with an apologetic expression on his face because he knows his sister is about to let him have it. “Listen Mr. Mob Boss I have plans tonight. I’m only off nights one day a week and that’s Monday when I work the morning and lunch rush and tonight is book club and if you get in the way of that then I might actually become a real threat to your safety so if you refuse to get out of my car then fine how about I get out? Because-”

“If you get out of this car I will not be able to protect you from the men inside that truck over there.” While Harry is impressed with your willingness to stand up to him and even borderline threaten him, he knows you have no actual clue who you’re dealing with in terms of what lengths his men will go to in order to get him back. You watch as he motions to a black truck that’s parked near a beat up minivan a few cars over from yours in lot, the windows are blacked out and you know it wasn’t there when you left through the back of the restaurant just ten minutes ago.

“How do we fix this if you don’t have a phone and no one can get out of the car? We can’t just sit in here forever.” You argue as Mitch just rests his forehead on the steering wheel with a huff officially hitting his limit and letting this be his sign that he’s giving up.

“Let me see your phone.”

“Let me hear some manners. Even the worst mob boss ever needs to have manners.”

“May I please borrow your phone-wait I still don’t even know your name.” Harry states as he quirks a brow at you and he can’t help but smile when you tell him your name with a roll of your eyes as you hand him your phone.

“But just type in the number and I’ll do the talking because I really don’t have time for any beating around the bush okay?” Mitch sits up as Harry begins typing in Eric’s phone number and he can’t help but wonder how this conversation is going to go because he’s not even sure if his head of security will answer or not since your number won’t be one of his contacts.

“His name is Eric and-”

“Hello? Eric? Hi yes I have your mob boss in my backseat and I need you to come get him please—what? No I didn’t kidnap him he’s the one who got into my car on his own—Uh excuse me sir do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Yes I’m being serious I have things to do and he’s got to go so come fucking get him—no no no I do not have any demands besides for you to come get him from my backseat!—He’s not the one being held hostage! I am! He won’t leave my car and I have book club!—what? Signs of life? What like you think I killed him in my backseat? Do you know how hard it is to get stains out of floorboards of a car? As if I’d murder someone in my own car-” Harry has to admit he is very entertained and only a little shocked at how you’re speaking to Eric over the phone, given how you just kinda threatened him only a few moments ago but he can only imagine what his security is saying to you because your cheeks are turning red and he can tell you are slowly beginning to reach the end of your patience. That’s when he decides he needs to step in as he reaches over and gives you a small smile before he gently takes the phone out of your hand and puts it up to his ear.

“Eric.” Harry hears the other end go quiet for a moment before he hears a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank fuck I thought she was some seriously sick and twisted psycho or someone one of the-”

“I’m fine. I’ll be home later. Do not follow or mess with this car do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“And no one is to touch them. Ever. Understood?” Harry isn’t dumb, he knows he has to pick his words wisely or Eric will “accidentally” do something to one or possibly both of you and use the excuse that Harry didn’t say he wasn’t allowed to hurt the people in the car just that he wasn’t allowed to mess with the car. He also knows that with the amount of time this car has been sitting in this back parking lot one of the men in that truck have gotten all the information they need on you from your licenses plate.

“Understood.” And with that Harry hangs up and hands you back your phone.

“We can go to book club now.” Mitch doesn’t hesitate to put the car in drive and begin to leave the parking lot, noticing a few ominous looking black trucks are also parked in front of the restaurant as well. “Don’t worry they won’t do anything.” Harry says in an attempt to sound reassuring when he sees Mitch look a little nervous when the truck from the back parking lot pulls up next to them at a red light.

“We can go to book club? You’re not invited.” You explain once Mitch is further down the road and the truck has turned off a side road letting Mitch feel a wave of relief wash over him as he loosens his grip on the wheel.

“Even if I’ve read the book?” He asks making you raise an eyebrow as you twist around in your seat to look at him. Harry just chuckles as he clasps his hands together in his lap, twisting his S ring around a few times. “The Hating Game right? That’s the book in your backpack? It’s not the best but it’s not the worst the movie is horrible but the banter is-”

“You read romance novels?” Harry just shrugs as he looks down at his hands. “You read smut instead of horror or like crime novels? How lame.” He smiles at your teasing and he feels like for as long as he’s in the backseat of your car he can just be the guy who reads romance novels, doesn’t keep his phone on him, gets into cars just because they look like the one his driver usually picks him up in and most importantly he can just be the guy who thinks the girl in the passenger seat is cute especially when she’s annoyed with him. Or to put it simply when he’s around you, Harry feels like he’s okay with being the worst mob boss ever.

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 1 year ago

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I Want It All: Part 1

Part 2, Part 3; AO3 Link

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Reader, Astarion x Bard!Reader

Flirting, Light Angst, Longing

Summary: You and Astarion had been playing this little game of yours for a while; he pretends to care, you pretend not to fall for it. It's easy, even fun at times. The trouble is, what happens the moment you can't pretend anymore?

A/N: This turned into a monstrosity. For my own sanity I need to break it up into three parts. I also apologize in advanced, the stuff in the preview won’t pop up until part 2. And please, REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO LIVE!!!

Word Count: 4.8K

The day really couldn’t decide whether it was going to be terrible or tolerable.

On the one hand, it had been pouring rain for hours, leaving you and your party drenched as you searched for some place dry to sleep. On the other hand, you were able to find an inn with more than enough rooms to accommodate all of you. On the other, other hand, rooms cost money, something that was in short supply.

“How much does that make?” Karlach asked, placing her share into the pile.

Gale counted out the coins. “Enough for our own rooms, but not much in the way of food.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Hold on, this can’t be right. Who forgot to pitch in?”

All eyes turned suspiciously to Astarion.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I put down enough for the room. Food is something…you all have to deal with.”

Lae’zel gave him a hard look, the threat obvious on her features.

“We could always share a room or two,” Shadowheart cut in. “That will at least hold us over until we can find a way to make more coin.”

A devilish smirk formed on the vampire’s lips as his eyes turned to you. “I’m not opposed to the idea. Certainly would make it easier for me to get a little midnight snack.”

You gave a theatrical sigh. “Not tonight dear. I have a headache.”

“Teasing minx.”

“Can the pair of you not for ten seconds?” Wyll complained.

You bit back a laugh, turning your gaze to the dining area of the tavern. Gods you could smell something delicious cooking over the fireplace. When was the last time you had a proper hot meal?

It was then you turned your eyes to one of the empty corners. The solution to the issue of food suddenly became obvious.

“Not to worry everyone,” you announced, swiping the coins from Gale’s hand. “Dinner is on me.”

Before anyone could speak, you stepped towards the bar, making a point to put on your best smile.

A elderly halfling woman regarded you as you approached. “What can I get you deary?”

“Actually it’s a matter of what I can do for you,” you said. “I see you have some instruments sitting much too idly.”

The old lady shrugged. “Not really. Night like this you don’t need music to bring people in.”

Your smile faltered a moment, but you pushed on. “That may be, but nothing keeps people drinking longer and deeper than a good song.”

She gave you a disparaging look. “Don’t tell me, bard right?”

“Guilty.”

“If you don’t have money for the rooms, we don’t comp that.”

You waved the comment away. “The rooms aren’t the issue. However, if you’re willing to part with a cauldron of stew, I’ll consider it payment enough.”

Her eyes remained wary, but you knew you had her as a twitch came to her lips. “That’ll do. Thirty minute set. You eat after.”

She held out a hand which you took, striking the bargain.

It didn’t take long after to secure the rooms. They were nothing fancy, but a mattress was a mattress and with the guarantee of true privacy for the first time in weeks, none of you were complaining.

“How’s this about food then?” Karlach asked, taking a seat at one of the few tables large enough to accommodate all seven of you.

“All taken care of,” you assured. “Just need to pluck out a quick set and we can eat.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Astarion said. “I don’t mind it myself, but your songs have a tendency to be a bit, well…destructive. Frankly I’m surprised you didn’t use that cutting mouth of yours to simply insult the woman into feeding you.”

“As it turns out, I have a little thing called restraint. Unlike some people,” you countered.

“Oh trust me my dear, I’m well aware of that.”

You rolled your eyes, deciding to ignore the slight twist of guilt in your stomach.

He couldn’t seem to help making those kinds of jabs ever since you had declined his offer for a midnight tryst; always alluding to the theme of “untapped passions” or “delayed gratification”. It was starting to wear on you.

Gods knew you liked him. He had so many qualities you admired; insight, intelligence, charm, the way he could make you laugh. The more you learned, the more you wanted to know and the more you were willing to give for answers. The trouble was his idea of a night of passion and yours were so very, very different.

A part of you knew the honest thing to do would be to spell it out for him. You understood him well enough to know he’d respect those boundaries. At the same time, you didn’t want to lose this, whatever this was, between you. If suddenly that night of passion was off the table, all those moments, all his attentions would be lost. He’d be a friend, certainly, but nothing more.

It was selfish. You knew it was. You couldn’t imagine finding the words to explain it to him. It would leave you too exposed, too vulnerable to that insistent burning want that had a way of tearing you apart from the inside out. It was better to leave him to his assumptions of suppression and prudishness. You’d keep your dignity at least.

Pushing those thoughts away, you took your place in the unobtrusive corner and the spare violin waiting for you.

A smile spread across your face as you tucked the familiar instrument under your chin. Since this whole adventure of yours began, you had little opportunity to apply your skills. Music had always been a source of comfort to you. It felt right to indulge in it now, some place safe and filled with warm firelight.

With a flick of your wrist you began, the resonating tone of the strings filling the room.

You allowed your eyes to close as you slipped into the melody. The sounds of conversation and laughter fell to an idle murmur. It was a simple tune, something easy to match the atmosphere, but one you loved all the same. You always found it best to start with something familiar. If the patrons could see you get lost in the music, they inevitably followed.

As the first song came to an end, you chanced a quick glance at your audience.

Most of the patrons still prattled on, but enough turned your direction to encourage you to try something a little more daring.

Your fingers flew, igniting a livelier rhythm. More eyes found their way to you. A pleasant bubbling sensation filled you. They were falling right into your hands.

Rising to your feet, you glided across the floor, moving with the music towards the center of the room.

Patrons shuffled out of the way, transfixed by your performance. Even your companions had stopped their chatter.

Karlach and Shadowheart’s faces lit up in delight. A smile touched the corner of Gale’s mouth. Even Lae’zel and Wyll looked on with admiration at your skills. As for Astarion…Astarion just stared.

You couldn’t quite read what was going on behind those scarlet eyes. It was a look you had caught him wearing more than once, always blinked away before you could fully comprehend its meaning. All you knew was how it made that dangerous hope spark in your chest.

He caught you looking and quickly morphed his expression to its familiar smirk. The bastard even had the audacity to wink.

You rolled your eyes pretending not to have seen. It was all part of the game after all. He pretended to care, you pretended not to fall for it.

A lute suddenly joined you from one of the corners, strumming its way into a new song.

You turned as a cheer rose, encouraging the intrusive lutist forward. He was human by the look of him and certainly skilled in his own right. He took a moment to embellish your solo before taking over with one of his own. Soon enough you joined the conversation again with a counter melody. It wasn’t as clean as you would have liked it. The lad clearly had meant to upstage you, but you made sure to put him in line, allowing the impromptu duet to end in some kind of harmony.

You transitioned easily to a new song as he took a seat, bowing to you as he did.

Remembering your showmanship, you made a point to bow in return, schooling your expression into a flirtatious grin before pulling away. That earned the man a round of cheers from his friends and a few obvious oohs from the crowd; exactly as you intended.

You continued on with the remainder of your set. Requests were shouted from the audience, all the pieces of music moving to and from your fingers with practiced grace. By the end of it, your arms were exhausted, but your face hurt from smiling. Gods you had missed this.

As you took your bow, applause followed you back to your table as well as a handful of extra coin.

“That was amazing!” Karlach said, beaming at you. “How’d you learn to play like that?”

“Years of practice,” you said, with pride. “Had to find an honest living somehow.”

“Well, it was beautifully done,” Gale added. “Maybe next time we make camp you could grace us with another performance. Provided we’re not all about to die of course.”

You shot him a grin. “I could be persuaded.”

The wizard turned his gaze away, his lips turning into a knowing smirk. “You’ve been unnaturally quiet Astarion. Been bewitched have you?”

The vampire blinked as if coming out of deep thought. It was only in those last moments did you realize just how intently he had been looking in your direction.

“Yes,” he said, a little stiffly, “you were quite…good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Be careful there. You wouldn’t want to overwhelm me with praise.”

He regarded you a moment before a sly smile turned at his lips.

You were almost relieved. That look you understood at least.

“If it’s praise you crave, you need only ask,” he purred. “You, my dear, are an unparalleled talent. Your beauty and grace alone should have brought you into the presence of kings. A true diamond in the rough.”

You snorted out a laugh.

“No good?” he continued. “How about this one; if I die tomorrow and the gods grant me mercy it will be your song that brings me into the beyond.”

You gave him a slow clap. “Brava.”

He inclined his head in a little bow. “But seriously, you were good and you didn’t even destroy the furniture. Admittedly though, I wouldn’t have minded if he had met with a little accident.”

You followed Astarion’s eye line to the lute player chatting with his friends. He perked up as he felt eyes on him. Without the distraction of playing, you could easily tell he was handsome in that sun kissed farmer’s son kind of way. Probably had most of the girls in the village swooning.

He raised a tankard to you in toast.

You met the gesture in acknowledgment.

“He wasn’t that bad,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

“He was the worst part of your performance,” Astarion insisted.

You knew he wasn’t wrong, but you couldn’t help but have your fun.

“Oh my darling, don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you said, placing a hand over your heart.

“Certainly I am,” he said, clutching his own chest in turn. “He’s the only person I’ve seen you willing to make sweet music with. And judging from his looks, he would have much preferred it to be a private performance.”

You didn’t bother looking over to the other table to see if he was telling the truth. It didn’t matter either way. It never did. Your answer was always the same.

“He’ll have to keep waiting.” You shrugged. “Not my type.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed slightly, leaning in closer. “And what exactly is?”

You didn’t answer, deciding instead to take a long sip of your ale.

He continued to eye you, his lips pursed as if trying to solve a puzzle. After a few moments he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Fine, keep your secrets, but I will figure it out eventually.”

Your lip twitched up into a half smile. “You may certainly try.”

It was then one of the staff brought out a truly enormous cauldron of the most delicious smelling stew you had smelled in your life.

You didn’t think to wait as you greedily poured a ladle full into your empty bowl. Two full days on the road with nothing but a handful of nuts and berries to sustain you had taken its toll. The rest of the group soon followed, each taking their share. You ate yours so quickly that by the time the ladle had made the circle, you were grabbing for seconds.

“Hungry are we?” Astarion observed.

You paused mid bite, heat rising in your cheeks. You took a quick look at everyone else. Nobody seemed to have noticed how you inhaled your food. They were content enough in their own bowls and conversation. Carefully you swallowed before self consciously setting down the spoon in your hand.

“I am the one who worked for this,” you said, more defensively than you intended.

Astarion regarded you with a raised eyebrow. “Even so, it’s not going to disappear the second you look away.”

“Says you.”

“Clever,” he said, dryly. “Devastating really. What’s next? Are you going to hit me with an “oh yeah” or Gods forbid a “your mother”?”

“I was actually leaning towards, “leave me to eat in peace you pompous jackass”.”

“Oh yes, that’s much better.”

You breathed out a frustrated sigh. Hopefully it would distract from your obvious embarrassment. You had thought you’d tucked those bad habits away.

Years of living on your own had left you going to bed hungry more times than you cared to remember. There was a time food had disappeared from your plate if you didn’t eat it fast enough. Of course, things got better. You found music and people willing to listen. It gave you fire and shelter and a contented stomach on good nights. Still, there were the bad ones and old instincts took over. It took practice not to be as ravenous as you knew your nature to be.

“Do I need to worry about your hunger?” you asked, deciding to change the subject.

“Oh you of all people should know by now. I’m insatiable,” he crooned.

Your eyes narrowed, unamused. “I’m being serious, when’s the last time you ate?”

He shrugged. “Few days. Last time I fed on you I imagine.”

Your stomach gave a sudden guilt ridden twist. If that were the case, it had to have been at least three days ago.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because as much as the image of you swooning in my arms is appealing, I’d rather it be over my charms rather than blood loss.” He nodded his head towards the bowl. “From my own experience hunger and restraint don’t mix.”

You tried to fight it. You really did. Years of instinct and reason told you not to fall for the softness in his eyes and voice. He simply didn’t want to explain a dead body to the rest of the party. It wasn’t out of some concern for your well being. And you absolutely could not allow yourself to believe he recognized the desperation in your actions and not pass judgment. If you believed that, you’d be in much more danger than you already were.

“Excuse me deary,” an elderly voice asked. “I was wondering if I could have another moment of your time.”

You turned to see the barkeeper at your shoulder.

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “Of course.”

You moved to stand, but she gestured you down. It was then you noticed she was carrying a case. It was worn with age, but clearly lovingly maintained as the edges shone with intricate gold inlay.

“I know you already paid for your meal,” she said. “But I was hoping I could ask for one more performance tonight.”

She opened the case to reveal the most beautiful violin you’d ever laid eyes on. The wood was a carefully polished chestnut interrupted with carvings which matched those on the case. The strings shone like gold and the pegs carved marble. You may not be a trained wizard, but could feel the magic pulsing from every square inch of it.

“What is this?”

“It was my father’s,” the woman explained. “He was a bard you see, best in these parts from what people told. He had so many stories and songs. Built it himself to help tell them. Try as I might though, I could never get it to play as sweetly. I was hoping you might.”

You looked to your companions. The obvious curiosity played on all their faces.

With a cautious hand, you plucked one of the strings.

It was perfectly in tune. The sound echoed, rich and vibrant even with so light a touch. The instrument itself seemed to glow as if happy to be played once again.

Slowly, you lifted it from the case, taking the bow in hand. You placed it on the strings and with an exhale drew the first notes.

It was the loveliest sound you’d ever heard.

The vibrations resinated in your fingers, moving through your arm and into your chest.

You decided to start simple, a handful of scales to get the intonations just right.

Color danced across the strings, rippling from your fingers like raindrops in a pond.

“Woah,” Karlach said, her eyes widening in awe. “Are you doing that?”

“No,” you said, pausing your motions, as you let it fall slack in your hands.

The elderly halfing smiled. “My father always said an artist puts their truth into every stroke of the bow. This here helps one’s heart shine. I saw the way you performed earlier, you’re not afraid to play what’s true.”

Color rose in your cheeks, unsure how to take such praise. “Thank you.”

She just smiled, nodding towards the instrument. “Keep playing. See what happens.”

You were suddenly aware of the rest of the party’s eyes turning expectantly towards you. Some with caution, some with anticipation, and one pair of red eyes with unreadable intentions.

Knowing there was no way you were getting out of this now, you rose from your seat, placing the violin securely beneath your chin.

You started slow, picking a tune every beginner memorized in their first lessons.

The music sparkled in front of your eyes, twirling outward in melodic waves.

The hum of conversation began to die down as you spotted the barkeeper beckon for silence.

You continued on, moving to something a little more complex, allowing yourself to let the rest of the room blur in the peripheries.

The sound of boots on cobblestones met your ears. Glancing down you saw stone where hardwood floors had been.

You took another step.

The stones followed.

Around you the room fluctuated between firelight and the brightness of morning. Looking up you could see a clear sky had replaced the hatched ceiling.

A smile spread across your face as you stepped away from your bench.

As if waiting for your queue the rest of the bar quickly moved tables and chairs out of the way, clearing the center floor.

The sun followed as the cobblestones spread out in front of you like a stream. With every flourish, finer details were added. You changed the direction allowing a building to form beside you, then another and another. Images of people faded in and out like memories, coming and going with the flow of the music.

You never felt anything like this before. The strings sang inside you, drawing out a melody you knew was there, but had always managed to slip from your grasp.

You surrendered to its current, following it deeper and deeper until all you could see, all you could touch was the music.

Behind your eyes the streets began to turn and change. Buildings loomed large overhead. You could hardly see the stars. A cold swept through your clothes, the chords of the melody vibrating with the shivers in your hands. The world was so much bigger and you were so much smaller.

No instrument laid in your hands, but still the music played on as if you had slipped into a dream.

You continued to walk unsure of where your feet were carrying you until something warm pressed against your back. Light reflected behind you, casting long shadows on the ground. A melody played, soft and soothing against your own. You turned towards it as the voices of long forgotten conversation and laughter accompanied the strings of a quartet.

Your chords and theirs brushed up against each other, a new light shining in the darkness, but just as soon as it began, it moved away, leaving you on your own once again.

You continued on, brushing against others. Sparks would fly, fire would ignite only for them it fade in front of your eyes.

Your own melody grew more desperate, moving and shaping itself to match whoever you found next only just able to cling onto the barest sense of itself.

An ache grew in your chest as you wandered, always searching, never finding. Something warm trailed down your cheeks. You let it flow, unable to stop. You wouldn’t end the story here, even as swirls of blues and blacks surrounded you. They wrapped around your body, filling your vision and squeezing tight around you until you felt the air being pushed out of your lungs. There was nothing else. Even the music had gone dead.

For what felt like a moment and eternity you sat there, alone in the dark.

A voice came to you then, but it didn’t come from the instrument tucked somewhere under your chin. No melody accompanied it. It was so far away. Something about it was so familiar. It spoke your name like a desperate prayer. You reached out for it.

The air itself moved around you as if you had plucked the very strings of the universe.

A low hum came next bringing with it two pin pricks of light. A red fire glowed in the darkened space, growing until they sat as two eyes burning in the air.

You cocked your head to the side. Your own song started again, cautious as it curled around the eyes, examining them from different angles.

The eyes crinkled at the edges, amused by your persistence.

With a blur of motion, it turned to the side allowing a profile to form and beginning an enticing melody of its own.

You and the face took turns, calling and answering in playful antagonism.

The lines of light continued downward as its counter melody grew in strength against your own, forming the outline of a man.

He stepped towards you, his own head turning to the side as yours had done before, examining you from every angle.

After a moment, he bowed. You curtseyed. And then you did what only felt natural. You danced.

The heat of his touch burned your skin, but you didn’t dare pull away. You had been cold for so long you hadn’t even known you were cold. Even when it became too much, the fear of the darkness kept you in his light.

The man in turn held you close, his song teasing against your own. So unlike the duet from before, this was a true conversation, the pair of you giving and taking in equal measure. You didn’t want it to stop, holding the feeling tighter and tighter until you felt the pulse of his fire inside you.

You looked up to find the embers of his eyes pouring into you. He moved your hand to his chest. A heart pumped beneath and you knew then it wasn’t his own. Just as you had taken from him, he had taken from you in equal measure.

His face came into focus, forming a familiar knowing smirk and playful scarlet eyes.

He stepped back from you, his hand holding yours as he bowed, placing a kiss on the back of your hand.

The song faded away and you were once again in your own body, a violin tucked carefully beneath your chin.

You blinked your eyes open to find the tavern standing as it had been moments ago. Patrons surrounded you, their eyes wide and mouths open. You glanced around the room, quickly finding your companions. Horror struck you as you read their expression.

They’d seen it. All of it.

Before you could register what was happening a wave of applause erupted from the crowd. People began to cheer. You heard awed whoops and hollers. The adoration was overwhelming and completely miss timed. You needed to lie down. You needed to think.

Numbly you bowed before making your way to the side of the room where the barkeeper stood.

You held the instrument out to her, unable to look her directly in the eye.

“Thank you for letting me play this,” you said.

To your surprise she didn’t take it, instead pushing your hands away with a shake of her head.

“Keep it love,” she said. “After seeing all that, feels wrong to take it away from you. You’ve more than earned the right to it.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to scream. You wanted to curse her for ever asking you to touch the damned thing. Somehow you managed to swallow all of that down, mumbling another thank you before slowly turning towards your party.

There was still a chance to salvage this. Astarion hadn’t seen his own reflection in centuries. He didn’t know what he looked like. You could play this whole thing up to artistic license. You just carried a general feeling of desperate longing. No need for you to clarify its direction.

Making a point to keep your head down, you put the violin away and slid it over to Gale.

“Feel free to eat this one if you want,” you said. It was meant to be a joke, but even you could feel it fall flat.

“I don’t think I can do that,” Gale said, his tone holding nothing but sympathy.

“It really was lovely,” Wyll said, gently.

“Beautiful really,” Shadowheart added.

Your jaw tightened, caught between the urge to scream or weep. Why couldn’t everybody do you the favor of the lifetime and forget they saw anything.

“Personally I don’t understand your choice in the spawn, but–” Lae’zel started only to be hit hard in the arm by Karlach.

“What?” she snapped.

Your whole body cringed, knowing exactly what was coming next.

“That was…me?”

You were in hell. This was hell. You didn’t have to look up to see Astarion’s self satisfied expression. His tone made it clear enough.

In a flash you stepped back from the table, putting as much distance between you and the party as possible.

“I need to go,” you managed. “Goodnight.”

You sprinted out of the tavern, taking two steps of the time to the upper rooms. You didn’t stop until your door was firmly slapped behind you.

Your breaths came hard as your heart pounded in your chest. Honestly you didn’t know how you locked the door. Your hands were shaking so badly as tears blurred your vision. All the emotions the violin had pulled from you returned, overwhelming you in their intensity.

The instrument had done as advertised. It had shown the truth of your heart, putting it on display for the whole world to see. Gods you were an idiot. Why did you even pick up that damned thing?

You kept your ears open, listening as everyone made their way to their rooms. Their murmurs never made it past the walls, but the way they paused as they passed your door made it clear enough they were discussing you. Thankfully they were kind enough to leave you be.

Counting, you waited until all six doors shut before rising to your feet.

As you did, you felt a small pull at the back of your mind. A vision of a door number and the feeling of anticipation sat on your tongue. The invitation was clear enough; Astarion was waiting for you.

You wanted to ignore it, but you knew you couldn’t. There was no use in pretending any longer. The game was over and you would have to face the consequences.

With a steeling breath, you walked out the door. You could only hope Astarion wouldn’t hate you when it was all over.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #bard!reader #asexual!reader #asexual #bard!tav #astarion x ace!tav #astarion x evie

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lizzy019 · 5 months ago

Text

НИКТО Personality Analysis

-> Information Given

Some form of dissociation disorder

Tortured by Zakhaev, leaving heavy scarring and forcing him to wear a mask to avoid ridicule, fear from others, and shunning by society

Age is in the range of late 20s to mid 30s, not confirmed yet

-> Theories

Nikto says "us" a lot in his voicelines, and in his description it only says he has ACUTE DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER, which is when you zone out and fall into a heavy state of haziness and confusion for a short period of time before regaining focus. However, DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER is all about dissociating for however long, the range is limitless, and another identity will take over while you're spaced out. Therefore, this is why I believe Nikto had DID and not ADD.

Nikto has this animation where he's supposedly showing that he'll slit your throat in a very oddly realistic manner. What pressure to use and how he'd end off your head. I believe he's witnessed and first handedly experienced this when Zakhaev tortured him, and he began doing it while in the military. Why? Nikto has a very gruff, harsh tone, but it's only when he's yelling and putting too much pressure to his vocal cords. I believe he has a scar on his neck, maybe a bit too close to his esophagus and lower chin that didn't heal properly and affected how he projected his voice.

Now, Nikto has one voice line that goes, "I hear enough voices, I don't need another!" Referring back to my first theory, I believe Nikto also has very short patience and all of his alters do as well. His whole personality is built off of acting fast, doing as instructed, and constantly going. You never see Nikto stop. I believe this voiceline is a very strong giveaway to a part of Nikto's personality on how he functions. It also shows how his temper is kind of wonky.

-> Personality Scan-over

Nikto is presumed as a very harsh Russian man, brutalized by his captor Zakhaev and taken advantage of when he was at his absolute lowest. This has caused major issues with trust, abandonment, and self-love. Nikto struggles with expressing himself, often resulting in violence and anger as heard in his voicelines.

He typically doesn't like speaking to people, only his fellow military personnel, but even then it isn't guaranteed. Nikto is a very self-sufficient person, he's head-on about lots of things and isn't scared to take charge when need be. His main frustration is when people don't listen to him, he already lacks control mentally with all his alters.

Nikto is the type of person who struggles with letting people into his life, or into his head in general. He's reserved, too reserved. He doesn't like letting people in, and who could blame him with all that he's suffered?

But if you do manage to break down his barriers, expect tough love and lots of strange surprises. He'll become more protective of you in a physical sense, not caring too much about you emotionally. If you've brought him comfort in any way, shape or form, he will tell himself how much he cannot lose that solace you bring him.

Nikto is cold, and typically isn't good in relationships. In his voicelines, he's very aggressive and doesn't show any sympathy, much less many manners. The occasional "spasibo" (thanks in Russian) and that's all. It'd be hard to be dependent on him when he's just more independent than you'd expect.

-> Background Theories

True Name: Igor "Nikto" Vasilyevich Yurievich

Age: 33 or 34

Born in: Siberia, Russia

Family: No mother, no siblings

-> Summary

Nikto is a Russian soldier who fights in the private military dubbed "KorTac", an elite group of military personnel who fight alongside other military units to achieve a shared goal.

Nikto is a torture victim survivor, captured my Viktor Zakhaev and ending up with some severe scarring to his lower face and neck. This is why he hides his face with a mask, and also covers his whole body in dark clothing.

Nikto is an individual who struggles with a dissociative disorder, causing some of his work to be a bit half-done, not purposefully however. His lack of control due to his disorder brings him only disadvantages, making him stop mid-fight and inevitably making him an easy target.

Regardless of this, Nikto has proved himself to be a worthy soldier on the battlefield, exceeding many expectations and climbing the ranks cleanly and efficiently. His character is the embodiment of determination and dedication despite everything going wrong much to his dismay.

#elizabethposts #nikto cod #cod nikto #call of duty nikto #nikto #cod mw2 #call of duty #love this man

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pedroscurls · 1 month ago

Note

Hi Jamie! How are you doing? Would it be okay if I made a Hugh Jackman x reader request pretty please? They’re friends or she’s friends with the Reynolds, average, curvier, and completely in love with Hugh. At one of Hugh’s premiers, she wants to surprise him with a present and maybe even confess, but finds him in a compromising position with a tall skinny model-type woman and makes a run for it. She’s totally devastated, but she should’ve know that he had someone and would never look at her more than a friend. You can end how you want. Tysm! ❤️

in the shadows (one-shot)

summary: hugh's excited to see you at his premiere, but when he sees the look on your face when he's posing with one of his co-stars, he's confused because you decide to leave without a word. pairing: hugh jackman x curvy!fem!reader content warnings: angst (with a happy ending!), curvy!reader, body image issues, no use of y/n. word count: 1.4k a/n: oh man, for someone who experiences body issues herself, this was tough to write (all body types are beautiful btw!!!). i hope you enjoyed it, anon. and as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

Hugh continues to walk the red carpet at the premiere of his new movie. He wants so badly to look at his phone, to check if you had sent him a message that you were on his way. Even as he moves to each marker, his eyes scan the crowd, scan to see if maybe he might have missed you on the way in.

Hugh liked you. A lot, actually. He enjoyed your company, enjoyed spending time with you and what started out as a friendship had soon blossomed into something more. A secret that he had kept to himself. He didn’t want to ruin his friendship with you, but the more time he spent with you, the more it was becoming difficult to just see you as a friend.

So when you agreed to come to his premiere tonight, Hugh was ecstatic. He couldn’t wait to see you, wondering what you would be wearing. Would you opt for a dress? And if so, would it be short or long? Would it be loose or would it cling to every curve that Hugh had been yearning to run his hands over?

And your curves, god, your curves. When you had sent him a picture one night of the dress you were wearing for a date that you had, his mind had drifted to places that it shouldn’t have. He spent that entire night wondering if you had taken the man back home and how lucky that man was to be on a date with you.

Hugh liked you so much that he knew he was going to confess his feelings for you tonight. He had it all planned. He’d ask you to dance, spend the rest of the premiere by your side, and when it was time to go home, he’d tell you how he felt. He couldn’t just stand by and only be your friend any longer.

He needed more. And he at least needed to try.

One of his female co-stars waves him over and he smiles, walking over to her and wrapping an arm around her waist. The cameras flash in their direction and Hugh leans down to allow the woman to whisper something into his ear and he laughs, but his mind is still drifting. The woman reaches up to rest a hand on his chest and he smiles as she continues to whisper into his ear.

To anyone else, it looks intimate. Her whispering into his ear. Her hand splayed on his chest. Hugh laughing as his arm remains tight around her waist.

So when she finally pulls away, she gives him a soft kiss on his cheek and turns on her heel to continue down the red carpet. Hugh poses alone, a smile remaining on his lips, and when he sees you, his heart leaps out of his chest. You look absolutely fucking beautiful and his eyes deviate to the dress you’re wearing – skin tight and form fitting, he can feel his manhood stir beneath his pants.

But when his eyes meet yours, he furrows a brow at the look on your face. You have your lower lip pulled between your teeth, eyes filled with sadness as you wrap your arms around yourself. Suddenly, you feel very self-conscious about what you’re wearing, about your body in comparison to the woman he just had his arm around. You glance over at the other woman and Hugh meets your gaze and he’s about to step in your direction when he watches you turn around to go back into the car you had just come in.

—

Hugh doesn’t stay for his premiere that long. Only an hour tops before he begins undoing the bowtie around his neck as he runs towards the car that’s waiting for him. He tells the man your address and he just hopes that when he gets to your apartment that you’d be willing to hear him out.

This isn’t certainly the way he thought tonight would go and Hugh feels guilty – how that dress you were wearing had gone to waste.

He feels the car stop at your driveway and he tells his driver that he can take the rest of the night off. He climbs out of the car and jogs to your front door, undoing a few buttons at the top of his shirt as he brings his free hand to knock on your door.

—

You had gone home the moment you saw Hugh with his arm around that woman. You had no right to be jealous, but you couldn’t help but feel very insecure about yourself. You had fooled yourself into thinking that Hugh would ever be interested in you. You were no model. You were no actress.

You were just… You.

And Hugh could have anyone he wanted, so why would he pick you?

The minute you had gone home, you had changed into a pair of sleep shorts and a blank tank top, immediately discarding the dress into your closet. You remove your make-up and put your hair into a single, loose braid. You had turned your phone off, not wanting to be disappointed if Hugh doesn’t reach out to you.

Besides, he wouldn’t leave his premiere for you.

So, you pour yourself a glass of wine and walk into your living room when you hear a knock at the door. Unsure of who it is, you decide not to answer it. Soon enough, the person on the other side will leave…

But the knocking persists.

And then you hear his voice.

You glance at the time – his premiere is supposed to still be happening, so you’re not sure why he’s even here.

Pulling on a cardigan, you walk over to the front door and open it to see him with soft and concerned eyes.

“You left,” he says. “Why did you leave?”

“Hugh, what are you–”

Hugh interrupts you by stepping inside your apartment and shutting the door behind him. He looks at you from top to bottom and even in this attire, you look fucking beautiful.

“I had everything planned,” Hugh begins. “I was going to ask you to dance, going to spend the entire night with you and then…”

“Hugh…”

“And then I was going to tell you how much I like you, how much I want you.” he admits. “But then you left. Why did you leave?”

You can’t process what he just said. There’s no way that this is real, right? Hugh’s standing in front of you instead of standing at his premiere. He’s telling you how strong he feels for you and yet, you don’t know what to say.

“You– You just seemed preoccupied,” you whisper.

“Preoccupied?” Hugh asks, confused. “I spent the entire time waiting for you to show up, baby. And then you did and you looked absolutely stunning in that dress and then you left…”

“I’m nothing like her.”

“Like who?”

“The woman that you had taken pictures with, the one whispering into your ear and–”

“I don’t want her.” Hugh interrupts. “I don’t see her the way I see you.”

“But she’s so beautiful. I’m just… I’ve got curves. I’m not built like her–”

Hugh reaches out and runs his hands along your sides, letting out a very quiet growl as he steps to you. His hands move down your sides, squeezing your hips as his hands move around to rest on your ass. “I like your curves,” he whispers, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. “I like you.”

“This is really happening, right? I’m not dreaming?”

Hugh chuckles, squeezing your ass which elicits a quiet gasp to escape your lips. “I sure hope not. Have I misread this? Do you not want this?”

You shake your head and move your hands slowly to wrap around his neck. “I have wanted you for so long,” you admit. “I just didn’t think you would ever go for someone like me.”

“Oh baby,” Hugh whispers, moving his lips to press gently across your jawline. “You have no idea how long I have dreamt of this, of you.”

“Really?” you ask, genuine surprise in your voice.

“Really,” he answers. “If you’ll have me, baby, I promise to show you just how badly I want you.”

You bite your lower lip, eyes fluttering as you feel his lips brush against your neck and his hands begin to knead your backside. “Stay the night,” you whisper almost breathlessly.

“Anything you want, baby.” Hugh pulls back enough and leans down to capture your lips with his own.

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman angst #hugh jackman x fem!reader #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x female reader #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman requests #real person fiction #rpf #real person fanfic #story: in the shadows #hugh jackman oneshot

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schrodingers-romy · 3 months ago

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You Don’t Gotta Hold Me Down, Baby (I Know How to Sink) [Shidou Ryusei x Reader]

Pairing: Shidou Ryusei x GN!Reader Word Count: ~1800 [Ao3 Link]

Summary: Ryusei is used to feeling empty at the end of the day; at least, until he has you.

Warnings: crying, some light depression i think from shidou, kisses, reader and ryusei are both lonely and weird idk what to tell you, no gendered pronouns/terms used for reader, gratuitous petnames, some innuendo but nothing sexual/heated happens

Notes: I read in the character book line where he 'cries at the end of the day when he becomes nothing' and I haven't stopped thinking about it. I sincerely hope it's in character but idk. I love him anyways tho and I had fun writing this <3 Title is a lyric from RELAX AFTER WORK WITH A DRINK by Lilyisthatyou.

At the end of the day, Shidou Ryusei becomes nothing.

During the day, lit by the radiance of the sun, he was something. He was in control of his own destiny, a daredevil chasing the high of the next explosion. Whether that explosion came from kicking a soccer ball or kicking some slime’s face in was irrelevant; it was the rush of endorphins it gave him that was important. He was in peak form, the predator at the top of the food chain, devouring the opportunities the world had gifted him, glutting himself on whatever adrenaline high presented itself. But it never lasted; the explosive energy he had faded to nothing at the end of the day, pleasure slipping through his fingers like smoke in the wind, escaping him with the escaping daylight. After sunset, he was left empty, void of any sort of vitality; like a combustion engine with no fuel to light, he was left stiff, and cold, and useless. Forgotten.

He didn't even bother trying to stay up much past sunset, most days. Even with the sun’s lingering warmth rising from the earth during the night, it was always too cold for him, without the light shining on him. He was a photosynthetic organism, relying on sunlight to create his own sustenance in the form of his explosions.

Ryusei liked to think that the faster he went to sleep, the faster he would see the sun again.

It even worked, sometimes.

But sometimes it didn't. Sometimes he lay there for hours, too tired to do anything, and too tired to sleep. It was a bone-deep exhaustion, one that made his joints ache dully, and his eyes stay stuck open, as tears dripped freely down from them onto the thin and faded material of his pillowcase. Those nights, he desperately waited for the sun to return, so he could come back to life. So he could go back to seeking some way to make himself feel. And maybe he would be lucky enough to somehow make his mark on the world, so he would no longer fade from it every night like a mirage.

But he hadn’t made a mark on the world yet. He had yet to make something of himself.

So, at night, Shidou Ryusei would cry as he became nothing.

You were both a particular brand of lonely.

Something in the both of you had noticed each other; like calling to like. You were too close for people who had known each other for such a short period of time; it would be concerning, if either of you cared. But you didn’t, so you spent your days attached at the hip. Gorging yourselves on the attention of the other, desperate creatures starved for the acknowledgement and understanding that you had only ever found in each other.

It wasn’t an understanding borne of explicit conversation; the two of you had discussed almost everything under the sun and moon, but you both excelled at skirting the razor’s edge of baring your issues fully. Whether it was because neither of you understood your own mind yourself, or because some sort of animal instinct in you just understood each other without having to spill the gore of your worst feelings, it was unclear. It didn’t really matter, anyways. You were two sides of the same corroded coin, two pieces of a defective puzzle that could only ever fit together.

It was past midnight, and you were exhausted. The noise from the television was nothing more than the canned background hum to Ryusei's presence. The true focus of the scene was his flickering gaze and the hot press of his thighs against yours. You were sitting so close you could nearly count every single one of his numerous blond lashes. The shadows they cast on his cheeks were hypnotizing to you, and you found yourself leaning into him, with a combination of your own sleepiness and the dizzy, floaty sensation you always felt when you were this close to him casting you off balance. You could not help yourself from leaning further in, until you were falling into him. Your cheek landed pressed onto the warmth of his exposed collarbone, where his oversized shirt collar had slipped down to reveal tanned skin. You let out a heavy sigh, nuzzling into him, as he wrapped his arms around you to pull you ever closer to his heated body.

“Tired, babes?” he asked, the uncharacteristic deep, slow tone to his voice betraying his own sleepiness.

“Mhmm hmm,” you mumbled. “Too tired to go home. I’m staying here tonight.”

With anyone else, you wouldn’t have been so bold as to invite yourself to stay the night for the first time. But everything was different with Ryusei. You could be as bold as you wanted, take what you wanted, without fear of ridicule or rejection or anger. He would just give you a particular feral grin, when you asserted yourself, that made you feel confident and on top of the world.

It’s only because you’re so close that you felt the slight hitch in his breath. He covered it nearly seamlessly with his usual attitude. “Of course! I’d love to have you spend the night with me, sexy~”

You nipped lightly at his collar bone, chastising. “Just sleeping, Ryu, no innuendo intended.”

“Aww, how can you say that, after putting your teeth on me,” he whined, teasing. “You know that gets me going, sugar…”

“I want you to get going. To sleep,” you retorted. “I’m tiredddd.” You let your voice trail into a childish whine.

“Can’t have that, can we?” Ryusei shifted, sliding one arm underneath your thighs and one behind your back to lift you up into a bridal carry. “Do I have Your Highness’s permission to take you to bed? I promise not to have my wicked way with you there. Knight’s honor.”

“Ah, why would I not trust my most loyal knight? Take me away, good sir.”

Ryusei grinned wide enough to show gums, before carrying you out of the living room with surprising gentleness.

(Though it wasn’t entirely surprising, to you.)

The room was dark, aside from the weak, silvered light of the moon and stars that leaked from Ryusei’s uncovered window. It was just bright enough for you to see the faintest details of his face.

He looked softer, hair down, kohl washed away, venomous pink eyes half-lidded; a sort of physical representation of how he bared himself to you. You were compelled to pull him closer to you, until you could bury your face into his product-free hair. You let out a contented hum at feeling the abnormal silkiness of it.

You were so comfortable; you felt like you were melting into the mattress. It had been forever since you had gone to sleep feeling so relaxed (and safe, and not alone); you couldn’t be blamed for nearly drifting off the second you laid down with Ryusei in your arms.

You were almost gone, slipping into dreamland by the pull of the gentle hands of Morpheus, when you felt Ryusei begin to tremble in your arms.

It was like a switch had been flipped, removing sleep from the edges of your mind like the swipe of an eraser on a chalkboard. You were immediately focused on him.

“Ryusei? Are you okay?” you whispered, a sliver of panic slipping into your voice.

You could feel him shaking slightly in your hold, arms wrapped in a vice grip around you, face pressed tightly into your neck, hiding his expression from you. You felt a drip of wetness fall onto your skin and slip down.

He was crying.

“Baby,” you murmured, hugging his lax body even closer to yours, like you could tuck him away into your ribcage, safe and sound. “Ryu, darling, what’s wrong?” You felt off-balance, perhaps for the first time since you had met. Your understanding did not extend to this, not when he had so carefully pirouetted around any true pain he felt when you talked.

He gripped you tighter for a moment, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises, before he relaxed his hold. “Nothin’s wrong.” He lifted his head to look at you.

The tear trails on his face were lit up like liquid drips of mercury in the moonlight. But he didn’t look devastated, as you expected; instead, he had the smallest, softest smile you had ever seen him wear. Even in the half-light, his gaze was soaked in so much affection, he looked love-drunk. It rendered you speechless.

“Y’know,” he laughed wetly, “I usually cry, at night. When I become nothing.” He took a deep, shuddering breath.

You lifted one hand to his face, wiping away the fresh flow of tears that leaked from his glittering eyes. Your eyebrows were creased, a pang going through your heart at his words.

But he wasn’t done, pausing only to nuzzle his cheek further into your hand, like a housecat. “Still cryin’, tonight, but I’m not sad. Y’see babes? I’m not sad. I don’t feel like nothing, I feel happy. Happy tears, sweetheart, just cause tonight I’m with you.” He giggled, hiccupping slightly as his laughter caught on the tears still welling up.

You gaped at Ryusei for a moment, before you yanked him into a kiss. It wasn’t the best kiss ever, still wet with his tears, barely more than a firm press of mouths together before you release him.

He grinned at you for a moment, before dropping back down onto you, boneless. “I feel drunk. Like I’m high. Crossfaded. On you, babe!~” he blabbered, sing-song. “It’s not an explosion, it’s a bonfire inside of me! Shit, this might be better than playing. Or fighting. I might even be a little horny right now, I can’t tell.”

“God, you’re so weird, Ryu.” You punctuated your statement with a firm kiss to his forehead, making an exaggerated ‘mwah’ sound that drew a giggle from the man on top of you. “I love you. I’m gonna be with you forever. I’ll move in, and we’ll sleep together every night, you’ll never feel like nothing again.”

“Maybe I AM horny…horny off of love…emotionally horny?” he rambled. “Fuck, I don’t know, babe, but I love you too, and I’m never gonna let your pretty ass go now, y’hear?”

“Perfect. We’ll become one organism. Symbiosis. Like lichen,” you breathed.

Ryusei let out a lovesick sigh. “Love it when you talk sexy to me.”

You felt one of his hands drift down to squeeze one of your ass cheeks.

You let out an exasperated, but fond sigh. “Ryusei. Go to sleep.”

“Okay honey~” he said, letting out a little giggle into your collarbone.

(And for the first time in years, neither of you fell asleep feeling empty, or lonely; and you would wake up to find joy in the sunrise together.)

#shidou x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #shidou ryuusei x reader #ryusei shidou x reader #ryuusei shidou x reader #shidou ryusei #ryusei shidou #shidou ryuusei #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #shidou fluff #blue lock #gender neutral reader #reader insert #romy can write

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temporaryrose200 · 6 months ago

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✩Without You✩

✟pairing: Yandere Kalim Al-Asim x GN Reader

✟genre: ⚠️Yandere⚠️

✟warning: ⚠️Mention Of Suicide Unhealthy Obsession, Toxic Relationship⚠️

✟One-Short

✟fandom: Twisted Wonderland

✟summary: Realising that your relationship with Kalim wasn’t healthy, you break up with him. It doesn’t go as planned…

You love Kalim, you truly do. He’s sweet, kind and thoughtful, what else could you ask for? But there was one problem. He was too clingy. Constantly stuck by your side, it was beginning to become unhealthy and slightly annoying. Sleepovers at his dorm started to become the usual. It was as though you were living there now. Whenever you tried bringing it up, Kalim would be quick to shut you down, changing the subject. But could only take those things for so long.

You rarely hung out with your friends anymore and when you did, Kalim was there by your side, with his ‘sweet innocent’ smile. You had finally snapped when your boyfriend somehow got all your classes changed to his. Kalim was becoming way too much to handle. So what did you do? It was time to break up with him.

“Please!” Kalim shouted, eyes watering as he blocked the exit, forcing you to stop in your tracks. He stared up at you with his watery red eyes. “Please” he repeated, the second-year's voice cracking slightly. “Don’t leave, we can talk about this.” It tore your heart to see Kalim like this, but it just had to be done. Your relationship just wasn’t healthy for either of you

“You have to move,” you said calmly. Your eyes tearing away from him, guilt eating away at you. Kalim didn’t move an inch though, his feet cemented to the ground. You could see tears slowly roll down his cheeks, but you just couldn't give in, not again… “Kalim-“ you spoke firmly but before you could say anything more, the white-headed teen dropped to his knees, hands clasping on your uniform.

You froze in place as the Prince buried his head into your stomach. “Please, please, please” He cried out over and over again until his words became incomprehensible. You could only stand there. What else could you do? You already felt terrible for making him like this, you couldn’t just push Kalim off you. And it didn’t help with people walking past and giving you a dirty look. Kalim had stopped. pulling his face away from your uniform and looking up at you, tears staining his cheeks. “Is it because I don’t pay enough attention to you” he stated. His face was serious and determined. “I’ll give you anything! Jewellery, the newest and most expensive clothes. You just name it, it’s yours!” He exclaimed a crazy smile plastered across his face, making your blood run cold. Trying to tell him that money wasn't the issue but he just wouldn’t listen, too caught up in his own world.

Suddenly, Kalim grabbed both of your hands, pulling himself up from the ground. “I need you” he whispered, eyes boring into yours. You tried to pull away but Kalim’s grip was surprisingly strong.

“Stop it” you begged, tears threatening to spill from your [Eye colour] eyes.

His grip on your hand only tightened, knuckles nearly turning white. “I’ll die without you” his voice was shaky and unsteady. He looked deranged.

Thoughts began forming at what the prince had just told you. Scenes played out in your mind of what he would do to himself. All because of you. “Please don’t” you muttered softly, a single tear sliding down your cheek. The words he used, the way he spoke, the look in his eyes, they all made you feel guilty. You knew this was his plan. To cry, to beg. Making you feel like the bad guy, like you were being a bitch. And what shocked you the most, it was actually working.

Kalim smiled softly releasing his grip off you. He raised his hands, cupping both sides of your cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumb. "Then don’t leave me" he spoke gently. He didn’t even wait for you to respond. He already knew the answer just by the way you get out a defeated sigh. Not even wasting a second, he pulled you into a tight hug, whispering sweet honey words into your ear.

You could never leave. This was your life. Stuck in this toxic relationship. Even if you somehow manage to get yourself out of it, Kalim always gets what he wants. He will bring you back, he always finds a way.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst kalim #kalim al asim #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #kalim x reader #kalim al asim x reader #yandere kalim al asim #yandere kalim x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #x reader #x y/n #fanfic #fanficion

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imaginedanvrs · 9 months ago

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home, sweet home

masterlist

dark(?)carol danvers x reader

word count: 4.5k

summary: when carol is sent a gift she refuses to accept, she discovers just how much she's been seeking a companion

warnings: human trafficking, past conditioning, elements of pet play, soft carol turned kind of dark? it's not her fault you're so cute

“I’m gonna have to call you back, Fury,” Carol mumbled, hanging up the coms device before the director could object. She stared down the unexpected delivery for a few short moments, trying to assess its reliability. She didn’t often get deliveries sent to her ship and it was even less common for them to be safe, though the small holes placed in the top of the crate sparked her curiosity enough to overcome her caution.

The Captain hooked her fingers under one of the top edges of the crate and pulled the lid off in one fluid motion and raised her glowing fist to shine on whatever creature was inside, slightly alarmed to see the face that peered up at her. Carol was quick to pull two of the sides off and grab the blanket that was hanging on the nearest chair to pass to you, becoming more confused when you merely stared at her blankly as you hugged your knees.

“Um, do you…hi,” Carol greeted tentatively as she placed the spotted blue blanket down in front of you and kept her eyes level with your own, hoping you would cover your bare form. You blinked, staring back blankly at the blonde crouching before you and gripped your knees tighter until there were half moons indented despite your nails having been cut the day before. She noticed the anxious gesture and moved back to give you some space, only then noticing the note attached to one of the discarded crate sides.

A gift of gratitude, the people of Krylor. Carol reread the note several times, taking a few moments to realise what your presence on her ship meant. Of course, she had heard the rumours of the intergalactic trade of humans that were passed around the cosmos, but she had never found enough solid evidence to even begin to tackle the issue until you arrived on her doorstep. Clearly the people of Krylor had greatly misinterpreted the kind of hero that Carol was if they had thought you were an appropriate gift, sparking a deep anger inside the Captain at such an assumption.

She looked back at you and immediately softened her features upon seeing the clear fear in your wide eyes that watched her apprehensively. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” she assured with a nervous smile, entirely unsure of how she was meant to deal with you. “Do you understand me?” She asked. You nodded. “Good, good…” she muttered. “You can come out of there if you want,” she offered, backing away again. You continued to watch her without moving a muscle. She nodded as she glanced around her ship for any clues as to what to do with you. She couldn’t keep you there, that much was clear. But where could you go?

Of what Carol had heard about the human trade, they all carried the brand symbol somewhere on their body which meant that the blonde had to be cautious where she sent you in case you ended up back in the wrong hands. Of all the people Carol could trust with you, none of them were better suited to take care of you. Her allies bases were too hectic to place you in, the most neutering planets wouldn’t be able to protect you if needed and other heroes stuck to themselves as much as she did. That only left her with New Asgard, though Carol had sent so many refugees Valkyrie's way that she was hesitant to give her more to deal with. It was easier to do when they were together and Carol could be around more to help, but since the mutual break up Carol's distance meant she couldn’t always aid her people.

The Captain glanced back at you mid pace where you were still glued to the spot and redirected herself to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water and placed it down next to the crate. You didn’t acknowledge it. “You should drink something. I’m sure it’s been a long journey,” Carol winced. She pushed the glass closer and stepped away. “Drink,” she insisted, which seemed to click something in your mind. You reached forward, but instead of holding the glass, you made your hand into a scoop and reached inside to gather some water in your hand and bring it up to your mouth.

“No, you-” Carol went to interject, startling you enough to shrink back into your crate. “Sorry,” she muttered, wondering if it would be best just to leave you for a while. You were clearly scared and confused and understandably didn’t trust the person you had been gifted to. Carol just wanted to try and communicate some reassurance to you, but she supposed that if you weren’t going to be with her for very long then there wasn’t much point in putting you through the additional stress it would take to get there. But sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind.

Taking a hold of the back of the crate, Carol pulled it against her as she walked backwards through the small ship and felt you stumble back inside. She brought you over to the corner between her sleeping area and the control panel and slotted the crate as far back as she could before grabbing a new blanket and hanging it over the front as a makeshift curtain, leaving a small gap in the side for you to peer through. It was the best she could do to make you feel safe for the time being. She placed the water back outside and put together a sandwich for you to eat, unsure of what you were used to and hoping that you would be okay with what she had.

“Okay, you can handle this,” Carol said to herself, a habit she had developed ever since spending the majority of her time alone with Goose who wasn’t big on conversation. She gathered that you weren't either.

“Crap,” she muttered when she saw her route to Earth was going to take a few days and that she would have to stop on the way for fuel too. She glanced back and noticed that the spotted blanket had vanished only to realise you had pulled it in. Carol smiled at that, hoping it gave you some kind of comfort, and looked around for some clothes for you to wear. She settled on a sweatshirt, some underwear and sweatpants and placed them outside your crate with the announcement that they were there. She wasn’t entirely sure you would take them, but a hand crept out from behind the curtain and dragged them inside.

Carol figured it was best to leave you to it for a while and turned back to her control panels that monitored any unusual activities in the galaxies closest. There was always work to be done, even if she did have a guest in her home. It was common for the blonde to spend several hours there without realising and it was always Goose that snapped her out of her workaholic trance, though that time the flerken did so in a new way.

Carol turned around at the sound of a distant meow, assuming she had gotten herself trapped in a cupboard as she often did when she went wandering around the ship, only to see the ginger tail sticking out from behind the curtain on your crate. Listening closely, Carol heard the familiar purr rumble from Goose and smiled, suddenly getting an idea.

“Goose,” Carol called as she sat cross legged a few steps away from the crate. The flerken appeared from behind the curtain and trotted over to the Captain obediently, nuzzling into her hand as she continued to purr happily. The curtain twitched and you peered around the gap to see where Goose had gone and blinked at the sight of Carol’s gentleness with the ginger creature. You pulled the curtain back further to watch with interest and Goose strolled back over to you, clearly enjoying the extra attention she was getting.

“She likes you,” Carol commented with an easy smile. Pretty. “You can come out of there if you want to. I’ll leave the crate there so you can go back to it whenever you want to,” Carol explained. You glanced around the room just as Goose sprang from your lap and jumped up onto the nearest counter to patrol her territory. You watched curiously for a few moments before stretching your legs out of the cramped space. The blonde averted her eyes at your still bare form, knowing that at some point she was going to have to help you dress.

“The bathroom’s just down the hall,” she told you. Your eyes flickered between Carol and Goose as you crept out of the crate and peered in the direction that she had pointed. When both feet were on the warm floor of Carol’s ship, you assessed her closely for any sudden movements and upon finding nothing, you continued cautiously down the hall. Once you had disappeared from view, Carol inspected the crate and noticed that the clothes she had given you had been pushed together with the blanket to form a nest. The glass of water was empty though the sandwich remained. That meant it had been a long time since you had eaten anything and seeing as it was Goose’s dinner, the Captain decided to make something up for all three of you.

When you reamurged from the hallway, the smells that hit you from the kitchen were heavenly. You didn’t recognise them but all you knew was that you wanted to know what was at their source and when you saw Carol standing over the stove, you approached slowly. She noticed you and smiled, following your gaze to the pot.

“Do you like rice?” She asked. That, you knew. You nodded. “It’s like that but an adapted version I learnt from the Skrulls.” You nodded again, deciding that you liked the sound of the blonde’s voice. “While we let it cook…shall we get some clothes on you?” She enquired. You glanced down and then back at Carol with a hesitant nod. You couldn’t remember the last time you had worn anything, but you followed a few steps behind Carol as she retrieved the clothes she laid out for you, knowing that if it was something she wanted then you should accept.

“Put your hands out,” she instructed gently. You did so and she bunched up one sleeve to slide up your arm and then did the same with the other before pulling the top over your head, chuckling softly at the sight of your dishevelled hair. You liked that sound too. And her sweatshirt. It was mostly white but had a few splashes of pink and blue swirls across it that you found yourself examining while Carol reached for the underwear.

“This foot up,” she coached with a tap to your left foot. You lifted it, then the other, until the underwear were pulled up your legs and fit comfortably around you. The sweatpants followed in the same way and you immediately felt considerably more comfortable in the clothes you had been gifted. They were a size bigger than what you needed, but you wondered if that made them better.

You gave her a small smile in recognition. “You can sit down while I plate up,” she told you, turning to go back to the kitchen but stopping when she saw you try to sit down on the floor. “Somewhere more comfortable,” she assured and pulled out a chair at the small table by the kitchen. You couldn’t recall ever having been let on furniture before, so it took you several embarrassing moments to get attempt to get on the chair, constantly wobbling until Carol muttered that you could stay on the floor, though not entirely happy with letting you do so.

You sat patiently there as you watched Carol finishing preparing the meal and plate two full dishes. The food was mounted so high that you weren’t sure you were going to be able to finish the meal and feared what would happen if you couldn’t. You had never been given so much food in one sitting before.

“Do you remember Earth?” Carol asked as she sat down at the table next to you. You didn’t recognise that name, so you shook your head and watched as Carol tapped her wrist band a few times until a hologram appeared between you. “That’s it,” she said, zooming in slightly on the sphere so that you could see it was a planet made up of majority water and that the land contained a vast variety of different conditions. It looked quite overwhelming and you certainly didn’t feel any compulsion to return if that was apparently where you came from.

“It’s not without its flaws,” Carol chuckled when she noticed your hesitance. “But it’s your home,” she said. You tilted your head in recognition and Carol took it as a positive sign. She focused on the hologram more. “Maybe here,” she suggested, bringing up a visual of New Asgard. It did look nicer than the rest of the planet, but Carol’s ship was growing on you unusually rapidly.

Of all the people you could recall ever meeting, none of them had been like Carol. They had been cruel and treated you as less than human, perhaps seeing you as such, and you hadn’t liked any of them. They kept you in cramped, cold places that you couldn’t escape from, making you unable to believe just how warm Carol’s ship was. And not just that, her as well. You had felt it when she dressed you, her hands radiated a gentle heat that you hadn’t ever experienced but were instantly fond of. Carol was the only person you had ever met who you had reason to trust, so you didn’t hope to part from her anytime soon.

You watched as Carol ate the meal she had prepared and glanced down at your own bowl and the spoon that sat in it. It smelled really good and it looked really good, you hoped you wouldn’t have to wait too long to eat it. “You can start,” Carol told you when she noticed you refraining. You blinked at her and the utensil she held in her hand that you couldn’t use.

Of course, the blonde thought as she realised why you hadn’t eaten the snack earlier either. You needed help. That explained how you had approached the water as well. Carol crouched down in front of you as you looked to her for guidance..

“I’m gonna help you,” she told you gently, bringing the glass up to your lips. You opened your mouth obediently for the Captain to coax the water past your lips gradually. She watched closely to ensure you weren’t taking too much at once and pulled back accordingly to replace the glass with a spoonful of the hearty meal she had prepared. After several moments, she sat down with you and stretched her legs out comfortably.

It was delicious, you thought as you savoured the dish while Carol did the same. You watched her closely for guidance as she ate and helped you, occasionally making comments about the various dishes she had learnt in her travels and how she had been able to share all of them with Goose given that his digestive system was practically impossible to disturb. Still, it was nice to share the dishes with another human, she told you openly with a small smile. You mirrored it, recognising that you were able to provide her of some kind of service. It felt good to please her.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” She asked once you were both done with the meal. Carol didn’t often host guests in general, never mind ones of your characteristics and needs. She hadn’t had many visitors during her time on Hala or when she lived with Maria either. However, if there was anything the blonde was neglecting in her hosting duties, you weren’t about to notice.

You watched curiously as Carol set up a movie for you near her bed and though you didn’t recognise the images that began to play, you were transfixed by them. You heard the Captain say something about Goose stealing her speaker as she disappeared through the ship to retrieve it. You waited several moments before wandering across the space and sitting down on the floor in front of the screen to admire it closely. When Carol came back, you already appeared fully entertained by the film so she left the speaker on the side and silently began getting back to work, glancing over at you occasionally to ensure you were okay.

You remained comfortably like that for some time until your eyelids began to feel heavy and there was a distant haze starting behind your eyes. Still watching the film, you lay yourself down and curled up on the hard floor by the screen, you were tired but unable to sleep so you peered back at the Captain who was already watching you. “You know, there are more comfortable places than the floor to sleep,” she told you with a small smile. You blinked at her. “You’re as bad as Goose,” she muttered to herself. “But it is getting late,” she admitted as she strolled over to your area and you immediately sat to attention. “Easy,” she chuckled, grabbing her sleeping shorts and a tank top.

Carol had her back to you as she changed, apparently unbothered by your gaze, letting you note the way her back muscles and shoulders flexed as she stripped herself of her clothes and into fresh ones. It was different having your owner not acknowledge you when they were out of clothes. A lot of Carol was different to the others, you just didn’t realise it was because she didn’t consider herself your owner.

“Do you want to sleep there?” She asked as she pointed to the crate. You understood the gesture and made your way over to the crate without being able to communicate that you would rather sleep elsewhere. The box was too small, something that provided comfort when you were unsure of the new environment, but since discovering that it lacked any threats, you seeked out the space that was at your fingertips.

Unfortunately, Carol couldn’t have known any of this and simply watched with a bemused smile as you dragged the blanket half way out of the crate so that you could stretch your legs out past the curtain. As the blonde got herself comfortable in her own bed, she continued to glance your way every time the curtain shifted until you opted to turn around completely and settle with your head outside the crate where you could keep Carol in your view.

“Comfortable?” She threw you another blanket despite the ship being a suitable temperature and you didn’t hesitate to bundle it up to use it as a pillow, still looking at her through sleepy eyes. Once she bid you goodnight and turned over, you let the waves of exhaustion wash over. It was the first time in as long as you could remember that it felt safe to do so.

Boredom was not something that had come to you in a long time. Usually, your empty moments were ruined with fear and anticipation for what was to come, but the safety and assurance you felt on Carol’s ship had gradually put your mind at ease enough to let those quiet moments be tempted by curiosity. Carol was a busy woman, always on the lookout for issues she would have to deal with. It left you unoccupied enough to let that initial hesitation be surpassed. You couldn’t live in fear forever.

You had been with the Captain for several days, the pair of you falling into a routine you were becoming accustomed to. She woke up first and prepared breakfast for you both, telling you all about the latest news from across the galaxy that you didn’t really understand. Whilst she would work, you would tentatively explore more and more of the ship you were temporarily living in, curious at the possessions Carol owned and the technology her ship possessed. The only reason you had the confidence to do so was the encouraging smile the blonde sent your way every time she saw you venturing further around her home. But it wasn’t a large home and there was only so much for you to entertain yourself with before you needed something different.

You perched yourself onto the floor next to the stool Goose was sitting on, still not keen on sitting on furniture. You held your hand out to the flerken who nuzzled into your knuckles affectionately, then glanced up at the Captain and wandered over to her side.

“We’ll be in Earth’s orbit in a few days,” she told you, bringing up an image of New Asgard again. You weren’t sure how to communicate that you didn’t want to leave, so you looked away. “I know it might be scary to move again, but they’ll take good care of you,” Carol said, placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder. The contact was unexpected, but you liked it. You met Carol’s unsure eyes and responded by resting your head against her leg, nuzzling into the soft fabric of her sweatpants slightly once you realised how gentle it felt on your skin. Carol was taken aback by the act, feeling a tenderness overcome her at the contact. She smiled to herself when you opted to stay put for a few moments longer. She didn’t have much contact with other humans herself and she didn’t realise how much she needed it until you offered it to her.

“You need a bath,” Carol broke the silence by saying. You pulled away and scrunched your nose up at her, making the blonde chuckle. “Come on, it won’t be that bad,” she insisted.

You watched as she walked off down the corridor and heard her start the taps in the bath. You remained stubbornly fixed to that stop on the floor until a faint smell of flowers travelled through the corridor. Following your nose, you wandered through to the bathroom where the sizable tub was soon filling with bubbles. It did look tempting.

“You wanna get in?” She asked with a knowing smile. You nodded. “Lets get those clothes off of you then,” she continued as she gently pulled the clothes off of your body and into a pile on the floor. You had been wearing the same clothes since she had given them to you because you hadn’t gotten them dirty and she was cautious of making you uncomfortable by stripping you too often. To her surprise, you didn’t react to her taking the clothes because your attention was fixed on the growing mountain in the tub. She chuckled and encouraged you in with a hand to the back.

Unfortunately for you, the tub was too high and you found the task of hiking your legs over steadily to be of some difficulty when you considered how you could slip on the other side. Fortunately, Carol’s strength was more than ample to lift you into the tub herself, something that made you smile fondly at her. You liked how strong she was, because you were learning that she wouldn’t use it against you, only as aid.

Once you were submerged in the bath, Carol brought over the flannel and soaked it in the water before ringing it out and bringing it up to your face. “Hold still,” she chuckled when you playfully darted away, stopping when you felt how warm and refreshing the cloth was against you. You allowed Carol to continue washing your body tenderly, humming softly to herself as she did so. She made the occasional comment about the different places she had acquired the unique soaps and you listened intently, wondering if she would ever show those places to you.

To her credit, Carol cleaned you thoroughly, using her soaps, cleansers and some shampoo once she began finding her own comfort in the task. The warm, soapy water felt just as good on her own skin as it did over you and there was a certain fulfilment in the way she was able to handle and aid you. She especially enjoyed massaging the shampoo into your hair and the small content noise it brought out in you. You both could have stayed there for much longer.

Once you were sitting on the bath mat next to the tub, Carol wrapped you up in a heated towel to stop you getting cold and did the same for your hair, effectively cocooning you snuggly. You didn’t like the hair dryer, she learnt, but not so much that you struggled too much against her when she began to use it. You sat obediently with a displeased look upon your face that was soon changed when you were dressed into a clean pair of Carol’s clothes.

“Did you enjoy that?” The Captain asked as she crouched in front of you. You smiled at her and nuzzled into her shoulder affectionately, making the blonde chuckle. “Me too,” she admitted. “We'll have to get another one in before you go.” Carol hadn’t expected to feel so disappointed as the words left her, but it was clear a part of her wanted you to stay. But by letting you stay, surely she was no better than the people who had taken you in the first place?

“Let's get some food,” she said to distract herself. You followed promptly behind her and stayed that way for the majority of the day as well as the ones that came after. Whenever Carol was working, you would sit or lay by her feet, content to feel her tower over you in a way that seemed to block the rest of the world out. When she cooked, you sat to the side and watched with eager eyes and a growling stomach. When she took some time to unwind and watch some tv, you listened out for her chuckles with soft anticipation.

With you becoming so used to seeking out a close proximity to the blonde, nighttime was hard. You didn’t like the crate anymore, even with all of the blankets and sweaters you had stuffed inside. It wasn’t enough and it was lonely, so one night you ventured out to her bed.

As you peered at Carol’s sleeping form, you frowned at the small lights that were attached to her temple. She didn’t look happy to have them on, despite being asleep. She was restless and a crease was permanently embedded between her brows. You didn’t like to see her like that and wondered if the device on her was hurting her, so you scrambled into her bed and patted the device. Carol awoke with a start, eyes locking on your as she panted heavily. She was scared. You had never seen her scared before.

You whined, high in your chest, and burrowed yourself into Carol’s chest, nuzzling your head against her wildly beating heart. The blonde froze at first, still recovering from her nightmares until your efforts appeared to smother her terrors because you pressed yourself so firmly against her. A pair of strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you up her body until your face was between her neck and shoulder and you took the cue to settle yourself there as you held her.

“Hey,” Carol whispered once her heart finally returned to its resting rate. She brought a hand up to your hair and began to absently comb her fingers through, wanting to feel you in your entirety. It soothed her to no end, she realised, and it was something she would soon have to give up. You would be in Earth’s orbit by the morning. She didn’t want you to go, so she held onto you tighter as her chest pulsed with the thought that you wouldn’t be there the next night.

Did that have to be the case? She wasn’t hurting you or manipulating you or exploiting you. She was caring for you, something that very few would be able to do as much as she could. Even if she took you to New Asgard, there would be no one on one connections like she had formed with you because they would all be too busy for that.

You had found solace with her, who was to say you would be able to find it elsewhere? With someone who could care for and protect you as well as she could? What if by sending you away, she was ridding you of the only home you would ever truly have?

“Do you want to stay here with me?” Carol asked. You held her tighter and tenderly brushed your lips against her neck. “Me too,” she told you with a relieved smile.

Her mind was made, your home was with her.

#marvel #dark!marvel #carol danvers imagine #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel

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owuwi · 4 months ago

Text

GWEN STACY

summary: seeing your inter dimensional girlfriend after a long time.

pairing: gwen stacy x implied fem!reader

warnings: a bit angsty at the end

1.3k words

Having a girlfriend was cool as hell, the negative thing about your case was that she literally lived in another dimension.

You and Gwen met back at the Spider Society and you immediately became friends, bonded by the similarities you two shared, which quickly turned into a relationship. It was a bit hard for her at first since she was aware of her fate — of her destiny as Gwen Stacy — but she then realized that there was no point in spending so much time worrying about her future when she should be enjoying her present.

Everyone was quite happy for the two of you, always commenting about how cute your relationship was, besides Miguel O'hara. It was expected that he would be the one to have an issue with you two dating but you actually never thought it would be that serious. At first, you and Gwen would laugh at his reactions — always mumbling under his breath whenever the two of you would hug or hold hands — but it became a bit less funny when he started separating you. Long story short, he didn't want you two together. He claimed it would be harder for either of you to focus on missions and, since you two wouldn't listen to him, it got to the point where he sent the two of you to your respective dimensions and prohibited you to use your watch without his permission — which was something definitely hard to earn —.

It's been weeks since you last saw your girlfriend and you couldn't handle it anymore, so you decided to.. break Miguel's rules. Could it get you kicked out of the Spider Society? Yes. Did you care? Not so much. The only big consequence that scared you was that you could lose your watch and never see Gwen again, but you decided not to think about that right now. That's why you picked up your watch and simply traveled to the blonde-haired girl's dimension.

Gwen was lying in her bed, simply staring at the ceiling, until she noticed the colorful and glowing hexagons forming on her roof. She immediately knew what it meant and she couldn't be happier, her eyes lighting up the moment she sees how some things in her room start trembling and being dragged towards the portal's placement. She was already holding onto you like a lifeline the moment you plopped down on her bed, her arms tightly wrapped around your torso and her face buried into your neck, and you obviously returned the action.

"What are you doing here?" Gwen asks some moments later as she slightly moves her face away from your neck so she could look at you before quickly nuzzling back against your skin, letting out a sigh as she squeezes your body. "I missed you..." She adds, her voice so quiet that you honestly doubted if you heard her right.

"I missed you too... that's why i had to visit you.." You quickly whisper as you slowly slide your hands up and down her back, leaning in to place a kiss to the top of her head and inhaling the scent of her hair. Gwen always smelled so good, a mix between strawberries and vanilla — alongside with something you simply couldn't put your mind into it —.

"How are you here? I mean i'm definitely not complaining but... how did you managed to talk Miguel into letting you come?" The blue-eyed girl couldn't help but ask, shifting a bit on her bed and resting her head on your shoulder so she could look up at your face. "Oh i didn't. I just really missed you and decided to swing by." You simply reply, acting as if it was the most normal and obvious thing ever.

That answer was definitely not what Gwen expected. Your poor girlfriend has always been the most anxious person you've ever met, always stressing over the smallest things, so hearing that you came here without Miguel's permission almost gave her a heart attack. She even lifted her head from your shoulder so she could see and face you properly. "What? Oh he'll for sure kick you out if he finds out! I-I mean did you at least tell Jess? Because if she knows then m-maybe she'll be able to-" The blue-eyed girl starts rambling.

Even if her rambling was quite cute, you knew you needed to shut her up before she starts to get even more stressed. That's why you lean in and press your lips against hers, your body shivering under your clothes as you kiss her. The kiss was slow and soft, and it was as if the world stopped for a second. You could feel Gwen immediately relaxing against you, her hands moving up to cup your cheeks delicately — almost as if you were made of glass —. "I honestly don't care... i missed you, Gwen, i needed to see you.." You murmur against her lips before gently pulling away and then kissing her cheek.

Gwen was left a blushing mess by both of your kisses, her cheeks flushed with a crimson-red hue and a little smile plastered on her lips. She was quite aware of the consequences the two of you would face if Miguel found out you were here but he most likely already knew, so she simply nodded and tried her best to forget about every concern that was invading her mind.

"I missed you... please don't leave me.." She hesitantly mumbles out, knowing that you couldn't stay with her forever. Gwen was tired and she couldn't do things without you by her side; she couldn't handle her dad — though he already accepted her identity as Spider-Woman, everything was still awkward —, she couldn't stand the newspaper and literally every piece of media criticizing her — Spider-Woman — for saving the city, and the fact that she couldn't see you whenever she pleased killed her.

"I won't... i-..." You start saying but quickly cut yourself off. How were you supposed to promise the girl you loved that you couldn't stay with her? That you couldn't be there for her whenever she needed it? It might seem silly but it truly wasn't, being Spider-Woman was definitely not for the weak and you understood what she was going through. "I'm right here, yeah? I'm not leaving you.." You quickly continue before shifting a bit on her bed so you were now lying down, Gwen's head resting on your chest and your arms wrapped around her.

Gwen's body was so limp that you honestly thought for a second that she passed out until you felt her shift a bit closer to you, draping her legs over your own and wrapping her arms around your body. She proceeds to let out a faint sigh, closing her eyes and allowing herself to get the well-deserved comfort that she needed. "Is it... selfish... that i wish we could stay like this forever? Without having to worry and care about anyone else?" Your girlfriend suddenly asks, resting her chin on your chest and looking at you with tired eyes.

You thought about her question for a moment, was it really selfish to feel that way? Was it selfish to want to abandon your responsibility as a vigilante and just... spend time with your girl? You knew the consequences it would have but you never really questioned how it would feel, even if it wasn't possible for you to exist for a long time in her universe. "No... at least i don't think so. I feel that way all the time.." You confess in a quiet voice while you slowly start to slide your hands up and down her back — again —, feeling her tensed muscles relaxing under your touch.

Maybe, just maybe, in another universe, you two were normal teenagers. You hoped that, in another world, you two could spend all the time you wanted together without having any issues, without having to be saving the world and being in constant danger. You begged that there was another version of you two who didn't care about anything but dumb things normal teenagers cared about, maybe school or stuff like that. You wished that Gwen Stacy didn't have to die and you wished that it didn't happen in front of you like it did with this version of your girlfriend.

#gwen stacy #across the spiderverse #gwen stacy x reader #gwen stacy atsv #spiderverse #into the spider verse #spider gwen #spider ghost #spider woman #atsv #itsv #my stuff:3

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pedropascallme · 1 year ago

Note

OH GIVE US SOME JEALOUS JIM!

Think He’d Do What I’ve Done?

Pairing: jealous!Jim x f!Reader

Summary: "He knew it was ridiculous, knew that what the two of you had was nothing short of intense, something wonderful and miraculous that had come out of catastrophe. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of embarrassment surrounded by these people while the girl he loved was seemingly ignoring him."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral (f & m receiving), fingering, p in v sex, creampie, cum play, praise kink, overstimulation, dom/sub dynamics (dom!Jim x sub!Reader) (listen Jim FUCKS I do not make the rules), if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Your wish is my command! Sorry that this took so long, but good lord I had fun writing it. I will always be a slut for dom!possessive!Jim it's not even funny.

Jim was indebted to the people that surrounded him in the house he stood in; Hannah’s family, however distant they may be, had made an amazing effort to ensure you all had a fresh start in America. The cousins and aunts and uncles and whomever that stood around the living room, sharing well wishes and anecdotes, who had provided housing and employment opportunities, were all so kind. So he didn’t like the voice in the back of his head that told him otherwise when he looked over at you.

One of Hannah’s cousins had an arm around you while you admired the different pictures sitting on the mantle. Jim watched you laugh at whatever remark he was making and scoffed, disillusioned by the way your eyes shined up at the man when you spoke to him.

He knew it was ridiculous, knew that what he had with you was nothing short of intense; something wonderful and miraculous that had come out of catastrophe. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of humiliation surrounded by these people who bordered strangers while the girl he loved was seemingly ignoring him. After all that, it seemed as though every time you found yourself in a room with these relatives, this cousin found his way to you, and you to him. It had Jim silently fuming.

Jim left the gathering early, only muttering a goodbye to Hannah, who, for what it’s worth, rolled her eyes at his obvious melancholy.

“You’re not waiting for her?” In true fourteen-going-on-forty nature, Hannah pried.

Jim mumbled a noise of rejection, padding out of the house and heading for the apartment he shared with you.

~~~

“You left early!” You walked back into the apartment you shared with Jim, jokingly accosting him the moment you crossed the threshold. Jim didn’t look up from his spot on the couch, flicking through the TV channels and bouncing his leg.

“Didn’t think you’d notice.” He was dry, and you felt your heart somersault at his cadence—he felt his do the same. He knew he was acting like a child, but he didn’t know how to confront what in his mind was an issue.

“Course I noticed,” you shook off your jacket, dropping it on the coffee table in front of him, “you alright?” Jim shrugged, and you sat down on the couch next to him. You watched him continue to browse TV channels.

“Hannah’s cousin likes you.” It was blurted and came out as more of a shout than a statement; it caught you both off guard.

“No he doesn’t.”

“I didn’t say which one.” Jim was brooding, upset that you were further proving his point without even trying. He shut off the television and set the remote down next to your jacket on the table.

“You—you didn’t have to, I know who you're talking about,” you looked at your hands, folded on your lap, “but he doesn’t.”

“Do you like him?” Jim followed your line of sight, looking down at your hands. He felt a knot forming in his stomach; the concept of such strong feelings that had nothing to do with the need to survive made him anxious.

“Jim…” You looked up at him, brows knit and lips curving up at the edges, “are you jealous?”

“N—” he tried to protest before you cut him off.

“You are.” You grinned, and he could see the devious glint in your eye. “You think I want him.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“It was implied.” You crossed your arms, somewhat offended that he could think you would be able to look at any man the way you looked at him, but pleased by his possessive nature.

Jim reached around you and rubbed up and down the back of your neck, and you playfully turned your head away from him, hoping he would put in the work for whatever answer he wanted. When you moved your body away from his, you felt the hand resting on the back of your neck stop moving, taking hold of you in a gentle, haughty manner.

“Look at me,” he asked nicely, and so you did, “think he’d do what I’ve done?”

You smiled, enjoying the way he responded to your teasing, “I don’t know. Maybe.” You batted your lashes and Jim pouted. “Depends on what you think you’ve done.” You felt the hand he had on your neck tighten, and a shiver ran down your back.

“Think he’d kill for you?” The air felt thick around you, and you remembered how much you enjoyed Jim’s more domineering moments.

“No.” You whispered, tilting your head up in the hopes that he would give in.

“Do so much for you, don’t I?” He smiled, and you saw the Jim you fell in love with shine out from under the dominant exterior he had fashioned for himself tonight.

“Show me what you do for me.” Your pleading was acknowledged in seconds when Jim grabbed you by the waist and helped you find the proper footing to straddle him. You moaned into his mouth, and he made quick work of the top you were wearing, throwing it blindly onto the floor. You ground your hips down into his, and you could feel the gentle friction of his growing erection against your clothed core. The kisses were messy, teeth clacking gently against each other as you licked his tongue. You pulled away from Jim, who moved down to your neck and chest, marking you with love bites and licking gently at your pulse points. You pushed him back onto the couch, wordlessly lowering yourself to your knees and beginning to undo his zipper.

“Baby…” He smiled down at you, head resting on his arms as he leaned back into the cushion of the couch. He helped you remove his cock from the confines of his jeans, stroking himself. “Open.”

You opened your mouth wide, happy to let him take control, to prove that you were his and his alone. He watched as you placed a kiss on the head of his cock, taking his length in your hands and shooing his own hand, still loosely holding the base of himself, away. You moved your wrist up and down, steadily taking more of him in your mouth as you did, using the spit that dribbled down his shaft to lubricate the motion of your hand. Jim let out a breathy chuckle when you managed to fit most of him down your throat, running his fingers through your hair and pulling stray strands out of your face.

“God—yeah, like that.” His jaw was slack while he analyzed every move you made. “Just like that, sweetheart.” You tried to smile with his cock in your mouth, getting another huffed laugh from him, before you returned to your prior movements. You licked the tip of his cock in a circular motion, pumping up and down with your hand, before attempting to take as much as you could into your mouth. You repeated these gestures to Jim’s delight.

“Fuck, so good—fuck, that’s it, oh my god, baby.” He tugged on your hair in a half-hearted effort to remove you from his cock, but you allowed yourself a few more bobs up and down before listening to the message he was sending.

Jim cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb wandering over your swollen, saliva coated lips. “So good for me.”

“All for you.” You found a steady rhythm for your breathing.

“That’s right.” He pulled you in for a kiss, letting the spit on your face cover his own mouth and chin. “Do you like sucking me off, baby?” You nodded, eyes hooded and pupils blown out; you wanted to tell him that you could go down on him for hours, but the words wouldn’t come out, head too clouded with need. “Want me to show you more? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?” It was rare that Jim became this controlling, but you felt it go to your cunt every time he did. You nodded again, and Jim stood up, removing what remained of his clothes—and of yours—before easing you onto the couch and moving your legs to rest on his shoulders as he knelt in front of you.

“Say please.” Jim kissed your inner thigh.

You might’ve rolled your eyes under different circumstances, but something about his tone and the way he nipped at your leg turned you into the picture of obedience. “Please, Jim…”

“Please what?” He grinned, perfectly aware of how torturous his treatment was.

“Please,” you were getting impatient, and he knew it, you could see in his eyes how much he relished watching you squirm, “please fuck me, Jim—touch me, please, please.”

His smile turned into something more sinister when he heard you beg, and it was only then that he dove into you. You felt his tongue make contact with your clit and you yelped, the sudden and intense feeling making you jump under his hold on you. He tightened his grip on your legs, holding them firm against his shoulders so that your thighs all but engulfed his head. You could feel the vibrations of his moans travel through your body, and you wriggled underneath him when his tongue broke past your entrance and he licked gently into you. You couldn’t tell what was his spit and what was your wet, everything seemingly running together—and you didn’t really care, either. He suckled on your clit and teased a finger into you, looking at you intently while you came undone for him.

“Think he could do it better?” He moaned into your core, and you were broken out of your haze mostly by the shock that he still had the time to be jealous while he was buried between your legs —though not dissatisfied by the way he managed to show you who you belonged to while forcing you to acknowledge it.

“N—o!” You squeaked at him when his finger hit your sweet spot.

“Think anyone could do it better than me?” He continued to hound you between licks over your bud, fingers rubbing gently across the spongy spot inside of you.

“N—just—fuck, just you! Only you, Jim, only you.” You moaned, pleasing him immensely and motivating him to press down just a bit more on your g-spot while he sucked harder on your clit. Your legs, weak with gratification, shook in their spot on his shoulders, and you felt the fire that had started in your stomach spread across your body. He continued to lick stripes up and down your clit, finger still curling inside you while you rode out your climax.

“That’s right,” Jim kissed your dripping hole, noticing the way you flinched when his breath fanned the now sensitive area, “only me. All for me”

You moaned a pitiful confirmation, and he stood up. He rearranged you so that you were lying properly on the couch, head propped up by a pillow next to the cushioned arm.

“Gonna let me show you more, now, yeah?” You trailed a hand down his stomach, looking up at him from your spot underneath him as he straddled your legs. “Wanna let me fuck you into the couch?” You sighed dreamily, nodding with enthusiasm. “So good f’me.” He lined himself up with your entrance, continuing to whisper praises down at you, before pushing his cock into your desperate cunt little by little.

“Fuck, Jim!” You couldn’t help the expletive; no matter how many times he fucked you there was still so much joy in the way he filled you up to the very brim.

“Good, yeah? Feels good, sweetheart?” He bent forward and pushed your legs up more to allow him to fit deeper inside your cunt.

You whined, eyes screwed shut and lips parted, as he pressed his cock into you. You felt him bottom out, and he brushed his fingers over your cheek, kissing you gently across the face.

“Want—will you—will you fuck me?” You encouraged him, wanting—needing—him to move, to let you enjoy the way he pumped in and out of your pussy.

“You want me to move, baby?” He cooed, leaning forward to whisper into your ear, “Want me to fuck you nice?”

“Please!”

“Say it, then. Say my fucking name.” His breathing was labored, a product of the effort it was taking to hold himself back.

“Please, Jim, I need you to fuck me, I need it, Jim—I need it!” You felt like crying, the way he filled you up and mocked you was entirely too pleasurable. Hearing you beg as if you were on the verge of tears was all he needed, and he pulled out until the tip of his cock was just barely kissing your hole, before he thrusted deep and rough back into you. You cried out, feeling the friction from the way your back rubbed against the couch with each of his hard thrusts into you, and the way his hips rubbed against your own with every move.

“God, fuck,” Jim watched the way your eyes rolled back after a particularly deep plunge into you, “gonna fuck you like I own you.”

“Y—oh! You do—Jim! You do!” You were so far into your own pleasure, you weren’t even sure if the words had come out properly or if they had been reduced to gibberish between the time it took for them to travel from your brain to your mouth. But when you heard him growl in your ear you knew he had heard you, and it registered to you both what you had said.

“Yeah?” His voice was laced with care but was so outwardly assertive, “yeah, I own this fucking pussy.” He raised your legs to rest them on his shoulders as they had when he’d eaten you out, and he used them now as leverage to bend you backwards so his cock was seated as far as your body would allow him. His name fell from your lips continuously as he pounded into you with seemingly no regard; he managed to pick up the pace slightly and your eyes watered, overwhelmed by the sensation of being used to the fullest extent and absolutely loving that you had this effect on Jim.

“Gonna fucking cum—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he was panting, chest rising and falling rapidly in sync with his thrusts, “tell me—tell me how you want it, sweetheart, tell me.”

You didn’t respond fast enough to satisfy him, and you whimpered when his hand came down to smack your clit, then gasped at the way he soothed you by rubbing tight circles on the bud.

“Tell me.” He grunted.

“Want—Jim!—please, please, want you to cum in me! Please—please, Jim, need—need it inside.” Your back arched up in response to his ministrations, and his hand that wasn’t massaging your clit came up to squeeze your leg to his cheek.

“Fucking—oh, hell, gimme one more, baby, please.” The mask of dominance slipped slightly when Jim began to beg for you to cum one more time, “cum on my cock, baby, I’ll give you what you need—all for you, fuck!—good girl, my good girl…” He placed kisses onto your calf, still holding it over his shoulder while he fucked you stupid. You felt his cock sliding in and out of you, every vein catching against your walls and the fat head of his cock nudging the spots that you could never reach on your own. He felt velvety inside you, and the way he spoke only heightened your pleasure, the promise of feeling him fill you up with his cum only spurring you on further to reach your peak.

“Ji—I—fuck!” You choked out a string of profanities, punctuating each with a gasp of his name as you came for him. He smiled into your leg, turning to look down at your face to watch your eyes roll back and your mouth hang open while you came on his length. He felt the way you clenched around him and the sheen that your cum added to his cock, his own head lolling back as he felt himself fall over the edge.

Still squirming under him, overcome with the strength of your second orgasm and the way he continued to use your spent cunt, you felt him paint your insides with his load. He moaned out your name, still shallowly thrusting in and out of you, admiring how your pussy milked him for every last drop he had to offer you. You whined, needy and messy and fucked out, and he gave your clit a final few swipes with his thumb, smirking sadistically at the way you cried out at the overstimulation. Jim began to pull out of you slowly, eyes glued to your hole to observe how the mixture of his cum and yours leaked out of you and down over the curve of your ass, dripping over your asshole and thighs. He leaned down, pulling your legs open to lick and kiss at the mess the two of you had made.

“Jim!” You squeezed your legs together, thighs pressing against his ears. He came up from between your legs, licking his lips, before he brought himself up to your face to kiss you softly. You wrapped your arms around him, and you could feel the pressure of his chest against yours as he rested his weight onto you.

“Too much?” He whispered after a while of heavy breathing and fingertips tracing over one another.

“No…perfect.” You squeezed him closer to your body, lips grazing his ear. “You’re right, y’do so much for me.”

Jim laughed against you, and you shook with his chest, “I do two things for you—kill and cum.”

“Hope you only have to do one of those things from now on.”

“I plan on it,” he smiled, then deadpanned; “you mean cum, right?” You pushed him away playfully and he laughed. Scooping you up into his arms, he let you rest yourself against him, letting the liquid seeping out between your legs trickle down onto him. He hugged you to his chest, eyes suddenly heavy and body light with satisfaction. “I’d do anything for you.” He whispered, breath fanning the top of your head.

You pawed at his chest, eyes closed. “I know you would. Feeling is mutual.” He cradled your head in his hands, “He doesn’t like me—Hannah’s cousin—he doesn’t. He’s married. You’ve met his husband.”

Jim felt you smile into his skin, and he felt himself go red, embarrassed that he hadn’t made the connection, but too blissed out and used up to backtrack and claim he had known all along. “I love you,” he chuckled, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” You looked up at him, cozy and content with your position on his lap, “would’ve said something earlier, but I like when you get possessive.”

“Thanks for letting me prove a point.” He rubbed your back, head falling against the couch cushion behind him.

“Always happy to help.”

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