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justwonder113 · 2 months ago

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Sharing a bed with Lee Know

Chan; Lee Know ; Changbin; Hyunjin; Han; Felix; Seungmin; IN;

My Masterlist

Summary: Feeling beyond frustrated with your boyfriend you leave your phone home and head out to drink your sorrows away, meanwhile he's stuck there losing his mind trying to find you. Warning: CURSING It's me who's surprised there. Angst to fluff. Barely mentioning the sharing bed part but yeah... Reader is gender neutral. Mention of alcohol intake. reader is tipsy but fully conscious. I don't know if I missed anything so please let me know if I did. NOT PROOFREAD

A/N- Glad to announce that I'm alive and well and back with a new laptop so I won't have to break my fingers trying to type on my phone anymore!!! I'll try to update more and more now^^ As for my work, this is the first time I have written something like this and I really hope you'll like it. I tried my best to make it seem as real as possible and I'm really eager to know what you think, so if you have any feedback please tell me what you think. Again thank you for all the love and support you give me, it means the world to me!! Reblogs and comments are highly appeciated^^ Word count- 2.8k

Not knowing how to deal with your rampaging emotions you kept pacing back and forth in your apartment like a lunatic. You were at loss for words, never in your life you felt this humiliated and to think that Minho, the person who was supposed to be your safe space and your comfort person was the source of that!

Honestly, you felt torn, you were beyond mad at frustrated at Minho and wanted to rip him a new one, but at the same time you felt so heartbroken and miserable all you wanted to was to crawl in your bed and not get up for at least a week. It also didn’t help at all that your week was an absolute shit, with this said day being the cake on the top. All you wanted to do was to have a lunch with your boyfriend and just forget all the bullshit you had to go through. You knew he had a hectic schedule due to an upcoming comeback. Heck, you barely had seen him for the last maybe three weeks. He was already at practice when you woke up and immediately went to sleep when he came back in the middle of the night so he had barely any time to talk or text to you, you weren’t even talking about seeing you in person. It was what pissed you off the most. You were too considerate, how many people would be able to handle having a relationship like that, when a simple text sent your way made you want to throw fireworks? You knew he was busy, you only wanted to see him for what a half hour, just to eat together? Maybe get a hug? And an encouraging word that you could get through the day? No, what you get for bringing your very busy boyfriend and his bandmates his favorite takeout is to get yelled at in front of the said bandmates to being overly clingy and overbearing.

One part of you wanted to break down sobbing, the other part wanted to bring hell to him and make a biggest scene ever, in reality? You just left, not an ounce of emotion on your face. Maybe it would be better if you did either or those, at least you wouldn’t feel this torn now. So full of emotions feeling like you could burst any scond. No, you knew you were angry and rightfully so, this is why the tears that wouldn’t stop streaming down your face aggravated you even more. He didn’t deserve your tears not after the bullshit he pulled.

Another pang of notification brought you back to reality, God how many massages was he going to send? Who was clingy and overbearing now? If he thought that you would forgive just like that just because he was sorry then he was a damn fool. You knew he didn’t mean it; you knew him long enough to know that whenever he was too stressed he had outbursts like he did earlier and he said stuff he didn’t necessarily mean. It was an objective fact that you didn’t deserve to be called clingy. But it didn’t matter, he humiliated you in front of all these people and that wasn’t something you could easily forgive. Hell, how could you forget such thing? He could have said that he needed space that he was busy, no matter how vulnerable you felt, no matter how much you needed him in that moment you would have understood.

Maybe it was a sign. Your relationship was still considered new, it wouldn’t hurt as much ending things now. Maybe you could even return to being friends again. Another pang of your phone followed by another in less than five seconds, then another.

God, you couldn’t bear it anymore, you needed some air.

Not even considering to take your phone with you you left your apartment. You didn’t exactly know where you were going but it would be better than feeling suffocated in your own house.

***

Probably not the wisest choice because now you were worst kind of drunk in this bar meaning your mind was completely sober but your body seemed disconnected from your mind, everything was spinning and your whole body moved as if in slow motion. God what a beautiful day you couldn’t even drink to forget your own sorrows. Better go home then, or at least head to that direction.

You only managed to pay for the drinks and get outside before you felt so queasy you had to stop and lean on the lamppost. God, you hated that your body wasn’t listening to you.

Also, you were starting to regret not bringing your phone with you. You would have called your friend to pick you up and maybe take you with them or at least order a cab. Also, not really wise to spend most of the money you had in your wallet on drinks. God, you felt like shit.

Oh wow it was already night, and based on how there was barely anyone around it must’ve been quite late too.

You started walking but barely made 10 steps before you had to stop again, it was as if your body had a mind on its own and was refusing to cooperate.

“Baby!” You heard a loud yell and before you even had the time to react you were engulfed biggest hug ever. You almost wrapped your arms around your boyfriend before you remembered you were mad at him. Fortunately for you he almost immediately let go, carefully examining everything, his eyes so full of worry you felt bad for him for a second.

“What are you doing here?” You didn’t even try to hide your displeasure. Minho flinched as if he was physically hit by your words.

“I was searching for you! I was out here wandering in these streets trying to find you for hours! I was about to call the police when I saw you here!” You felt guilty, looking at him. He looked dishelved, hair messy as if he had run his hand through it countless times, he was out of breath as if he had been running, his eyes red and swollen as if he had cried…Was he really running around searching for you?

“Who’s being clingy now? Couldn’t last five minutes without seeing me? Had to search for me all over town? So clingy and overbearing!” You watched as your words hit him like a slap, his face morphed into a pained one. You felt horrible talking to him this way, but part of you was satisfied, wanting him to know just how much words could hurt.

“I’m sorry…” His voice was quite almost inaudible, you knew he meant it but you would be dammed if you forgave him just like that.

“You should be, you were beyond cruel.” Even you were surprised how emotionless you sounded. You would also be fooled if you didn’t know the turmoil that was inside you right at this moment.

He lowered his gaze unable to look you in the eyes. “I know.” Oh great he knows, what a balm to your wound.

“You really hurt me Minho!” There was it, the anger, the hurt, you didn’t have the energy to contain it anymore.

“I know.”

“Oh that fixes everything then! You know! Do you know anything but that sentence? Is that all you have to say?” Silence, you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh bitterly, feeling defeated. “What even are you doing here Minho?”

“You weren’t picking up the phone, your house was empty, neither your friends or your family knew where you were. I had to find you to know that you were safe!” His voice was strained, he looked like he was seconds away from busting in tears.

“I’m safe you can go home now!” You turned around to head home, all these emotions making you feel a bit more sober. You barely made two steps before a hand grabbed your wrist gently halting your movement. His voice desperately calling your name. “Please…”

You couldn’t take this anymore. You turned back to him eyes full of rage burning with unshed tears begging to be let out. “Please what Minho? What do you want me to do? You can’t even tell me normally why you were searching for me. You agree with me that you hurt me yet you’re not even saying you’re sorry, and no I won’t take that halfassed apology or whatever that was. What do you want me to do? It’s like you don’t even know what you want yourself so what do you really expect me to do?”

You watched a tear run down his reddened cheek. It infuriated you how breathtaking he looked right now. Not even the most skilled painter would be able to capture his beauty, not a single camera would be able to capture the full beauty. God, you hated how your heart only sang for him even in this much pain he caused. Here he was watching you in sorrow, in pain, angered by his betrayal while he did nothing just stand there idly looking ethereal, still managing to have you in his chokehold.

“Do you even love me?” No matter how hard you tried to fight it the dam broke. A tear slid down your face, quickly followed by another, then yet another, till it felt like a little stream down your face. You forced yourself to look him in the eyes, the pain and anger burning in them. His eyes also full of pain but you couldn’t read anything more. There were times you thought you could read his emotions… What a fool you were.

Your body started to shake trying to hold violent sobs wanting to break through. No matter how much you were fighting it you were starting to break down as if already knowing the answer. Subtly wrapping your arms around yourself you tried to hold yourself, to prevent breaking down even more. You hated feeling this weak. Hated that you couldn’t control yourself. Hated that you had to break down in front of him like this! To show him your weakness…

It was as if Minho awoke from the trance he was in, in the tenth of the second his arms were gently cradling your face and his lips were connected to yours, giving you probably the most passionate kiss you had ever received.

Your whole body felt like it was on fire. The tears really felt like tiny rivers on your face, no matter how many times Minho tried to gently rub them from your face with his thumbs they just wouldn’t stop coming. The kiss was gentle yet firm, it tasted salty from both your tears (probably mostly yours) but still familiarly sweet. His lips moved against yours in determination, as if to show you his feelings the only way he knew how.

You felt like your body and mind were on overdrive feeling too many emotions at once, not fully knowing how to react. You tried to resist the urge to reciprocate the kiss but you almost immediately folded, almost quite literally because now if not Minho’s hands migrating from your face to your waist you weren’t sure you would be able to be stand. Yor body felt like it was completely shutting down and you felt like you were at his mercy and based on how tightly he held you against his body and how fiercely he was kissing you he wasn’t planning on letting you go any time soon. And he didn’t, he only leaned his head back a little to give you time to catch your breath.

“I’m cruel as you said, and mean and cold and I most definitely don’t deserve such an amazing person as you by my side, I’m not even worthy of your forgiveness! You didn’t deserve to be told you’re clingy or overbearing or some shit like that when you’ve been so supportive, so kind, so patient and loving towards me when we both know I didn’t do shit to earn it.” His broken voice pulled on your heartstrings, no matter how angry you felt it was whole another pain to feel him talk so about himself. Minho lifted your hands and carefully kissed both of them, his hands slightly trembling. He looked you in the eyes, and for a second you were taken aback with the sea, no ocean of emotions in them. “I’m really sorry I hurt your feelings. There’s nothing I can say to justify my actions, but I promise you I never meant any of my words. I’m sorry I’ve been a terrible boyfriend to you but please trust me when I say, I love you with my whole heart, with everything I have and everything I am, please never doubt that.”

You stood like that for a second or two, maybe even a minute, unable to find words to say. You didn’t even now what you were feeling. Everything inside was a mess. Sighing in defeat you held your hand forward, Minho’s confused eyes snapping at them then at you in a second.

“Take me home.”

Minho took your hand without even thinking twice.

***

You knew you said that you felt a bit more sober earlier but that turned out to be a lie because you still felt so queasy getting in your bed felt like climbing the mount Everest and that with Minho’s help, who didn’t once let go of your hand and helped you with every step of your night routine. None of you had said a word since you held in your hand to him. You knew he was nervous based on the slight trembling you felt from time to time as you held his hand but honestly you didn’t know what you were going to say to him.

“I texted everyone that you’re home safe and that you’re going to sleep.” Minho broke the silence, his voice a bit coarse. You looked at him which made him look even more nervous. If not the circumstances you would find his unsureness and even shyness absolutely endearing. “There’s water and painkillers on your bedside table.” A nod from you, you were tired, you felt like you could sleep for a whole day.

You quickly came back to your senses when he let go of your hand. “You should go to sleep now, I will leave you to rest.”

Thankfully you managed to grab his wrist before he could leave. “Where are you going?“ Minho looked taken aback, clearly not expecting you to reach out for him.

“I thought you would want some space.” He sounded defeated.

You groaned as you fell on your bed. “God we really need to work on our communication skills. I promise I will tell you if I ever need space from you, now get in bed. There’s no way I’m letting you out of house on 3 am or whatever time it is, it’s late!”

After a second of silence you opened your eye to check on Minho, to see if he was here and you weren’t talking to yourself like a lunatic. The sight made your breath hitch. He had the softest smile adorning his face as he watched you, his eyes full of love, you had never seen him smiling at you like that.

“Careful or I might think you care for me.” There he was being a little shit you knew and loved, had to ruin a moment. you made sure to groan as loudly and as dramatically as possible.

“Minho I swear to God! Get in bed or I am going to make you sleep on the floor!” You tried to threaten but the smile that broke through your face wasn’t fooling anyone.

Minho didn’t waste a second and almost immediately you were pulled into a hug, your head smushed against his chest which beat wildly as if in joy.

“I could have given you a second to change you know, I think I might have something you can change into…” Minho didn’t let you finish your sentence -“Let me just hold you for a second, please.”

Not wanting to deny him you wrapped your arms around him and held him just as tight. Both of you feeling content being in each other’s arms, finally feeling calm and most importantly safe.

“I love you.” You heard Minho mutter against your skin, he was so still you thought he had fallen asleep. You looked up at him, there was that gaze again, so full of love and tenderness. Not even trying to hide your smile you leaned in and captured his lips in a soft kiss. “I know. I love you too.”

Reblogs and comments are highly appeciated^^

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taegularities · 3 months ago

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you're okay | myg (m)

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

➳ pairing: Yoongi x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: s2l/est. rel.; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: this one's heavy :') pov switches, switching between past and present, reference to the d-day documentary, mental health issues, therapy, depression and anxiety, mentioned unaliving attempt, mentions of fainting, slight mention of SA, implied panic attack, lots of trauma, lots of sadness, healing journey/healing with yoongi, feelings of loneliness, feeling unworthy, oc is very unsure and thinks she's a burden, tears and crying; explicit sexual content: (brief) protected sex, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, kissing/making out. please heed the warnings <3 ➳ word count: 11.5k ➳ a/n: hi hi. not the average taegularities fic, i think. once again, please do note the warnings before reading. it's okay if it's too heavy and you need breaks – take care of yourself. it's a very very personal piece that i just needed to get out of my system. yoongi's snooze inspired it; i still cry when i listen to it – i'm thankful it saved me in so many ways, and i hope you feel the same way about this fic. i love you all; here's to healing and living 💕 ➳ listen to: snooze by agust d ft. ryuichi sakamoto & woosung 🤍

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

The weather changes at warp speed these days.

When you left just this morning, it was raining buckets. The shower barely allowed a glimpse at the sky, grey as smoke; ominous clouds were bursting, fast cars and busy passengers on the sidewalk rushing through the world.

You were one of them, not necessarily impressed by the downpour. But you smiled when someone halted, stretching an arm to force the doors of the bus open until you were inside.

The tender gesture lit up your gloomy morning, a proof of how the world isn’t all misery and ruin. For a couple minutes and hours, that stranger’s smile lifted the weight off your leather jacket clad shoulders. You were burdened by nothing but the bag hanging on your side.

But now, the same jacket is draped over your arm and feels much heavier than before; stripped off when the sun broke through the clouds around the afternoon. The additional weight gives you grief; you’re relieved when you hang it onto a rack, step out of your shoes and drag yourself to the bathroom.

God, all actions seem so passive these days.

Passive and automatic, just half-conscious. You’re fatigued and lost in your head. Frankly, you need your bed. You hate that you still need to shower. You wish you could skip that part and still keep your body healthy and clean.

And as you stand under the water, shifting your balance to the right leg and back, you realise that another work day is over and another one is coming. Interactions, productivity, the craving your bed. You need the weightlessness.

So much so that you soon feel the knot in your chest, intensifying, and the heat of the water combines with an uncomfortable breathlessness until your knees bend a little. Immediately, you plant your palms against the bathroom tiles, taking a seat on the shower floor.

You cross your legs; the thought of your father is immediate because he always taught you to take a seat wherever once you start feeling dizzy. Since that one adolescence day when you passed out and hurt your chin, you have followed this advice and prevented worse.

Your head spins for a moment, your chest tight; and you hear a dull thump. There’s an odd rustle in your ears, mixed with the sound of the dripping water; so you don’t notice the call of your name right away.

Keeping your answer absent for another moment, you only wrap your arms around your chest, just to keep yourself whole. You feel like your body might fracture into a dozen pieces.

The shampoo bottle that presumably caused the thump before rolls against you, and you gasp in uncomfortable surprise; immediately hear another slurred, “Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

It's him; he’s always worried. Maybe that’s what you’ve been struggling with so much lately. The fact that you never suffer alone whenever the weight on your shoulder and brain drags you down too far.

A worried voice chimes again, breaking the sound of the shower jet, and you suddenly become hyper aware of his concern, rushing to finally get out. You exclaim a reassuring, “All good!” before the silence can prolong or betray you.

His calls stop, probably relieved when you add another, “Coming.”

You envelop your body in your towel; just a moment later, he knocks. You would’ve opened even if he hadn't.

Yoongi stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and breathes in the sauna-esque air. His mouth turns into a surprised circle, and he blinks before he blows out a breath and states, “You showered hot today, huh?”

“Mhh,” you hum, “the sun never keeps me from doing so. Feels good.”

He smiles, watches your lotioned hands hydrate your skin, very slowly and very delicately. When you sigh in something he interprets as fatigue, he asks, “Do you need help?”

Four simple words, but they soothe something in your wrinkly, grey brain. The knot of stress loosens just a little, and you sigh deeply, telling him, “Yes, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to step behind you, picking up the pink, wooden brush lying on the laundry basket next to you to release the knots in your wet hair. For a couple of minutes, you indulge in the massage; and then wallow in the feeling of his hands on your face, taking over to do your skincare.

And then, gentle as he is, he helps you into your clothes. You feel somewhat pathetic, but most of all, thankful — anything to get through the night.

“You all set?” he asks once he’s done, palms on your shoulders. You touch the digits of his left hand, leading them to your lips to kiss them softly before you nod.

You follow him into the living room, detecting the still present sunrays protruding through the spots that the sheer curtains don’t filter. It’s not dark yet, but the light is slowly fading. The star is preparing to drown behind the horizon, dusk in motion.

The pretty hues give you a brief yet strange burst of motivation; often, you fear the night more despite its serene reputation. Too dark, too haunting.

Yoongi has already set the table; he starts to ladle the sundubu-jjigae into your bowl, rice in another smaller dish next to it. You sit; you feel endlessly indebted and silently terrified at once. The food looks amazing, so the taste isn’t the problem.

Your boyfriend is a good cook, and you thank the deities every day for his existence. It was much harder to get by and assemble a meal when you lived alone.

But your expression is still the opposite of what it’s supposed to be, and when he sees it, he asks, “You good? Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then eat a little, okay? As much as you can.”

You gulp, oblige. You know your body calls for it, so you listen to it, chewing a couple bites, even though it feels impossible to actually swallow. God; you need to stop your chest and stomach from trying to convince you that everything is heavy.

Your clothes, your heart, your thoughts.

You know it isn’t true. It drives you mad when your own brain proves this treacherous, attempting to lie to you like this.

Then again, energy dwindles faster these days. Your body knows; maybe that’s why you feel tired. You need to sleep — maybe that could help you feel a bit more feathery.

But shit, you wish there was a more efficient charger for human beings than sleep, so you could be productive. Your mind won’t let you sleep properly anyway.

“Is it good?” Yoongi asks, interrupting your thoughts. He’s always the first to notice when you’re overexerting yourself, even just at dinner.

“It’s very good,” you respond truthfully, even raising your voice to make yourself sound livelier, “as I’d expect from you.”

“Then I’m glad. Thought I’d make you something good, since you worked longer.”

“Always attentive, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.” His spoon drops in his bowl, and he reaches out, touching your cheek just long enough for your heart to stir. “How was work?”

Hm…

You don’t remember too well. You know you went there at least, and you know you did whatever you had to — but you can’t recall details. So all you say without dousing the atmosphere in negativity is, “As always.”

“Was Nayeon at work today?”

“Nope,” you tell him, sending wordless, good vibes towards your best work buddy. “Still sick. A stomach bug, I think. I really hope she feels better soon.”

“Sana again then?”

“Yeah, spent most of the day with her. She’s always so sweet, though… I should talk to her more often.”

You dig into your rice again, trying it with a bigger bite this time. Then, you shake your head in apology, looking back at Yoongi as you ask, “Ah, I’m sorry, baby… how was work for you?”

“As always,” he echoes, “thought of you a lot.”

“Mhm… obsessed much?” you jest, trying a little beam.

“You know me.”

That’s it. You nod; you understand the weakness of your smile, so you lower your head altogether. He sees; of course he does. Yet, he waits and watches you toy with your food. You know the question is approaching before it lands, “Another low?”

Another low…

You could cry. You could burst into tears immediately if you didn’t feel so… empty. A vacant soul, pieces coloured by nothing but him. Yoongi sparks the magic most of the time, even drilling through the numbness.

“Yeah,” you whisper, not crying yet, but the corners of your mouth drop. “It’s been a while.”

“Months, yes? Which is great, my love.” His voice is so mellow, deep, like an antidote. “You’re doing really well.”

“Yeah.”

You are. Because at one point in your life, you used to feel this way all the time. Ever since you found somebody to rely on, someone who listens, you’ve gotten a bit better. He puts you together as if he’s resolving a dispersed puzzle.

But certain phases at certain times still hit you unexpectedly, like a revved up truck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi offers.

“There’s nothing really to talk about…”

“Okay. Do it if you need to, though, okay? Eat a little more?”

You do. Fuck, you feel so babied sometimes; you wonder if he discerns things like this, too. That he isn’t really taking care of and loving his girlfriend, but rather babysitting a broken child.

You whoosh the thought away with a blink, finishing more than half of your meal before you set the cutlery aside. You down the last bite with cold water, sauntering to the bathroom, and then meet Yoongi on your bed.

He probably already put the food in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher; he must’ve operated rapidly to be here already, awaiting you. The laptop is open and its screen bright, and you know without stepping onto the mattress that he’s opened YouTube.

Less for him, more for you.

If he wanted to spend the remaining minutes of the night scrolling through reels, he could easily do so on his phone. But no… this feels more like an invitation. A quick, sweet date before sleep, just to watch a few animal videos that rarely ever fail to make you smile.

As you crawl into him, watching cats protecting newborn babies or dogs jumping their owners affectionately, you do smile. You laugh, even. You feel somewhat at ease here with him, but you know you’ll go back to ground zero in the morning.

When you’ve left and he’s gone to work.

And you hate it. You hate that you’re dependent on him like this… Yoongi calls it finding comfort in somebody you love, and you don’t disagree. But adding to this, you think you’re limiting his options by shackling yourself to him.

By demanding that comfort.

You sigh in his arms, breathing calmer than before, but not enough to sleep. Yet, he asks, “Hey… sweetheart. Are you awake?”

“I am.”

“I’m just thinking… Do you want me to call the therapist tomorrow?”

Shit… why does the ball of guilt keep growing? How does he think of this and you don’t? Have you really sunk this deep again? You’re stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I… I should do it myself,” you mumble.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, I’ll just do it in the morning. I think I should… do things for myself, too, right?”

He pauses. Ponders your words; or at least, that’s what you surmise from the way he breathes and sighs and hums. And you’re proven right when he inquires, “Do you feel like I mind doing things for you?”

Yes. No.

No, you do not think so. But you sure as hell waste his time. Occupy it with this nonsense when he could be happier somewhere else, living his life, making plans for the future and rambling about the job he loves.

But no…

Fucking calling the therapist for you.

You break.

It always happens in the worst moments; you don’t know what it is, how it happens, but you break. Hard. Your motions stop, maybe even your breathing. But then you do sigh, so deeply that it burns, trying to keep your voice from shaking, to keep the tears at bay.

But this time, it doesn’t work. Emotions heightened when Yoongi utters something he’s provided as a reminder over the years, “Don’t hold back.”

So you don’t.

There were days when this lesson was necessary, a gentle nudge to release the weight, and today is one of them. You weep, starting with soft whimpers that grow louder steadily, and you press into his chest until you're suddenly sobbing.

You sniffle with an aching head, holding onto him for dear life, barely noticing when your sobs, once again, morph into absolute wailing.

He embraces you, tighter with each inhale and exhale. You’re so impossibly close to him, garbling something that he doesn’t understand. His voice is pain-struck and trembling when he encourages, “Come again, baby? Talk to me.”

It takes a while; it doesn’t work. And then, he chants, “God, baby. My baby… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No!” you cry out, slurring your words, “No… am a burden. Am fucking burdening you…”

This is a clear thought, isn’t it? Even in a moment like this, you think it’s true. And that maybe…

Maybe you should’ve never agreed to the lunch he offered you all those years ago. You would miss everything good in your life, lose the one thing you so cherish, but you’d at least rid him of you.

Those long six years ago, you should have just told him you were fine.

As a student, Yoongi always trod the same path from the second floor down to the entrance of the college, living into a routine — never really noticing much of significance. He’d see other students who’d be eating; talking; rushing to class.

And as a TA, Yoongi was used to another, different journey throughout the building, too; climbing down the same spiral staircase, hurrying through the scary, empty mezzanine, passing the same few rooms on the ground floor.

He’d prepare to go home or to the library after attending his favourite psychology professor’s classes, assisting him to his best abilities. But this was different from all the other familiar routes he’d grown accustomed to.

These Wednesday afternoons did offer something of significance. Someone of significance.

Because every time he reached those rooms on the ground floor, you’d be there.

At first, he reckoned you always waited for your class to start, just at the time when his ended. But you were alone each time. The doors to the classrooms and lecture halls were all closed, and then there was you, a sole soul waiting for whatever miracle to appear.

It took a couple weeks for him to gather that you might not have been supposed to be there. He noticed it when he saw your eyes fixated on a spot, pupils never moving an inch, even when he walked past. At some point, he’d memorised just this expression on your face.

And then, bit by bit, he realised that your stance didn’t seem quite normal. Your eyes were dead, hands never flinching. You emanated a sense of loneliness and stupefaction that he couldn’t express in words.

Today, something in him stirred. Perhaps because he’d just covered social behaviour as a topic or perhaps because any proper human would recognise that something was wrong with you.

Your hands were holding a lidless cup that day, barely steaming anymore. You were blinking slowly, if at all. This time, he approached you with care, as if nearing a wounded deer; as if trying to keep it there and not frighten it away.

But when he leaned into you, a hand scarcely touching your shoulder, your head moved up to look at him slowly but surely. And your first reaction to him ever was a smile.

You remember that when you first looked at him, like really looked at him, his face seemed familiar to you. You were sure you’d seen him before, even if just in passing. He had this long, pretty, dark hair, covering his neck, a couple inches above his shoulders.

A kind face. A calm demeanour.

He stood there with pure relaxation between his eyebrows; one you hadn’t felt in a while despite your falling face. Flawless porcelain skin, free of dark circles, free of exhaustion. When did you last look like this?

You smiled at him instinctively, a curious expression; you couldn’t guess at all what he wanted or needed, but you were ready to listen. You’d always listen to people — listen, listen, listen. Perhaps that was the exact problem.

This very attention towards him, coming this easily, made your shoulders sink in new dejection; everything did. Every thought was intrusive, unwelcome, too stretched for your liking.

Whenever you had a normal thought or a bad one that’d at least pass immediately, you considered it a good day.

But you felt a tension around your temples by now; your head never felt at ease.

Yet, you asked, “Yes?”

And he wondered in return, “Are you okay? You looked distracted and I thought I might ask.”

“Oh… that’s nice,” you commented, your voice a bit too quiet yet surprised; you cleared your throat, spoke up, “but I’m okay. I just sit here sometimes after my classes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. To take a little break after all the information dump, yeah. I’ll go home soon, though, no worries.”

“Hm… yeah. I just,” Yoongi started, hesitant — you now know he was trying to reveal something without appearing creepy. “I noticed you here a few times, so I wanted to ask just to be sure.”

He saw you here? You? And he came up to talk to you, just because he’d noticed you before? Baffling. You didn’t think you were visible to anybody. You thought you faded in front of others’ eyes.

“You’re honestly so nice,” is all you said, hoping your eyes didn’t reveal too much. How much his words affected you, and how they made you think you were just a little, a tiny bit perceptible.

“Sure,” he responded, nodding. And when you failed to come up with more appreciative words, he prepared to move, bidding you goodbye with a single, “Okay…”

Then, he was walking away; as grateful as you were, your energy-lacking body forced your eyes shut. You drew a deep breath. These few words you’d exchanged with him took everything out of you — that was the worst part of all this.

Interaction drained you. Loneliness drained you. The world and life were all draining, and you couldn’t figure out anymore how to feel… awake. Sober without ever drinking.

When your eyes closed, you felt your surroundings starting to spin. Or maybe, it was you; as if someone had gripped your shoulders and was turning you in circles. There were so many weird particles behind your eyelids.

The rotation was insane, but nothing new. Shut down most of your other senses and people’s voices; like the one that returned a second later, the same as before. Shit. Had he seen you struggle? Was he seeing something nobody else ever would?

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger with the familiar face asked, concern in his voice. “You don’t look like it.”

What was it? What was it about his gentle, low voice that lured you in? What was it about his attentive tone that made you want to tear up? Maybe because you’d bottled things up for so long.

But you held the liquid locked in your eyes. Proudly, barely.

“I’m…”

You considered lying. You considered pulling a lame excuse out of your ass. But something in you snapped, snapped hard, and the truth spilled just before you could think twice—

“If I’m being honest… I’m feeling pretty faint… I often do? I usually just need to sit down a bit or I’ll pass out.”

You hated using the word usually. As though your condition had become irreparable, like a chronic illness; and you were stating its treatment, only temporary.

“Hmm…” he hummed. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much…”

“Then that might be it,” he concluded, content with the deduction. In hindsight, you think he was hoping it was only that, nothing more. “Do you have something with you?” You shook your head. “Are you getting something?”

You shrugged.

You could’ve easily told the truth and said no; that the appetite was absent, that you were going to go home and hardly remember how you got there. That you’d throw your bag on the couch, take off all your clothes, not really bother for a shower and jump into your bed.

Then, you’d breathe. Survive.

You didn’t have the energy to eat, to shower, and right now, somehow not even to lie. The remainder of it had been used in today’s class and in this conversation.

He knew you couldn’t come up with any bad justification, so he offered, “Listen… I still have this sandwich with me that I was going to eat after class. You can have it if you want.”

What? That was…

“Oh, no,” you blurted, raising a hand to reject, “you should eat if you haven’t yet.”

“Look, I totally get being selfless, but you don’t look good and…” He sighed, tilting his head. Eyebrows raised and expression suddenly stricter. “If I can help anyhow, I’d rather have that than anyone else finding you unconscious here later. Please?”

How could you’ve resisted such a plea?

He was taking care of you and he didn’t even know you. And your body understood; your body heard him. Because your stomach grumbled at the mention of the meal; it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant something to your hungry, craving body.

It often did that. Wishing to eat; then, not letting you swallow a bite.

You grabbed your bag and warily, carefully got to your feet. The man lifted a hand in caution, as if expecting for you to lose your balance. You did, just a little, swaying until you’d grounded yourself.

Goddamn it.

You nodded with a deep exhale and followed him as he suggested, “Let’s go to the courtyard. Get some fresh air. We can eat there and talk… or not talk if that's what you want.”

You kept moving your head up and down, fine with whatever. The fronts of it hurt due to the lack of nutrition; it was past four pm and you’d only eaten a damn banana.

He found you a shadowy spot away from the sun; it was late spring, the summer steadily approaching. The shade protected your tired eyes, guarded you from further headaches.

As you plumped onto the grass next to him, your fingers grazed it for a moment — and it felt good against your skin. A pleasant combination, the wind and the scent of grass; nearly freed your chest of the stuffy pain.

You watched his soft fingers fish out the sandwich, and then some salted peanuts for himself. Urged you to eat before spilling a handful of the nuts into his palm. God, you felt horribly guilty, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him to share the meal.

He… didn’t even seem to mind a bit.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he finally introduced, “I’m Min Yoongi. Psychology student and TA. Judging from your spot every single Wednesday afternoon, you take psychology classes, too?”

“I do… yeah.”

You took a bite enough for mouses, but then proceeded with a larger, human-appropriate one. Your stomach felt odd; Min Yoongi’s small talk helped you eat, but the nervous feeling in your chest that never really went away weighed heavily on your tummy.

You added, “Thinking of dropping it, though…”

“Why?”

“Because I might be failing anyway. Haven’t done much, and I still have a presentation on my paper left but have prepared nothing for it yet, either.”

“Have you asked the professor about a potential extension?”

Of course you’d thought about it. You always did. Which is why you despised having to answer, “No…”

No. Of course not. To most professors, mental health didn’t matter as an excuse.

You understood, though. They graded every paper they received, surrendering their free time, their summer and their winter breaks. To grant you special treatment was something you regarded as unnecessary; you didn’t think you were worth it.

“Do you feel like you could do better next term?” Yoongi asked.

“I don’t know.”

Your sandwich was done and gone. You were still hungry; you felt the appetite all of a sudden. You knew it often came and went in waves, but somehow, the sandwich left you more pining than anything these days.

Yoongi saw as you licked your fingers clean of the mayonnaise; offered you some peanuts that you politely declined, greedy for something proper. Maybe you’d eat an actual dinner tonight.

After a while, Yoongi spoke, “Okay, I know I’m a stranger to you and everything, but if you want, I could try to help you.”

Shit, but… that would’ve meant putting in the effort. To get up, to meet him, to focus and to study. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do all that. You didn’t know how to—

But his eyes were so sincere; a pure dark brown, sparkling in hope, for whatever noble reason. And you thought… you thought…

If there was any chance to pass this class and get over with it, wouldn’t you feel a gigantic wave of relief wash over you? After so damn long? Wouldn’t it be worth it? Maybe a spark of hope ignited in your chest after all… maybe you could turn things around.

“Yeah…” you finally obliged. “Yeah, that’s really nice.”

“Great. Are you free this Friday afternoon?”

After that, it became part of your routine to meet up with Yoongi every Thursday or Friday, depending on his own schedule. A couple weeks passed like a breeze; or at least, compared to the days you were used to.

Some time later, those meetings increased, and you found a profound liking in them. You still often struggled with leaving your apartment at all, sometimes deeming getting out of bed or brushing your teeth an impossible task.

But whenever Yoongi called, offering a nearby café — always a nearby café — you’d place all your energy into moving, throwing on clothes, leaving. You felt unworried with him; at least for a couple hours.

He wasn’t just smart to an admirable degree; he was humorous, too. Motivating. Praised you for your ideas and your sharp mind. You’d forgotten you still had it in you — you thought time had altered your brain chemistry, killed too many of its cells to still let your mind operate.

Today, he didn’t suggest a café but a place you hadn't been to before. Yoongi had never invited you anywhere that wasn’t a public space, careful with your feelings without ever mentioning the obvious issues you had.

He only really crawled out of his shell and gave you the address to this new spot once you’d invited him over, too — he couldn’t make it, helping out the professor he assisted. But you reckon it was telling enough for him to understand how comfortable you’d grown with him.

So you went where he told you to go, and once you arrived, you recognised it as an office. A small one, but elegantly decorated, furniture sparse. And it wasn’t just any office. A therapist’s office.

“This is my mom’s,” Yoongi explained as you inspected the books on the shelf and the overall soothing and fitting atmosphere, “she’s out of town, so I thought we could study here today.

“Oh…”

He had to have heard your hesitancy, your uncertainty. This is the place they usually suggest in guidance books and in conversation to people like you. You didn’t know how to feel; the emotions washing over you were an odd sensation. Not good, not bad.

But scary, somehow.

Yoongi put a soft hand on your shoulder, making you turn, and asked, “Is that okay for you?”

“Yeah… it’s just… I’ve only really thought and read about therapy, but never quite seen an actual room like this.” You shook your head, clicking your tongue. “It’s crazy. How have I never been in one despite studying psychology for so long?”

“Hmm, many students haven’t been.”

“Yeah.”

You stripped your bag off of you, taking a seat on the cosy patient’s couch. Pulled out your laptop and placed it on the table between you and where he seated himself on the therapist’s chair.

Swallowing a strange lump, you cleared your throat, starting the study session with, “Okay, so… I was thinking about what you said about the research question last time.”

“Right…”

At this point, you couldn’t really fathom why, but he seemed reserved today, a little distracted. Still providing as much information and intellect as he could; but his thoughts were slower and his eyes gentler.

You think you studied barely forty-five minutes when Yoongi called for a break — unusual, because it was mostly you to announce a pause in thoughts, when your brain would demand a couple minutes of peace.

He sighed, hands touching his thighs and then got up to bring you something to drink. Came back with two cups of tea. You thought he’d be returning with a glass of water, but upon seeing the beverage, your eyes widened; you told him, “This is super nice of you, thanks.”

“Of course.” Pause. You slurped; then he did. A second later, he inquired, “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm.”

You waited. Nothing came. You took another sip of the fruity winter tea in the middle of summer, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat under your nose that the heat caused. Then you looked up, big eyes staring into his just in time to see his mouth open.

“You always seem so surprised when I’m nice to you.”

Ah…

He’d said he’d had a question, but the indication of an inquiry, the one lifting in tone at the end never came. His statement was his question. And you thought it wasn’t the first time you heard it; you just never noticed you were doing it again.

Yoongi left the conclusion there, and the question mark hung somewhere between the two of you. Unspoken, containing a silent, ”Why?”

So you answered, “I just… uhm. People don’t just do something like this for me without me asking. It’s new to me how attentive you are.”

Sad. Just sad. You hated having to actually echo your innermost thoughts; you knew this wasn’t normal.

He knew, too, because he said, “This… is not how things should be.”

“But this is how they ended up being. I mean it’s just tea. But I don’t think anybody else sees me sitting there and goes like, Okay, I’ll do this lil something for her, you know?”

“Which is insane. You deserve it all so much. More than anyone I know.”

If you’d still been drinking, you would’ve choked. Those words were rare, not often uttered to you; how were you supposed to respond to them? You’d long forgotten how to react to things at all — it didn’t come too naturally to you anymore.

So all you did was laugh a little, as if replying to a joke. Genuinely, you wondered, “How can you say something like that?”

“Why not?”

“I mean, you probably know so many people.”

Yoongi blinked at you, as if waiting for your argument to proceed; but when it didn’t, he lifted a shoulder, steadfast with his opinion as he answered, “So? What do you think? That you feeling that way about yourself makes everyone else feel that way about you, too?”

You shrugged your shoulders just an inch, imitating his motions. Your gaze fell, as though catching yourself spewing pure gibberish. He continued, “You have a pure heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being mean. And you’re strong, careful, and endure a shit ton.”

You looked up at him instantly. Let the last words reverberate in your mind, pushing them to the forefront between all your other messy thoughts. “Of course you knew,” you said.

“Of course. You’re so obviously hurt and I hate that you are.”

Well, you hated it, too. But…

Your desperation came out in a whisper, “I don’t know what to do about it…”

You put the cup back onto the saucer; your fingers were warm when you pushed them into your hair, pressing your palms against your forehead, holding onto your mane. Elbows on your thighs. The world spun again until you felt his hand on your arm once more.

“Hey.” He sounded softer again. “Do you want to take a longer break? We could stop for today and talk?”

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to. But it feels to me like you’ve never done that before… people don’t want to listen.” His words hit you like bricks. Like heavy cement bricks. The pain was excruciating. “Is that it?”

You were still staring at your lap when he posed the question; your head whirred, so you didn’t know where to start. Which is why you held onto the first complaint — you knew they were valid worries, but you always called them complaints, like you were a burden — and said,

“I just… I listen to everyone. I let people vent, I let them feel hurt, and I try to be there and lend a shoulder and just,” the words cascaded out of you like a wild waterfall; your throat clogged up again, “to be a good person and a good friend.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the pressure back in your chest. “But why do I not get any of it back? Why is it that everyone goes silent when I’m hurting? Do I deserve this somehow?”

You felt tears pricking and burning in your waterline, and you blinked them away. Took another quick sip just to help your dry throat. Then, “I hate that I sound selfish? Like I only do things for people to get love back, but… that’s not it. I just want to feel worthy of something, too.”

“You don’t sound selfish. It’s never wrong or inhumane to demand affection and care, and if it is, then… every person’s selfish. Whatever.”

Up until that point, you hadn’t known that someone could be this tender and direct at once. Yoongi lived in a reality that wasn’t sugarcoated, but he understood empathy and heartbreak, knew to dip his words in an ointment alleviating enough.

You wondered what he’d endured to become this type of person; sympathy and a mind this sage often stem from grief once encountered, and you so hoped he was an exception to this belief of yours.

You looked at him with delicate fondness, mixed with some lasting trouble. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know what came over you when you leaned into his palm, kept his gaze, and stayed in place when he moved in.

Kissed you.

And you didn’t know why, but the moment opened your heart as if it’d been locked before; he was the key, undoing the lock so easily. That was when the first tear rolled down your cheek, meeting his skin, and you started trembling as he moved his mouth against yours.

You couldn’t grasp why he was doing it; even if parts of you knew. Did he not care that you were broken? That you were still breaking? That the ache always consumed you, that you felt whatever your brain inflicted on you throughout your entire body?

Maybe not. He always said you were funny, sweet, never humorous at anybody’s expense.

It was different from the things you’d heard before.

Nobody will love you like this.

Stop acting like you’re traumatised.

I didn’t love you — I kept you because you were attractive. Because you let me.

You had always asked yourself: why had your feelings always been shoved aside when you voiced your opinion? Whenever it differed from the one in your family or your friend’s circle?

Why were you told to never open up about your childhood memories? When you were caged in; when somebody three times your age indulged in impudence when they shouldn’t have, long ago when you were a child; when you fell in love at a later age and were forced to let go?

Why were you told you were tainted, that you couldn’t get any affection like this, to keep your pain to yourself and forget about your past? And why was this sequence of nightmares plaguing you right now, like you were dying, just when he was kissing you…

Because you were scared. So scared.

If you told Yoongi any of this, would he bolt? Would you hurt yet another person? Would he see you as a shattered porcelain doll, distance himself from you? Because honestly, why would he stay at all; with someone who hasn’t healed, who’d pulled him underwater, too?

Yet, you didn’t say any of this. You sighed; leaned into him. Took residency in his heart, cried into him.

He kissed you for another second, and then backed away. Wiped your tears. You broke and broke until your voice broke, too, giving way to quiet sobs.

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

And somehow, the realisation hurt anew, deep in your core and beyond.

Your tears had mostly dried when he resumed his position, sitting in front of you. His fingers were entangled and he waited.

Yoongi knew you’d cry again, though. The patient’s couch had some magic to it, his mother always said. They’d always cry, but they’d heal at the same time. Recognise hidden parts of themselves.

He was uncomplaining and composed, and kept looking at you until you said, “It just feels… like I’ll never be enough. I can do as much as possible, but none of it is ever seen because I’m taken for granted.”

“Who takes you for granted?”

“Everyone. I’ve spent many nights awake for people, and they abandoned me. In a crowd, others will always be praised for one thing and I’ll be ignored for the same. It’s made me bitter.”

He nodded in true therapist fashion, but his expression wasn’t as neutral as one; he looked pain-struck for you. Said, “You’ve been hurt… I see that…”

“I’m… hurting,” you corrected, “and I don’t know what to do.”

Yoongi attempted a different approach; you were in a hopeless spiral, and the strategy he needed to try wasn’t just to dig out your trauma, but to make you familiar with the good parts of your life, too.

So he asked, sincerely hoping you had an answer to his question, “Who could you trust as you grew up?”

“I don’t know…” Yoongi’s chest deflated, motivation dropping — that is, until you muttered, “My brother.”

“Parents?��

“Part of the problem.”

Okay; your answers came more rapidly now. He took it as a good sign; as readiness to talk.

“Where’s your brother?” he wondered.

“In this town,” you answered, and Yoongi sighed in relief. “But I can’t bother him with all of my shit.”

Your symptoms were as typical as they could be; you regarded your self-worth as buried deep under the ground, never wanting to disturb those who still deemed you close and loved. You’d established this distance between you and the others; he didn’t blame you.

The symptoms were typical.

“Why do you think so?” Yoongi prodded, whispering your name when you didn’t answer.

“I’ve bothered them all enough…”

“How so?”

Maybe he was doing too much. But it seemed you were on board with it; you weren’t complaining, not sighing, not withdrawing. You were listening and talking. Nobody let you talk, and now that you were, you looked like you needed to let it out.

You spat, “Because they never seemed to want to hear anything.”

God…

It hurt to see you like this. Damp eyes, a heavily rising chest, as if you were close to panicking again, but desperately holding back. He knew it; he saw it in the way you drew your breaths and in the things you said.

He knew you’d braved multiple nights and many, many sleepless hours before, spending these dark moments clutching your chest, trying to get rid of the unbearably tight feeling in your chest.

He knew that torturous pressure. He’d been there before. The persistent feeling of fear and unease — like somebody had dropped a weight onto his ribcage and tied up his stomach. The shallow breathing and thumping heart would strip him off focus.

Thoughts circling and circling, around each other; absolute bullshit most of the time.

He couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed you felt, but then again, he could. Was the world louder to you, too? The way it used to be for him. Did you hear that constant screaming in your head?

Vulnerable, senses heightened, sensitive to the slightest change.

He hated the thought of a wall between you and your peace. Hated hearing the words you narrated; of your home, of your childhood, of the people you met. The disrespect you suffered and the dirt you were treated as.

You deserved none of it.

Maybe he felt that way because nobody ever deserved it; or maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you. Not because he needed to save you, or because he felt like falling for someone who he’d have to fix could be a welcoming challenge.

He knew people who treated depression like this; saviour complex in full effect, they needed to be the hero or heroine to stitch a broken heart.

No — he fell for you because you were you. Despite everything and every pain you endured, you were still you; and most of the you that you were before you got hurt this badly was still there, under the surface.

He saw those joyful parts of you reemerge sometimes, breaking through the waves. Sometimes, right before your head would fall again; your body weightless; drowning — he saw those parts on those days for a split moment.

But not right now.

In fact, the true parts of you that knew to feel happiness were absent now, and he knew — in that sense, he was prepared for you to utter what you said next. Was ready to hear it, no matter how little he actually wanted to hear it.

“And sometimes, when it got too much…” You gulped. Yoongi knew what you’d say; he knew. But— “I didn’t feel like being here anymore. It seems that was the only and last time I opened my family’s eyes.”

But when you still said it, it stabbed his heart like a dagger.

“Only, after that… it soon became irrelevant again,” you continued, “they told me I should be thankful for being alive and regret the mistake I made… what I tried.”

And you spoke on. Spoke on and on. He leaned back, allowing himself a better position to breathe. His heart felt like a sewing pin cushion, riddled with tiny holes. His eyebrows furrowed in agony, but he saw worse pain in your eyes.

Tears slowly reappeared.

“And when I was judged for this, too… I realised I didn’t regret ever trying to leave the world. I regretted that I’d failed to do so.”

Maybe he felt that way because nobody deserved it; maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you.

But your words split him in a million tiny shards, like glass, until his pieces became tiny enough to resemble dust.

”Am a burden… Am fucking burdening you…”

Yoongi’s voice defeats the others in your head just barely; as if you’re separated by a glass wall and hearing him from afar, only clearing when you hammer through it and break the surface. He’s quiet compared to your cries, a hand firmly on your back.

His grip around you wants to glue you together so desperately; he’s not letting go, even though you get restless soon, quivering and ruining his shirt.

“Hey, baby…” you hear him say, but you interrupt, obstinately shaking your head.

“No… I’m— I never should’ve let you this close and—”

“No.” It’s his turn to interject. And he does it with determination; tone suddenly so low, cold, so you silence. “Stop.”

You do, only now noticing that he’s imprisoning your wrists in his grasp. Not painfully, but still solidly enough for you to understand what he means. You confirm it for yourself when you look up.

You already know your eyes are bloodshot, cheeks thoroughly wet; but you still recognise the heavy breaths he draws. See something entirely different in his eyes than yours.

Pain.

You hurt him. And this time, you could once again lament your destructive behaviour, argue how you keep inflicting these shit ass feelings on him. But…

The ache in his expressions says something else entirely. Fills you with hope, fills you with guilt.

Shows you that he despises the thought of you possibly regretting this relationship. His gaze proves that he doesn’t. That if he could go back in time and meet you again, talk to you again, fall in love with you again — he would.

You know it because he’s said it before. You know.

But your brain is half melting, hurting, spitting all negative assumptions at you like nobody’s business.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you stammer, pierced by the sorrow in his eyes.

“What?”

“I… shouldn’t have said that,” you start, gulping. Your crying ebbs down for a second as you register the growing agony in his heart, and you explain, “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I can’t stop thinking that…”

Break in conversation.

Then him again, “…That?”

“That you’d be better off without me. That you’re here so I stay alive and that you’d be less burdened with someone else…”

Another pause.

He stares at you, as if pondering his answer. Bites into his lower lip softly and releases it right away. Blinks, looks to your wrists, lets go of them and then whispers, “Do you want to know? What I’m thinking, do you want to know that, too?”

“…What are you thinking?”

“That it’s true that I’m burdened.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

The pain is searing, a burning arrow shooting through your heart. It’s what you expected and what you feared and what still hurts so much upon hearing and—

Are you crying again? Are you tearing up? You don’t know.

You’re not sure, but it does seem like you’re breaking once more when he shushes you carefully, touching your cheek. He calms you, and then speaks again—

“Of course I’m burdened, too. Yeah, of course. I’d be lying if I said seeing you like this doesn’t make me feel helpless… but do you know what it means that I’m still here?”

Your voice trembles when you speak, “Because you’re scared of leaving me in this condition.”

“No. I learned early enough to prioritise myself when I need to. No, I’m not leaving because I don’t want to — simple. Because I’ll share your, mine and the world’s damn pain along with my heart. ‘Kay?”

Retrospectively, his words sound logical. He said it’s simple, and in some way, it is. If you didn’t have the brain that you have, it would be. If you weren’t so neck-deep in the quicksand pulling you into doubts, you’d be less surprised at the finality in his tone.

“Baby—” you start, but he squeezes your hand, eyes glistening.

“We have enough enemies in this world. Don’t regard me as one, too. Okay? Please…”

“No, you’re not,” you defend, moving your head and the palm on your cheek along with it, “you’re anything but that.”

He nods, sniffling; you know he’s holding back the same salty, pouring liquid as you. He’s always done that, providing a sense of strength and safety to make you feel just that.

“We’ll be okay one day, love. The world hurts us a shit ton, and life is difficult, but…” His voice cracks here, and he waits to regain control, sighing. “We only get one of it and… it’d be so unfair if we were destined to stay like this, right?”

You don’t believe in divine beliefs that seemingly predetermine how your life plays out. Fate or destiny or whatever synonyms to notions that Jung or Freud believed in. You’ve heard of this stuff plenty in your studies, but it never affected your curiosity much.

You know Yoongi isn’t necessarily a representative of it either; not one to dive too deep into things that suggest the potential absence of a free will.

But the thought provides hope when nothing else does. You know. The fact that you can’t leave this world without fixing things; that you’re here to contribute to much larger and more important things.

You cannot have been born to spend your days here without the joy you deserve.

You’ve felt much of it thanks to Yoongi, but you’ve had too many setbacks to call this a proper life. You don’t want to end it like this. You don’t want to grow old like this.

And you want to gift him the life he deserves, too.

Fuck…

You need to get better. You need to get better. You need to get better.

You need to help yourself. Even if it takes time; even if the non-linear process of healing irks you, stealing hope and leaving anguish in turn. And it’s as if Yoongi reads your mind when he says—

“It’s okay, you know? To feel that way. It takes time. It doesn’t matter how much, but it’s okay to fall back and have ups and downs, as long as you don’t give up. Yes?”

“I can’t, I know… I— I won’t give up. I just… need you to be here.” Your voice is unsteady, and your heart is, too; fickle as can be. But you’d rather hang onto the aspiration right now… nothing else. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I’ll fix this for us, I will.”

“For yourself first. I’ll be here, no matter what.”

“…I love you.” Your breathing is staggered, leftover pain still keeping the anxiety in your chest. It’ll take a while. But there’s power in your admissions when you repeat, “I love you so much.”

You lean in carefully, and he mimes the movement, bending into your kiss. It’s a peck, soft and gentle and encouraging, and you murmur through your sniffles, “So, so much.”

And then you climb up, using all your strength. Half your body comes to a rest on his; the immediate proximity and warm touch evoke motivation and longing in your heart. For not only him, but every second of a possible serene future, too.

This very hope is often born and reborn at the end of your lowest lows. It’s what pulls you up again, keeps you going each time before the next valley can swallow you. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes not.

But you so desperately want this. Want it to work now.

You want to be okay. Want to travel and soak in the sun. Want to dance in the rain and scream from the peak of a mountain; want to snorkel in clear, blue seas.

The life you picture for yourself, the one you follow in those healing vlogs on social media — it’s what you yearn for. It’s what you want to feel. With him on your side.

Sometime in the future, you see yourself beaming in genuine happiness, see yourself smiling. And you want to work towards it. You’ve always wanted to.

Ever since Yoongi first showed you what love, contentment and merriment felt like, you’ve craved this. Ever since that night he told you he loved you, despite everything.

Despite, despite, despite.

He was there to catch your fall when you couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore. When your knees weakened and the ground turned into clouds, and you plunged through them and towards the cemented earth that’d shatter you.

He aided you in staying whole. Let you lean against his shoulder, nodding off into a slumber there, allowing you to dream because until then, you didn’t dare to.

You thought dreaming was pointless; just a fabrication of the unconscious mind to distract you from the horrors of the world. To keep you occupied, to torture you even when asleep. As time passed, you started making these horrors your life, and the line between reality and fantasy thinned.

Until…

Until he turned those nightmares into daydreams. Blossoming, vibrant colours appeared where you’d perceived greys before. Somehow, you fell apart a lot less when Yoongi spent his time with you, taught you to love again.

You became less terrified by dreams then, because the content changed. And whenever you weren’t dreaming, away from sleep, you experienced the utopia you’d always sought.

The day Yoongi first told you he loved you, you’d long defeated the semester you’d so worried about; started and survived the one after; and were now already tackling your very last one.

Even after all these months, you never let him forget how grateful you were for passing the last summer semester eventually, and in return, he never let you forget that he’d stay even after.

You didn’t study all the time anymore either; now, your afternoons and nights were filled with gentle words, promising embraces, lips against lips. It took some time to truly open up. To stop feeling like you were making a mistake.

“Doing yourself to him,” you called it, as if you were about to hurl him into his very own mistake.

Even then, you wanted to get better for him; you knew it hadn’t and wouldn’t happen overnight. All of it was much easier said than done; healing sounds so doable for those who attempt to support those who need it, yet they cannot grasp the meaning of a broken heart and scared mind.

But there was something so wonderful about the simplicity between Yoongi and you. So simple that it called forth feelings so complex.

They were tough to navigate, but never tough to admit.

That March night, the sentiments roamed your body the clearest, even though the skies were anything but that. The thunder sounded like the universe had cracked; the white and silver of the striking lightning illuminated your room.

It was the night you felt hope in all its glory, for the very first time in years.

“You keep hiding from me,” Yoongi said, legs crossed like yours, sitting vis-a-vis.

He was close enough for your knees to collide, and when they did for the umpteenth time, he put a careful hand on your fingers resting on your thigh. You didn’t protest, so he didn’t withdraw.

“I’m not hiding from you. I just…” you stalled, “I just want you to be sure.”

“About you?”

If it had been this easy, you wouldn’t have asked. Because you knew the answer to this. Yoongi didn’t need to explain it to you; he was already certain about you to an indisputable degree.

You shook your head. Elaborated, “About everything. I don’t just come with the few good times we had the last couple of weeks. I come with… everything I’ve ever experienced and that shaped me into this.” You gestured over yourself. “You’d notice soon.”

“I already do.”

His answers and arguments came promptly, as if he knew the script to this talk and had already thought out every response he’d be giving. This was so effortless to him; thinking about it today, you wouldn’t even have needed to say a word.

But it was important to you. You couldn’t permit him to grow this attached without making sure.

“You just take it, do you? All that I am,” you concluded delicately; wanting to inform him, but so terrified of scaring him away. “But if you fall for me, then you’re committing. And I want you to think about it because I don’t— I don’t want to ruin your life.”

When he spoke again, he seemed to finally deviate from the script he knew; because confused, he asked, “If?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, if I fall for you?”

Oh… oh.

You understood. It didn’t take the tiniest of nanoseconds for you to fathom what he meant. And you could’ve sobbed right there and then, but the storm distracted you a little; the thunder was growling, threatening to explode again.

Somehow, the chaos outside kept you at bay. But only for so long.

“…Yoongi.”

His fingers moved from yours to your entire palm, taking it in his with a whisper of your name. Then, he clarified, “The possibility of something happening is redundant if it’s already happened, you know? And I’m…”

You held your breath, but at the same time, you were nearly panting. Maybe one first, then the other? You can’t remember anymore. You felt dizzy. Teary-eyed and joyful at once when you saw him at a loss of words.

“You’re?” you encouraged.

“I’m just so… feet deep underwater and in love with you that you couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”

“I—”

“I love you. You know I do.”

Fuck… fuck, you knew.

Of course you knew.

Your heart was vile at times, cooperating with this demon of a brain and feeding you wrong information. But this, you knew. You fought through the congested mess of thoughts and admitted this to yourself every day.

Isn’t this why you were having this conversation in the first place?

But to hear him say it…

I love you.

You know I do.

“Even if you try to deny it,” he continued, “you know I love you and that I’ll keep doing it.”

This is when your waterline gave up; lined with the liquid you’d always held back. But why? There was no reason to. You felt at peace; Yoongi knew your heart. There was no use in keeping you closed off anymore.

So you cried. Let the first tear roll that he caught with his hand, holding your face so firmly that you thought it was the only thing keeping your head upright. Optimistic.

“There’s… there’s a chance that I start doubting you,” you contended for whatever stupid reason, sniffling, “that I doubt myself and then regret pulling you down with me and— there’s a chance I forget that you’ll keep loving me, no matter what, you know—”

“I’ll keep reminding you.”

“I’m a handful.”

“My hands are big enough, baby.”

The endearment didn’t slip past you, but instead made your beating organ swell. You don’t think you’d ever heard your pulse pounding in your eardrums this loudly. And he kept inching closer; his forehead nearly touched yours until it did.

“Can you love me even if I fall, Yoongi?”

“I’ll pick you up. You know that.”

“…What if you feel like you’re not good enough?”

Stop asking questions. Stop stop stop.

But he kept answering.

“Remember what you told me a couple days ago?” Yoongi asked, his voice quiet, drowning in the storm. “That it’d been long since you’d felt happy like this.”

“I do right now… I just…”

“Yeah, and I— I think. If I’m able to stay by your side and make you smile anyhow? Then I think this… we… are good enough.”

That’s it. Your throat was dry, your mind out of questions. You could renounce doubts if he didn’t have any either. He seemed convinced enough; so you admitted your own convictions to him, too.

“I’m… I love you, too. I love you, I fucking do.”

Your last word was cut, merely a breath. Swallowed when you leaned in and kissed him, pulling him back with you onto the bed. Yoongi landed on top of you, draping the two of you under the thin, floral blanket.

The early spring rain tapped your window softly before the gentle noise turned into more aggressive knocking and hammering. This very storm they’d announced was the reason Yoongi had stayed tonight.

That’s what he’d told you at least; in truth, it was an excuse.

Before today, you rarely spent your nights together.

Whenever you did, he allowed you your space in order to not overwhelm you. He knew you were cautious, slow, took your time to trust. He’d sleep on the couch or crawl back to you when you approached him in the dead of the night.

Touching his elbow gently, shaking him awake, telling him so sweetly that it drove him insane, “I don’t want to be alone.”

So he’d cuddle in when you sought out his arms, dozing so peacefully. It delighted him because whenever he didn’t slumber next to you, he’d hear you from the other room. Woefully moaning in your sleep, as if crying, turning.

He never saw or heard any of that when you leaned into his embrace, held onto his shirt. Never did anything more than sleep; he was content with that.

But tonight was different, less chaste than that — and he was content with that, too.

You said you’d wanted to talk. And you had. You’d trembled through the conversation, heart combusting in your chest like it wasn’t part of you anymore, that treacherous thing with its own, stupid will.

But it thumped differently now when he kissed you like this. You felt the change so clearly when he held you, pushing you into the mattress; stripping you naked bit by bit; asking over and over again if you were okay, if he should stop.

You lived differently, too, when he pecked your bare skin, up and down, from head to toe, to and fro. His tongue explored your waist and your thighs and the wetness between your quivering legs.

And you loved differently when he immersed himself in you. Sighing and moaning against you as his tongue lapped you up. You felt the chills everywhere. Felt your shoulders rise, your hand in his long hair, the oxygen running out.

You’d nearly forgotten how such a moment felt — then again, you’d never experienced it like this before. You could barely breathe, and for the first time, you loved it. For the first time, it wasn’t your usual reason.

But the picture of the man over you pumping himself, covering his cock in the condom you’d bought weeks ago, just in case. Back when he started hanging around at your place. He was surprised about your preparation; was delighted about it, too.

And God… God, when he kissed you, sheathing himself in you, every inch connected with every piece of you. Souls and hearts and bodies merging. Moving in and out slowly, then a little quicker, cradling your face and kissing your neck.

Between all that, he kept asking if you were doing okay, and you said you’d never felt better. And the best part was that you fucking meant it and that’s when you knew—

That Yoongi warmed your coldest, most frigid spots. Helped you find a sense of heat that you’d long forgotten, that not even summer could ever bring back. The spring was right inside you, in the middle of your chest despite the rain.

But at the same time, somewhere next to it, he was there, too, becoming the storm that raged outside.

All at once, you remembered again. Even if you might forget in your worst times; even if he’d really need to remind you again.

You remembered that you could be loved, and that you were deserving of love.

You remembered that love towards somebody is often subjective and it’s not entirely up to you who feels it for you, and that only because somebody else was unable to give it to you the right way… it doesn’t mean everyone would act the same.

Yoongi was the spring and the storm; the rainbow you saw the next morning as the sky cleared.

Your mother used to struggle with migraines. Back then, you’d see her tied to the bed for half a day, struggling to get up, sleeping for a couple hours after swallowing her sumatriptan.

The evening or the morning after, you’d ask her how she was doing, and she’d say the headache was gone, but that some of the pressure still lingered. She’d feel it in the heaviness of her head, like it was falling against her clavicles.

Back then, you were too young to understand; you still don’t suffer migraines, knock on wood. But you somehow get what she meant — you guess the same applies to any other part of your body.

Like the soul.

They say a body becomes lighter after death since the soul leaves; and the morning after bawling in Yoongi’s arms, you feel the opposite. Like your grief makes you weigh more than during your good days.

Like you’re heavier than a month ago, without gaining a single kilogram.

But at least that means you’re alive. A soul intact.

And, just like your mother’s medicine, the night alleviated at least some of your pain. Maybe it was the conversation with Yoongi. Maybe the reassurance that he didn’t perceive you as the task you thought you might be.

Many years ago, you refused to seek help in others; be it loved ones, a partner or a therapist. Yoongi taught you to own who you were and to admit the problems you faced; that they were as valid as anything else.

Living with him and loving him this profoundly showed you that it’s okay to confide in someone. That someone will care. But it also taught you that ultimately, nobody is responsible for your well-being as much as you are.

That to heal, you need to accept yourself. That to accept yourself, you need to acknowledge the issues you face.

And for that, you need to be ready to combat your demons, understand that they can be fought.

You’ve always known that. In that sense, it isn’t true that you’re fully dependent on Yoongi. You know deep down that you’ll be the one pulling you out of this.

But…

It’s never bad for someone to initiate that thought process, is it? Even when it’s you emerging from the grave you dug for yourself; it’s okay to grab the hand as the earth breaks, pulling you out of the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi is the rope helping you out; but you’re the one to walk on once the endless well ends and you spot the daylight. You can rely on him. You can rely on yourself.

You’ll be okay… you’ll be okay.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks as you slip into your shoes. You look up, and nod, your smile soft. “Just a few more days, right?”

Right.

You’ll live day by day. Survive the hours, strive towards a better future. Count your blessings, find things to look forward to. It’s alright to fall sometimes, and whenever you do, you’ll remember you’re not alone.

That you’ll get up eventually. You hold onto this.

And onto those few last days until vacation calls. You booked it so long ago; it can be that one thing to grasp, to look forward to, right?

And… you laugh. Because you remember Yoongi telling you to get your nails done, that he’d even go with you. “But do not forget, because blue suits Greece and I’d love to see the colour on you.”

You act like you don’t know what his plea means. You act like you don’t know how much he loves you. How this very approaching plan of his proves that he couldn’t even let go of you if you gave him another reason to.

Isn’t this enough to understand that he never feels guilty of loving you?

Why are you so afraid…

Because.

Yoongi never viewed your pain as something you had control over or something you caused; whoever hurt you is at fault, not you. And Yoongi knows that; knows that you matter, with your past and present and future, however cruel they might be.

But despite the fact that your past made you who you are, and that your future will determine how you’ll further turn out to be, Yoongi always preaches to focus on the controllable.

We won’t ever be able to manage the future entirely; maybe you won’t even ever be faced with the fears you harbour, you know? The past is the past, the present is the present and the future is the future. They will torment us if we put too much meaning in them.

I know it’s hard. But it’ll be alright. One day, it will be — you’re okay.

It has to be…

You’ll be okay. You’re okay.

The weather might change at warp speed — but soon, it’ll be sunny again.

i know i said it's okay if you skip this one, but if you're reading this, you might not have, and i'm thankful for that <3 i needed these feelings out of my system, so it felt very cathartic to me. maybe it helped you a little, too? i hope so, at least – things will be okay 🤍

what do you think? since you're here, i'd love to know how you feel about this piece 💕

#yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #yoongi fics #myg smut

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rationaliity · 7 months ago

Text

progression | aventurine blurb

loving aventurine was as easy as breathing to you, something incredibly hard for him to grasp. he didn't get it at all. when he first walked into your life, he had this arrogant mask up, another one of his well preserved fabrications to protect himself. he was snarky to you. not necessarily rude, but he wasn't afraid to bare his fangs and show you that he was capable of hurting you if he needed to. he wasn't afraid of hurting anyone. another gamble he was putting his faith in, that he wouldn't be put in a situation where he would have to hurt you.

you loved him during that stage. every sarcastic 'friend' he tacked on to every sentence like it was more of an insult than anything else, every boundary that he crossed of yours, every little lie he spun to keep you at arms length, trying to protect you from his teeth. words hurt less than his bite. and yet, you were there for him even when he was sure he would have pushed you away, and it unnerved him.

" aventurine ~ " you called out from behind him to get his attention, before lightly jogging up to him, standing by his side. not in front of him, but beside him. " i know you might be busy today with business as usual, but i was hoping that you were free this afternoon ? there's this new coffee shop that opened up, and i though- "

" coffee ? sorry to disappoint you, friend, but i am busy this afternoon, " he shook his head, as if dismissing the idea outright entirely.

" oh, that's okay ! i'm still able to say hi right now while we're walking, so that's enough, " you chirped, but he could hear the unmistakable sound of disappointment and sadness in your tone, making the guilt inside of him at being the one who caused your unhappiness eat him alive. but the look on his face didn't change, his walls too big to penetrate.

he did find you at that coffee shop, though. " oh, hello, friend- " he had called out, approaching your table, sitting next to you without even asking. he saw your eyes light up, and for a second he felt the warmth in his chest burst forward, his heart beating against his ribcage. " what good fortune that i was able to finish my tasks a little while ago. i didn't think you would actually come here alone. " there was a hint of confusion in his voice, but it was masked just as quickly as it came.

after this interaction, aventurine got a little awkward with you. what was he expected to say ? what did he do if he wasn't trying to push you away ? he was clumsy with his words, often just silently nodding along as you talked, and sometimes bringing up tiny points. he wasn't good at conversation when it wasn't to serve an agenda. being in survival mode his entire life, he had no idea how to be social, much less to someone as kind as you.

no matter how much he stumbled and fell over his own words, you treated him the same. he approached you cautiously, as if he was afraid that one day you would get sick of him and throw him out of your life permanently. was his personality too much for you to handle ? was he doing something wrong ? he wasn't sure, this was uncharted territory for him. all he could do was throw his dice and hope for the best outcome, something that was so comforting now unnerving. he could bet every single one of his chips, every possession he owned, including his own life, but you ? betting on you felt like one risk he wasn't willing to take.

" hey- i was at this shop a while ago, and i was hoping that you'd want to visit ? with me, of course, " aventurine asked, trying very hard not to look how pretty you looked right now, how your smile made his heart flutter every single time without fail. " i saw something i thought you might like. i wanted to get it for you but i don't know your size. "

" oh ? yeah, i'd love to go with you ! " you agreed immediately, as if everything that you were doing before this was suddenly unimportant. " but you really don't have to pay for me, honestly. i can take care of myself. "

this through him for a loop, and he hid it well, but aventurine had no idea what that meant. did you not want him to pay for you ? or were you just trying to be modest ? it wasn't like he was hungry for money, it was fine on his pockets, and he didn't mind spending if it meant spending on you, of course. besides, what did you want from accompanying him if it wasn't to buy things ? that's what friends were for, right ? it was a mutual beneficial agreement between two people to be friendly with each other to gain something from another, right ?

he was pretty sure that was how it was to be friends, but you challenged all of that. especially when you bought him a drink from a shop. he'd just mentioned it offhanded that he could go for some boba tea, and you had agreed, saying that it would be really good right now. and then you bought him his ? that's not how that was supposed to work, he was sure of it. why would you go out of your way to pay for something for him that you yourself wouldn't even get to enjoy ? he was willing to buy you things to keep you around him, but you didn't need to buy him anything to keep him around.

the possibility that you didn't want anything from him other than his time and himself was confusion, but refreshing.

eventually late night outs became late nights inside, and aventurine found himself in a precarious position, on your couch, your body on the other side, cuddling up against a pillow. the intimacy of the situation felt like it was choking him. and he finally got the courage to ask you the question that plagued him - why ? why did you care ? why did you try so hard ? what was in it for you ? putting your bets on him was a foolish decision that he couldn't rationalize. even he didn't bet on himself.

" because you're worth it, " you shrugged a little, the answer's simplicity wiping everything from him. all of his fears, his confusion, his doubts, just for this moment. right now, he understood. you never pushed him out of his comfort zone, and let your companionship evolve naturally. he didn't even realize he had let you inside of his shell before it was too late. " because you deserve it. "

he thought you were worth it, too. trusting you, putting his faith in you even though you had the ability to hurt him. it was worth it. you were worth it.

#honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #honkai sr #honkai star rail x reader #x reader #hsr x reader #aventurine #honkai star rail aventurine #star rail aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine fluff #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr imagines

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pretzel-box · 3 months ago

Note

woe, Reverse AU angst be upon ye (not necessarily a request, just a thought i had, but if anything strikes feel free to go ham :3 i also like to think about this with the og universe because i love feeling emotional pain 🧘🏾)

but instead of the reader having a classified file for themselves (& having it for sale), there are videotapes (or maybe different colored pendrives? CDs work too, i guess!!) scattered across the abandoned offices, and at first Sebastian isn't sure what to do with them, but then he meets p.ai.nter and they recognize those immediately, questioning why Sebastian is carrying that stuff with him in a concerned tone, and Sebastian just stares at the computer like, "??? okay, what's up with it?"

p.ai.nter is hesitant to show him what those hide at first, but eventually agrees to let him watch, then warns him that he is not going to like any second of it

Sebastian gets comfortable in front of the screen but is only greeted with an extremely heartbreaking scene– it's (now an experiment) reader visibly shaking as they stare in horror at their new body, unable to speak in any way while sobbing and whimpering, hugging themselves (or maybe their tail? guess it depends on the way readers want to look) and wondering what they had done to deserve this outcome, to be stripped of their humanity

now i personally like to think that the reader struggling to speak is something that comes with their body being altered, like everything is big so they're not used to any of it so really all they can do is cry and struggle to say a coherent sentence because it sounds like a garbled mess, but that is also me wanting to add salt to the wound because this is supposed to be sad ooooo ⚡⚡

anyway, at the end of it all (cause there was more than one video, a whole documentary on reader and the experiments done on them), Sebastian is left feeling too many emotions and he doesn't even know when he started crying but he is (since the reader he knows now is different from the one he just saw in the videos but deep down it hurts so much because that is the same person in different years of their life) and p.ai.nter isn't sure how to comfort him so they keep apologizing till Sebastian finally chooses to leave

next time he stops by reader's shop he can't even bring himself to stare at them properly because he's afraid he'll start bawling his eyes out, meanwhile, reader is just staring at him like ":3? no snarky comments or banter today wow what happened to him" unaware that he has seen The Horrors

that's all thanks for coming to my tedtalk

Authors Note: This is inspired by this request but not 1:1 written like it. This is pure angst and some gore. READ AT OWN RISK.

Tags: GORE, Angst, Reversed AU, mentions of syringes, drugs and operations.

Words: 2,7k

The sound of a click filled the room, followed by the small red light blinking on the video camera, indicating it was recording. Sebastian glanced at you with irritation as you held the camera—a little relic you'd scavenged from a deeper part of the facility—not too long ago. He shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of the leather jacket you had once sold him.

"And we are live!~ Say hello to the viewers, Seb!" you teased, shoving the camera playfully in his face. He immediately pushed it away with his hand, his scowl deepening.

"I get it, I get it," he grumbled, pointing at the camera with a mock glare. "You found a new toy. Now what? You planning to make a movie or something?"

You shot him a sharp look, the room growing colder as if you were subtly irritated by his comment. Sebastian could sense he'd hit a nerve, a rare feat considering your usual carefree attitude. But then, unexpectedly, you burst out laughing, clutching your stomach and flashing him the signature grin that always greeted him when he came to your shop.

"I’ve already starred in plenty,” you replied cryptically, your words hanging in the air with an eerie undertone. Sebastian opened his mouth to ask what you meant, but you cut him off with another sly comment. “Maybe you’re the next big star, Solace.”

After leaving your shop, Sebastian wandered through the halls of the Hadal Blackside facility, the encounter with you replaying in his mind. He’d grown to enjoy your company—your banter, your teasing, the way you challenged him. But today, something about your behavior felt off. Beneath the jokes and sarcasm, there was something else—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And that unsettled him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

How could he be in a relationship with someone so different, so complex? You were like a puzzle with missing pieces, a riddle that refused to be solved. The more he thought about it, the more it nagged at him. His legs carried him on autopilot through the winding corridors, his mind consumed by thoughts of you.

It wasn’t until he found himself in the office segment of the building that he realized he’d been walking without really paying attention. His hand hovered over the keycard reader, and it struck him that he hadn’t even looked for the blue plastic card he needed to get through the next door. The desk was a mess of papers, ink, and tapes.

His eyes fell on an old, unlabeled tape, the kind they'd used for surveillance back in the day. Scrawled on it in red ink was a series of numbers: *Z-13.* The sight of it piqued his curiosity, a nagging feeling that it was significant. Without thinking, he slipped it into his pocket. He’d find a way to watch it later.

Sebastian rummaged through countless drawers, lockers, and cabinets, searching for the keycard, but instead, he kept finding more of those mysterious tapes. Each one seemed older than the last, covered in dust and marked with strange codes.

His practical side told him he should probably look through all of them, not just the one he had picked up. So, he gathered them into a makeshift box he'd found lying around and continued his search for the keycard, all the while wondering what secrets these tapes might hold—and what they had to do with you. He know the Name Z-13 was related to you.

If there was anything he knew for sure, it was that you were full of surprises. And maybe, just maybe, these tapes would help him understand you a little better.

By pure coincidence, Sebastian ran into P.AI.nter a while later as he continued through the seemingly endless corridors of the facility, taking casual steps despite the weight of the wonky box filled with random tapes he was carrying. The AI's sketched face flickered to life, its eyes narrowing with a curious gaze. "Quite the haul today, Sebastian," it remarked, its voice tinged with artificial cheerfulness. "Planning to deliver all of that to our trusty shopkeeper?"

Sebastian grunted in response, setting the box down on the floor with a thud. He raised his hands above his head, stretching to relieve the ache that had settled in his shoulders from lugging the heavy box around. "Can you play them?" he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. It was a simple question, and he knew the answer even as he asked it—of course P.AI.nter could play a few tapes.

But as soon as the question left his lips, the room fell into an uneasy silence. P.AI.nter’s usual cheerful demeanor seemed to shift, its sketched form glitching for a moment as if processing something more than just data. The AI stared at Sebastian and the tapes, an uncharacteristic hesitation creeping into its expression.

"It's just a tape, Sebastian," P.AI.nter finally replied, its voice flat, devoid of its usual light-heartedness. There was something in the way it spoke—something guarded, almost cautious—that only fueled Sebastian's curiosity further. The AI’s reluctance was like gasoline on a fire.

“A tape I want to watch,” Sebastian shot back, his patience wearing thin. He was tired of the evasiveness, the constant roadblocks whenever he sought answers. He moved with purpose, selecting one of the tapes and sliding it into the nearest recorder, right next to P.AI.nter’s screen.

“I have to warn you, Sebastian,” P.AI.nter said, its tone shifting to something closer to pleading. The air between them grew heavy, the tension thickening as the tape began to whirl in the machine. Sebastian paused, the gravity of the AI's words weighing on him.

"You won’t like any second of it," P.AI.nter added, its voice barely more than a whisper. There was a finality in its tone, a sense of foreboding that hung in the air like a storm about to break. The familiar face of his AI friend got replaced by some white noise and then a black screen.

Sebastian’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched the screen flicker to life, unsure of what he was about to see but certain of one thing: whatever was on these tapes, it was something the facility—and P.AI.nter—wanted to keep hidden.

“Hellooo! I'm one of the new researchers here at the Hadal Blackside. I'm recording Tape Nr. XXXX in Containment Cell XXXX. Wish me luck!”

Sebastian watched as a cheerful person appeared on the screen, holding a camera up to their face. Excitement radiated from their eyes, and despite the poor quality of the footage, their energy was infectious. Some of the information on the screen glitched out, redacting key details as if the tape had deliberately scrambled those moments, keeping certain things obscured.

The person on the screen shifted their stance, and the camera followed their movement. “This is a video for my friend who was super excited to hear about my job. I totally stole the camera for this, so shhh, we can't get caught,” they whispered conspiratorially, a playful grin spreading across their face. There was something unsettling about their carefree demeanor, yet Sebastian couldn't help but feel a small flicker of amusement. The tape felt like a low-quality YouTube vlog, reminiscent of simpler times, with this familiar-looking worker goofing off for the amusement of a friend.

“They told me this is super secret stuff,” the voice continued, the lens panning around the containment cell. “But I just have to show you this.”

The video abruptly cut to another segment, the view shifting to reveal a massive anglerfish-like entity lurking behind an enormous glass wall. The waters it swam in were inky black, like thick oil, giving the creature an unsettling and eerie aura as it moved in the dark liquid.

“Isn't it cool?” the person behind the camera asked with an almost childlike wonder, pressing their flat hand against the glass. “They’re hiding this here! They do some voodoo fish shit in this facility. Even the human centipede would turn pale in envy.”

Sebastian froze as he watched the footage. The creature behind the glass was terrifying—a monstrous anglerfish, its grotesque form barely discernible in the murky waters. It was an unsettling sight, made even more disturbing by the fact that this reckless researcher was standing mere inches from one of the most dangerous entities imaginable, their tone light and casual as if they were commenting on the weather.

A chill ran down Sebastian’s spine as he continued to watch the video, his breath caught in his throat. The footage shifted again, but the image of the monstrous fish remained burned into his mind. His gut twisted with unease. What was this person thinking, standing so close to something so deadly? And why did they seem so familiar?

As the old tape continued to play, the weight of the discovery settled on Sebastian’s shoulders like a heavy boulder. Whatever secrets were buried in these tapes, he was certain they weren’t meant to be uncovered—especially not by him. Yet here he was, staring at a reality that seemed more and more like a nightmare. The things he saw so far in the blackside were not as terrifying as this giant monster that rested behind that glass wall.

The tape ended abruptly, and for a moment, there was only silence. Sebastian’s hands trembled as he reached down to turn the cassette over, the worn edges rough against his fingertips. He knew there were at least four more tapes waiting in the box at his feet, each one a potential gateway to another nightmare. His breath caught in his throat, a cold sweat forming on his brow. Still, his curiosity and a gnawing need for answers compelled him to continue.

With a shaky breath, he pressed the tape back into the player, flipping it to the other side. The screen flickered to life again, this time showing a cold, sterile operating room. Several figures in hazmat suits moved with practiced precision, their faces obscured by masks and goggles. The room was pristine, a stark contrast to the horror Sebastian knew was about to unfold.

“This is Experiment Nr. XXXX,” a calm, clinical voice narrated. “And our newest trial patient, Z-13, who volunteered for their transformation.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened as he recognized the person strapped to the operating chair—the same person from the earlier footage. They were bound tightly, their limbs secured as though they were a dangerous criminal. There was no mistaking the fear and confusion in their eyes, even through the drug-induced haze.

“Z-13 was administered XXXX, XXXX, and XXXX 20 minutes prior to the start of this procedure,” the voice continued with an unsettling detachment. “Their pupils are dilated, and the patient has entered a state of delirium, necessary for the next phase of the experiment.”

The camera zoomed in on the bound figure, their eyes bloodshot and unnaturally wide, darting around the room in a frantic, unfocused search for something familiar. Sebastian felt his stomach churn with a sickening realization—this was no volunteer. This was a person trapped, forced into an unimaginable horror. The idea of volunteering was just another lie, a thin veneer over a darker truth.

Sebastian’s fingers dug into his knees as he watched, his body tense with dread. He knew what was coming next, but the tape did not shy away from the gruesome details. The hours that followed were a blur of pain and suffering, each tape more harrowing than the last. Scenes of torn flesh and oily blood filled the screen, detached limbs falling to the sterile floor with sickening thuds. Each cut, each scream was more unbearable than the last. And those eyes—those haunted, slowly awakening eyes—followed Sebastian throughout each frame, pleading silently for mercy.

With each passing minute, it became painfully clear that the drugs were losing its effectiveness and the person that was tied to the chair gained the ability to feel every single thing that happened there. The delirium ended and the terror began.

The scream tore through the speakers with such intensity that Sebastian flinched. It wasn’t just a scream—it was a raw, visceral sound, a guttural cry filled with a mix of agony, fear, and desperation. It was a sound so primal that it clawed its way into his very bones, settling there with an uncomfortable weight. It was the worst thing he had heard in ages. Every nerve in his body screamed in empathy for the poor soul on the screen, the person whose existence had been reduced to nothing but a vessel for pain.

“Silence them,” a cold, emotionless voice commanded from off-screen.

Almost immediately, a set of cruel, metal clamps were forcefully shoved into the patient's mouth, prying it open with a brutality that made Sebastian wince. These were the kind of instruments used for people with severe jaw fractures, designed to immobilize and inflict pain to prevent further injury. But here, they were used as a tool of torture, a means to quiet the suffering that had become too loud for the facility’s sterile walls. The rough, unyielding metal dug into their flesh, tearing into the soft tissue of their mouth, blood trickling down their chin. The sight was gruesome, and Sebastian could feel his stomach twist with disgust.

The person’s screams were abruptly cut off, replaced by a wet, choking gurgle. They were left to suffer in silence, their jaw now clamped shut, the metal rods cruelly keeping it from moving even a fraction. Tears streamed down their face, their eyes wide with terror and pain, every muscle in their body taut with agony.

And just when Sebastian thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, the camera shifted. The surgeon, clad in a sterile suit that seemed to mock the very concept of humanity, moved over the patient's eyes. Those eyes—once filled with life, now wide with shock, pain, and a frantic, animalistic fear—darted around in sheer terror. They were crying frantically, tears mingling with the blood on their face.

“We will now begin our final part,” the disembodied voice continued with a chilling detachment. “Removal of the natural human eyes to replace them with XXXX using XXXX and XXXX. The expected results will lead to an ability to see underwater.”

Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat as he watched a gloved hand reach for a long, thin needle, the metal glinting ominously under the harsh, fluorescent lights. The needle was positioned directly over the patient's eye, the sharp tip hovering just above the delicate orb. Their wide, terrified gaze seemed to plead with the unseen surgeons, with the camera, with anyone who might be watching—to stop, to help, to do something.

But there was no help. There was no mercy.

The screen flickered for a moment, and then, mercifully, the tape cut to black. The room was plunged into darkness, the only sound the low hum of the equipment around him. Sebastian sat frozen, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with the horrific images he had just witnessed. His hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white, the tension radiating through his entire body.

He was left alone in the darkness, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. The horror of what he had seen, of what had been done to someone who had likely never asked for any of this, crashed over him.

Then P.AI.nters face greeted him on the screen.

“They first drugged them, then they put in a row of ocean animal dna into their body.”

He was pointing out the steps that the surgeons did in the tape.

“They cut off their fingers, waiting for them to grow back. They took of the part from the knees to the feet…and then they noticed that it wasn't enough.”

Sebastian raised his hands, to put them over his ears.

“They lost both their healthy legs. Next was their ears, they cut it off. And then…they silenced them by closing their jaw.”

He could still hear P.AI.nter.

“And then they lost their eyes. The transformation from the human self to…the thing they are now…took 7 weeks. They attached and deattached plenty of stuff on them.”

For a moment he felt the urge to shut P.AI.nter off for good.

“Our shopkeeper went through much, don't you think?”

A loud sound filled the room and then there was darkness.

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace fanfic #roblox pressure #pressure #tw:gore #tw:syringe

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rninies · 8 months ago

Text

✮ math problems

౨ৎ veritas ratio x reader. fluff, gn!reader, annoying ass ratio — wc: 711

notes. IM FINALLY BACK HI EVERYONE WHO MISSED ME (probably no one)

veritas ratio is known to be the math expert in your university. not only was he the top student in your class, but the first-place champion in the mathematics olympians last year. sure, most girls are after him for his intelligence, but he is also insanely good-looking. lucky for you, veritas has had his eyes on you ever since your first day in university. it wasn’t a necessarily admirable first meet, but you came in late for your first class, and the only seat available was right next to veritas (you are sure every single girl in your class was looking at you with jealousy).

ever since that day, veritas has made it his goal in life to annoy you with his stupidly smart use of vocabulary and math knowledge. While he is basically flying as free as a bird during math class, you are suffering, not understanding a single meaning on your worksheet.

veritas, seeing you looking down on your paper confused, laughs mockingly. “are you seriously stumped over a math question? you know that’s the first question, right?” he places a hand under his chin, using it as a support to look at you. “do you need help?”

“no!” you immediately decline his offer, wanting to prove that you did not need his help. but, after five minutes of looking over the formulas and back to the worksheet, you sighed in despair, forehead coming into contact with the table. “okay, fine. Help.”

veritas raises his eyebrows. “ask nicely, then i will consider.”

you groaned. “please help me.”

veritas smiles, satisfied. “okay, you need to use this formula instead of the formula you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes. that formula is only needed in the later questions.” he points at the formula you’ve written on the first page of your notebook.

“why didn’t you tell me before?!” you exclaim. “you must have thought i am an idiot for staring at the wrong formula.” you chewed the inside of your cheek, avoiding eye contact from veritas.

“you didn’t ask.” veritas shrugs. “besides, it is kind of funny seeing your struggle to correlate the wrong formula to the equation.” you slap his forearm, and he dramatically holds his arm, face scrunching in pain. “ow! that hurts!”

“oh come on, don’t be dramatic. besides, you’re way stronger than me.” you point out. “now help me solve the rest of the questions.” you give veritas the sweetest smile you can muster. “please.”

veritas scoffs at the fakeness of your smile but helps you regardless. he won’t admit it out loud, but seeing you smile at him makes his heart flutter — the way you smile at him, how you give him a proud look after solving a math question without his help, anything that you do makes his heart flutter.

as you solve the next questions, finally understanding what each means, you don’t notice the way veritas looks at you, eyes softening as he sees you concentrate on the questions.

the bell rings, snapping veritas out of his daze. he clears his throat and starts packing his bags. But, before he gets to do so, you slam your worksheet on his table. “look! everything’s correct, right?” he looks up and sees your eyes filled with hope. as he checks your worksheet, a warm feeling embraces him, finding out that everything is indeed correct.

“mhm. perfect score.” veritas messily drew a smiley face on top of your worksheet and you smiled happily, squealing. unable to contain your happiness, you hug him tightly. “woah-!”

“thank you, thank you, thank you!” before you know it, you plant a kiss on his cheek. shocked by your own actions, you immediately pull away, embarrassed. “i-i’m so sorry! that-”

“no, i don’t mind.” veritas mumbles, his cheeks turning red. “that was… nice.”

you blinked and burst out laughing. “nice? that's your first response to someone kissing you?”

“what else do you want me to say?” veritas huffs, crossing his arms. “oh, your kiss has saved me from the pain and suffering of math class?” he says sarcastically.

“now you’re exaggerating it.” you sigh. “since when did you ever suffer during math class?” instead of answering you, veritas just winks at you.

“so,” he starts. “when's our first date?”

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yummymitzy · 4 months ago

Text

No one noticed

Summary: You loved undercover missions, they were a breeze, but what you encounter afterwards definitely switched up your mood. What happens when that encounter sends you back into an old habit?

WC: 5,205

A/N: Slightly inspired by the song, but I didn’t know how to go about it😞 ANGSTY?

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Pyrokinesis! Reader

————♡————

Receiving the chance to be an Avenger was incredibly shocking, not expecting such an offer for somebody like you. Not like you were poor or anything, you had a crap ton of money, but you didn’t necessarily have a clean record.

You partook in street racing, that was definitely one thing that didn’t make your record any cleaner. Having also helped your friend, Brian O’Connor, while he was on the run from law enforcement. You both raced together, the two of you were reckless, inseparable, always feeling the need to do dumb shit.

You weren’t so sure what he’d gotten himself into that led him to evading law enforcement, where he used to work. But later on, you assumed that the situation was brushed aside as he was recruited into the FBI. You were proud of him.

You always admired Brian, he was always so focused on the task at hand but always left enough time to do stupid things with you. You eventually started assisting him with his tasks assigned by his peers, the both of you catching fugitives as you raced.

You told him everything, there wasn’t any filter between the two of you. He even knew about the fact you were enhanced, and yet his attitude towards you never changed one bit. As a kid, you were transferred from multiple foster parents, which lead you in the hands of one couple.

They looked nice and sweet, pretty old, but once they knew got a good impression with you, they started experimenting on you. They even started sending you to their other scientist friends to use you as a lab rat.

One day, one of the tests pushed you so far, you don’t remember much from that day. You heard screams, your screams specifically, but then you went unconscious. Once you woke up, the room was charred, the scientists nowhere to be found other than their black fragmented lab coats.

You insanely thankful for that part of your life being over, especially to the couple that took you in right after. The couple that you now call your parents, they helped you thick and thin and always understood you.

Since you were always traded around throughout foster homes, you taught yourself to be more behaved in an attempt to stay in that home. Not like those cases where you say “you don’t cry,” because you do, everybody does, you just were more silent.

You always shut down whenever you had a lot of shit going on, long periods of silence as your mind raced. The couple were the ones that you found solace in when you first discovered your powers.

They were panicked at the first glimpse, but immediately consoled you, soon calming down the once bright flames that cascaded up your arms. They helped you stay on the low, it practically made you tear up with how kind they stayed with you.

But after college was when you really got into street racing, you met Brian. But there was one specific race that didn’t go well, there was this one irritating drug lord that you decided to track down with Brian.

Trying to reason with the drug lord really didn’t end out well for you two because a fight broke out. The fight was nasty and blood was shed, the drug lord brung out guns that you or Brian didn’t even expect he’d have in his grasp.

You were shocked to say the least when he pointed the barrel of his gun towards Brian, but that quickly wore off. And like the brawn you were, bright flames flared up your arm, your eyes a golden hue as you lunged at the man.

It was as if the fire was dancing as it burst away from your arm, traveling to the other men in the room, engulfing them in the fire while you rushed towards Brian.

That was the first time you had ever killed someone, hell even a gang. It was dreadful, the memories clouded in your mind the next few weeks after the incident. But you knew one thing, you’d do it all again if it was for Brian.

————♡————

All of that brought you to where you stood today, an Avenger and street racer. A lot has changed once you got settled in the hero life, you even more proud to say that Natasha Romanoff took an interest to you.

It was embarrassing to admit that you admired Natasha ever since you joined the Avengers. She was incredibly wary of you the first few weeks, but quickly warmed up to you. In her words, you were like a “golden retriever puppy,” you weren’t honestly sure if it was a compliment or not.

That friendship that you built with Natasha blossomed to be more, and soon enough, you found yourself to be at her doorstep. A bouquet of flowers grasped tightly in your hold as your other hand held a neatly wrapped gift bag with her favorite perfume.

You were so glad Natasha took an interest in you, because that first date turned into three, soon with you two becoming official. You two obviously wanted to take it slow and learn the grasps of a relationship together.

That was three months ago, you and Natasha are still together happily. You were proud to say that you loved her, she knew stuff about you that you would never dare to tell a soul. Same with her, she confided in you about her past in the redroom, especially with her nightmares.

Natasha was the sweetest soul you could have ever came across, she has a hard exterior, similar to a rock. But have the right tools and it will crumble into pebbles, that’s what you loved about Natasha.

Were you rambling too much? Hah, maybe.. You were sent out on a solo mission just a few hours ago, the details of the mission in your lap as you read through them. Don’t worry, the jets on autopilot, why would they send you on a mission if you’d crash the quinjet?

The objective wasn’t difficult for you to complete, it was a simple undercover mission, you could probably do it with a blindfold on. You were supposed to get a hit on a man named John Adams.

His files could be written as a book with the amount of felonies he had under his name. You couldn’t really care less, who were you to let your emotions get in the way of your objective?

The files stated that he would be attending an auction, buying off a very illegal weapon. Statements show from his recorded phone calls that he had specific plans to enhance the weapon, making it more “deadly.”

Well that was a very lovely file, wasn’t it? Setting down the folder, you stood up, grabbing your duffel bag as you walked over to the medical bed. You unpacked a very revealing yet elegant dress, it was your favorite color.

Well actually your favorite color to wear, not actually your favorite color, you get it? Yeah. You stepped out of your skin tight suit once you had unzipped it, the freezing air of the jet causing goosebumps to form on your arms.

The moment you got the dress on, you took a few steps in front the mirror, actually taking a closer look at the dress. It had a deep V cut as the slit of the dress was incredibly high on your upper thigh.

You squirmed of the thought of having to be all over the man with this revealing dress on, but you really did have no choice, plus you didn’t pack any other dresses. Rolling your shoulders, you head back towards your duffel bag, pulling out a small makeup bag and setting it down near the mirror as you unzipped it.

Doing your makeup was like a fun hobby for you, you didn’t know how to describe it. You just really like doing it when you’re bored, but this is different since it’s for a mission.

You don’t know how long you took on your makeup before your phone dings, the familiar ring echoing the jet as you rushed over to your phone.

Flipping over your phone, the time immediately greets you. 6:45, the party starts at 7, but you need to be early in order to spot John. Skimming through the notifications on your lockscreen, one in particular catches your eye.

Natty🤍:”Goodluck on the mission, detka.”

The first one said, it was sent a few minutes after you boarded the quinjet a few hours ago.

Natty🤍:”I miss you already. I’ll be waiting when you get back. :)”

Your eyes drift toward when the message was delivered, an hour after her first message.

Awe. Her smiley faces were so cute. You quickly unlocked your phone and darted to Nat’s messages with you, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you typed up a quick message.

Y/n/n🔥: “Miss you too, baby. Movie night when I get back?”

Your attention quickly caught when you felt the quinjet land, you instantly shoved your phone in an extra holster you had on your thigh.

What? It’s a perfect fit. Plus you’re wearing a dress with no purse, and you were practically forced to keep your phone on you. Fury always made sure to text everybody ominously.

You rush over to the other side of the jet, where the weapons were held. You pause briefly to browse through the weapons before your hands instantly grab what you wanted.

Yeah, you had powers, so why would you need a weapon? Well the short answer to that would be incase he was aware that you would be attending, even more aware about your powers. So you weren’t going to take any chances.

The weapon that was held gently in your grasp was a ridiculously sharp sword, it was your favorite. If you had the chance, you would be rambling on and on about this exact sword.

It was retractable, easy to conceal if you were undercover, but your favorite part was that it didn’t melt from your flames. But, that wasn’t the only thing it could do, it isn’t a one trick pony.

Since the blade doesn’t melt from your flames, it bursts into flames, as if it were another part of your body. You found it fascinating because it truly was. It takes you back to when Bruce called it boring, you quite vividly remember telling him to fuck off. He did have it coming, didn’t he?

You retracted the blade and gently placed it into your other holster as you walk back over to the medical bed, slipping on your heels as you spritz generous amounts of perfume on your neck.

Swiftly pulling out your phone, you check the time, 6:50. Damn, only five minutes passed by, you assumed it had been ten. Shoving your phone back into its holster, you check yourself once more as the ramp starts to lower.

Walking out the quinjet, you look over your shoulder once more and watch the jet conceal itself. You’ll honestly never get over that.

It took you a quick minute to find the fire escape stairs but soon enough you found yourself in the alleyway next to where the auction was supposed to be held.

You straightened your dress again as you began to strut towards the very obvious entryway of the auction. This looks like it would be a very easy mission.

You huff to yourself as your gaze meets the bouncer, his gaze scanning you as he crosses his arms over his chest as his posture straightens up.

“Danielle Jones.” The fake name flowing out of your mouth with a silky tone as you show him your fake id. Your other hand lands on his bicep, slowly rubbing it as he immediately handed you back your id, his face flushed a deep red.

Your fingertips trail up to his shoulder before pulling away as you stepped behind him and into the auction. The place was alive, there was a ton of people dressed beautifully, some clad in masquerade masks.

You walked straight over to the bar, yeah, it was bad drinking on the job. But you desperately needed to blend in, and it wouldn’t make your case any better if the target saw you just wandering.

As you were scanning the area, your eyes snap to a familiar figure slumped at the bar nursing a drink. Dirty blond, curly hair, well you’ll be damned.

You huff out a laugh as you approach, your hand gently resting upon his shoulder as you called out to the bartender for a whiskey.

“Hiya, Brian. What’cha doing here?” You smile at the bartender as a thanks once he handed your drink before turning. Your back leaning against the counter as you sipped your whiskey, your eyes trained on Brian.

“Meeting a friend.” His blue eyes travel from his glass towards you, meeting your stare.

“Cut the shit, Brian. You’re here for the auction, aren’t you?” You raise an eyebrow at him, a smile tugging on your lips as you took another sip of your whiskey, setting it down on the counter behind you.

“You aren’t? The cars they got are practically calling our names.” He smirks as he leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his curls.

You roll your eyes as you leaned back further into the counter, before your eyes snap towards him once more, a smile played on your lips.

“What’d you say for another task?”

“I’m listening.”

“John Adams, drug lord, wants to do stupid shit with one of the weapons being sold here.” You mumble under your breath, your eyebrow raising in question to confirm that he heard.

Seeing his slight nod while he processes the information, your eyes trail away from him, spotting the target across the room from you two. The sight making you nudge your knee against Brian’s.

Brians eyes shoot up towards yours, before he slowly turns around to look in the direction you’re looking in. You assume he got the memo as he downs the last of his drink, his fingers slightly grazing the gun on his belt to make sure it’s in place before he gave a subtle nod to you.

Your gaze doesn’t break from John as you made your way across the room, rounding through the tables that stood in your way. As the distance closes between you and John, you whisper underneath your breath, enough for Brian to hear.

“Wait for me at the door of the bathroom, have your gun ready.” Before he could respond, you were already off towards John, your hips swaying slightly as the golden hues hit you.

The moment you passed by John, you heard a gruff voice call out to you. You smirk slightly before turning around, John was turned around in his chair as his arm was outstretched towards you slightly.

“Hey! You! Yeah you, come ‘ere, darling.” Your nose crinkles slightly at the pet name, you didn’t mind it. But you definitely didn’t like it when it came out of his mouth.

You walked towards the chubby man, your hips swaying more noticeably. Once you were stood right in front of him, his hands shot up to rest on your hips. The action made you clench your jaw in disgust.

“You’re such a pretty ‘lil thing. Did you come here with anybody?” His words came out slurred as you could practically smell the stench of beer flowing out of his mouth.

“No, I came alone.”

“What’s your name, pretty girl?” His grin grow by the second as you feel his hands traveling from your hips to your waist.

“Danielle.” You husk out, the disgust washing over you, but you brush it aside. It’s for the mission. You repeated in your mind over and over.

You move forward a step from where you stood, your hands resting on the armrests that resided on either side of the man. You feel John’s hands slowly tracing down your waist before harshly groping your ass, making you gasp.

“Well, Danielle. What’d you think about coming back to mine?” He purred, his hands now massaging the flesh of your ass, your face contorting into a subtle wince.

“I can’t just go home with you. I don’t even know your name.” You husk, your face turning into a slight pout, one of your hands raising to trace his sternum.

“John, John Adams.” You felt one of his hands trailing up towards your lower back, attempting to push you down onto his lap.

You grab his hand before tugging him up from his seat, leading him towards the bathroom. You can feel the harsh stare he has on your ass while the two of you walk there.

Once the bathrooms come into view, it took you a second you to Brian hiding in the room across the bathroom, the door slightly ajar.

The two of you finally reached the door of the bathroom as you wrapped your arms around the mans neck in a hug. As you felt one of John’s hands holding you back, the other fiddling with the door, your eyes met with Brians.

Brian got the hint and you soon saw the barrel of his gun poke out slightly through the gap of the door. A muffled shot rung out at the same your flames burst out your hands, burning the flesh of his neck. You felt John’s body slump against yours, his hands falling down to his sides.

You grunt as you shove him off of you, rolling your eyes and smiling as you saw Brian pop his head out before he opened the door fully and stepping out.

“That was quick.”

“Wish it was quicker, he was irritating.” You hold the bathroom door open as Brian swiftly kicks John’s body into the bathroom. As soon as you two quickly clean up the area, the two of you find yourselves back into the alleyway, making your way to the quinjet.

“Anyways, what’re you thinking for a snack. Shawarma?”

————♡————

You and Brian were approaching the door that lead to the living room, where FRIDAY told you Natasha was. You didn’t plan on texting Natasha about your arrival, deciding that it was better as a surprise.

The two of you hushed each other once you were finally stood right in front of the living room door with Shawarma takeout in your hold. But a precious sight graced itself the moment you both opened it.

Another presence FRIDAY forgot to mention was Bruce. Your shoulders slump slightly as your arms tense at your sides. From the corner of your eye, you could see Brian’s jaw tightly clenched.

Brian was very fond of Bruce Banner, he really had it out for the scientist, even if Bruce wasn’t aware of that fact. During one apparently small mission, Bruce happened to be in the same place as Brian.

And you could practically guess what happened, Bruce turned green. You don’t know what the hell pissed him off but you didn’t give a shit. Hulk was destroying building after building in a tantrum, soon enough he reached the streets where Brian, you, and the rest of your friends were.

Like expected, he demolished your cars, he was honestly so lucky he didn’t hurt your friends or you would have honestly blasted his brains out. But that wouldn’t change the fact that every single one of your cars were crushed, nothing to preserve.

To this very day, Brian still has a terrible grudge against Bruce, and you understood. Because not only did those cars that he crushed help you get money, they costed a crap ton to even own.

But this sight of him perched on the couch with Natasha was not pretty, at all. What made the scene even uglier was what you noticed to be Natasha’s hand on his chest, leaning her whole body into his side, practically cuddling into him.

You didn’t notice your flames flaring up the length of your arms before you felt Brian nudge you, the action making you glance at him. He sent you a subtle shake of his head, mouthing the words “It’s not worth it.”

As your eyes were trained on Brian, you heard a familiar giggle echo throughout the room, the both of your heads snapping to the origin of the sound.

Natasha’s other arm was now wrapped around his neck, the both of her arms now encasing Bruce in a hug. Your eyes trail down towards her phone, next to the arm of the couch, discarded. From your place at the door, you could see your last message on her lock screen.

That’s why she didn’t reply to your message. Damn. She could have at least read it, or hearted it. Your heart ached, yearning for comfort, comfort from the person that was sat a few feet from you.

Your eyes glance towards Brian once more, his eyes now hardened, before he nods to you, giving you the affirmative.

Taking quiet steps behind the couch, you were now stood behind the two cuddled individuals. Your eyes gleaming a dangerous gold as the veins in your forearm shone a deep red, sparks threatening to blow.

“Uht. Uht. What the fuck is this?”Your eyes narrowing as the two individuals before you jumped from their place, scrambling away from each other once they saw the golden hue within your eyes.

“It’s not what it looks like, milaya.” Natasha struggled to get up as her knees buckled from beneath her, before she shot up, rounding the couch with her arms outstretched to you.

“Cut the bullshit, I’m not dumb. Cuddled up with Banner while you couldn’t even think to text me back?” You hissed, the glow in your eyes intensifying as you can hear the springs of the couch springing back into place as Bruce attempted to stand up.

From your peripheral, you could see Brian unholstering his gun from his waistband, immediately holding the barrel to Bruce’s forehead in warning.

“Everybody else was called on a mission, we were just passing time until you got back.” She pleaded as her hands reached out to cup your face, to which you immediately recoil and drop the takeout.

“You’re funny. You call that passing time? Might as well fuck if you were just “passing time.” You laughed as you leaned back on your heels, your face hardening once more, arms crossing over your figure. An attempt to cover up the fact that tears were slightly welling up in your eyes.

“Listen, I’m not up to hearing your excuses, especially when I just got back from a mission. Just...” You sigh, your knuckles popping as your hands formed into tight fists, crescent moon shaped marks taking shape on your palm with how tight your grip was.

“Just..Make up your damn mind, alright? Come back to me when you do.” You take a deep breath, the glow in your veins dispersing once you composed yourself.

“But I choose you! Y/n, it’s you..” She pleaded once more, her voice hushing into a whisper as she takes in the reality of the situation.

“So all we’re doing is just telling jokes today, huh? If it really was me, then you’d still be waiting for the movie night, and not be on the couch with Slimer from fucking Ghostbusters.”

“I promise you-“ “Don’t. You wanna tell jokes? I got one for you. How about…Hm.. That green booger almost fucking ruined my career that me and Brian spent so long trying to build. How’s that for a joke?”

Your nose crinkles as your hands stretches out to point towards Bruce. Sighing, you run a hand down your face, rolling your eyes in annoyance. You take one last deep breath as you straighten yourself up.

“I want you to really think this through.” You deadpan, before your gaze meets Brians, your eyes giving him the memo that this altercation was done as he holsters his gun.

The two of you slowly walk back to the door where you walked in from, you looked behind your shoulder once more, analyzing the room before it slowly meets Natasha’s.

Natasha held a pleading look as tears welled up in the corner of her eyes, her nose beginning to turn a light shade of pink. The sight made you turn your head away from her, you could practically feel the intensifying cracks in your heart.

Once the door finally shut behind the two of you, the silence rattled Natasha, her shoulders shaking in quiet sobs. The tears falling down her cheeks as she cried, unsure whether it was stress or the loss of you.

-♡

You don’t know how either of you found yourselves here, it was a closed off track near the ocean, and somehow the two of you thought it was perfect to race against each other.

At first you brushed off the idea, deeming it stupid at a time lime this. But the more you thought about it, you loved night races, the view was always beautiful.

Soon enough, you gave in to Brian, shuffling the keys out of your pocket as you both head to the garage with your treasured cars. You ended up picking a random car, it wasn’t too shabby.

It was a car that Suki gifted to you, you happened to be good friends with her alongside Brian. To be frank, you forgot all the context to why she gave you the car.

The car was cute though, it was your favorite color, the interior of the car had LEDS you assumed and it also lit up your favorite color. You wondered why you never used this car more often.

Once you notice that Brian finally picked out his car, the two of you drove to the start of the track, smirks played on your faces.

“Don’t get dusted, bullet”

“Now you know damn well.”

The two of you laugh before you rev your engines, your eyes locking onto the track ahead of you as you leaned back into your chair slightly.

…3

And you two were off, you both drifted your way through the track. Taking a quick glance to your left, you see Brian with a cocky smirk on his face, the sight making you roll your eyes before you floor it.

The distance between you and Brian starts to increase little by little. Once you start to approach the corner, you drift into it, effectively dusting Brian as your view of him disappears, smoke filling the air and blocking it .

Quicker than you expected, the two of you were approaching the end of the track, and stood there was a figure not too far from the track. The minute you got closer, the striking red hair was the first thing your eyes saw.

You immediately brake once you reached the end, slouching in your seat slightly as you waited for Brian to catch up, which didn’t take long. Stepping out the car, your nose slightly scrunches up at the smell of smoke but you shake it off.

You met Brian half way and shook his hand, his eyes holding a playful look as he shoves you lightly, you roll your eyes at his action.

“Warned you about being dusted, gotta deal with the repercussions.”

“You cheated.”

“Cheated where?”

The both of you close your mouths at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Taking a deep breath, you turn your body to face Natasha, a confused expression plastered on your face as she stood there with her arms crossed.

“Can I talk to Y/n? Alone?” She gestured towards Brian, making him turn his head to look towards you with a concerned look. To which you nod with a soft smile gracing your lips.

“Wait in the car, I’ll meet you there, bullet.” Brian hesitated for a moment before patting your shoulder, walking off in the direction of his car.

Once he was out of earshot, your gaze falls onto her, a questioning look in your eyes as you mimic her movements by crossing your arms.

“Okay look. Y/n, I’m sorry. I..” She lets out a deep sigh, her hands rubbing over her biceps in a form of comfort as she musters the words to speak.

“I wasn’t sober. I was in the kitchen at first, had a glass of wine, but then he came and conjured a conversation while slowly urging me to drink more.” The words practically left you shellshocked, but you knew better than to believe so quickly.

“That’s when we ended up on the couch, originally there was space between us, but he pulled me towards him.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t pull away, you stayed like that until I walked in and said something.”

“Because I wasn’t sober! Y/n. You’ve seen me reject him so many fucking times so why can’t you believe me on this?”

“Because it’s so easy to lie with words, Natasha. But actions never lie, they never do.”

“I promise you, detka. I’m not lying. He made moves onto me while I was drunk. Please believe me.” She practically begged as she stepped closer and closer to you until she was directly in front of you.

“It’s so hard to believe you, Natasha.. You never answered my text, hell your phone was across the damn couch. You were giggling at every single word that he said.”

“I-.” “See that’s my point, Nat.”

“Baby, he took my phone.”

“We playin jokes again?” Your eyebrows furrow as your eyes narrow at Natasha, either it was true or it’s some wack ass excuse.

“No! No. Babe. I promise. It was at the table. I was gonna text you after my first glass of wine but he snatched it, threw it to god knows where. That’s why I had no choice but to talk to him.”

You sigh, shutting your eyes as you raised your hand to run through your hair while you were deep in thought, your eyes flickering beneath your eyelids. There was a few minutes of silence between you two as you pondered.

Your eyes shoot open as you slowly check the time on your phone, it was midnight. You zone out for a minute before blinking back into reality, your eyes shifting towards Natasha’s pleading ones.

“I believe you. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow once we’re rested, but you’ve got a lot of making up to do.” Your voice drops to a soft yet stern tone, trying to soothe Natasha before she actually cried.

“Thank you, malyshka. I love you.” She mumbles before pulling you into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. You froze for a moment, not sure if you should forgive her that fast.

But you gave in, your arms wrapping around her midsection as they gently rubbed her spine. You were going to have a long talk with Bruce before you could forgive Natasha, but it was best to at least assure her that you don’t hate her.

“I love you too, baby.” You mumble into her hair. Bruce was definitely going to hear from you, maybe you might let Brian get some words in. You weren’t sure. That was all a plan for tomorrow.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #marvel #black widow #mcu #natalia alianovna romanova

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jetii · 2 months ago

Text

Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

Part Two | Part Three

Pairing: Thorn x Senator!Reader / Thorn x fem!Reader

Words: 12,428 / 34,682

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! enemies to lovers kinda, forced proximity, bodyguard!Thorn, protective!Thorn, a little more than canon-typical violence, so much arguing and flirting and banter, smut in part 2 part 3

Summary: You're the most infuriating charge Commander Thorn has ever had the misfortune to babysit, and yet, you're also the one he finds himself falling for.

A/N: This was a request from @capricornrabies that got so out of hand I decided to make it its own thing and split it into two three parts. The original prompt was 52. “Just because you're pretty, it doesn't mean you can just get away with anything." / "You think I'm pretty?" from my 500 follower celebration. Featuring my Corrie OCs Burst and Knock! Apologies if Thorn is not necessarily in character, but he had so little screen time this is just build a boyfriend tbh.

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"Commander?"

Thorn freezes, his finger hovering over his datapad before it clenches into a fist.

He glances over at his comm on his desk and heaves a sigh. Well, it’s not his desk, really. Your staff had been kind enough to provide him a private office, tucked away in the fourth level of the estate, far away from the rest of the government officials. They had tried to decorate it for him, but he had waved away most of their attempts, allowing them to only get rid of the garish gold accents and take down the large tapestries that were plastered all over the walls.

But it does still have a lot of useless stuff in it. A lot of useless, fragile stuff. And as much as he’d like to be grateful for the offer of a quiet place to work, he was sure your motives were far from altruistic. He knew exactly what you were trying to accomplish by keeping him so far from you.

You were by far the most frustrating charge that Thorn has ever had the displeasure of babysitting, and he’d shadowed Senator Orn Free Taa on a pleasure cruise for two weeks, so that was saying something.

You were smart, manipulative, and you had the entire Senate eating out of your hand. The Jedi had no choice but to agree to your demands, and it seemed that every politician under the sun was at your beck and call. It was infuriating, watching you sit there with your perfect smile and your perfect manners, as if the world owed you something, as if you were the greatest thing to ever happen to Coruscant.

And maybe you were, because the last few years have been the most prosperous in recent memory for your planet. You had the support of nearly the entire Senate, and you were able to push through the majority of the legislation you proposed.

If it were not for the fact that you were also extremely stubborn, Thorn might have actually liked you.

But the two of you had locked horns almost immediately after you were introduced, and the past three months have been nothing but a test of wills. And even worse than your annoying personality and inability to stay out of trouble, was the fact that you were one of the few people who could make Thorn freeze up with nothing more than a simple question.

It was humiliating, really, how weak he was when it came to you. He was a Commander, for kriff's sake. One of the best the Guard had to offer. And yet there was precious little he had in defense against your charming smile and witty comments.

He had no idea how you managed to make him so flustered, and that was the worst part. He never had any idea how you were going to react or what you were thinking, and you had an uncanny ability to make him feel like a complete and utter idiot. He didn’t consider himself an impulsive person, but when he was around you, he found himself speaking before he thought things through, a habit he had been trying to break since he was a cadet.

There was just something about you that threw him off balance. It didn’t matter how many times he saw you or how many meetings he attended with you, the moment you walked into the room, it was like all of his training went out the window, and he was once again a shiny fresh off Kamino, ready to embarrass himself at the slightest provocation.

He should hate you, really. He had no idea why he didn’t. It wasn’t like you got along well, not in the slightest. You had a sharp tongue and you always seemed to be testing his patience, and he found it impossible to relax in your presence. You always made him feel... off. On edge. Like he was a second away from saying or doing something he was going to regret. It was exhausting, really, and Thorn had no idea why you affected him so much. He had no idea what was so different about you. What made you stand out.

What made him act like such a fool whenever he saw you.

Maybe it was because you were a challenge. Maybe it was just the fact that he had been forced to spend so much time with you. Maybe he was just curious.

Whatever the reason, Thorn was beginning to grow tired of it. You had an irritating habit of finding trouble wherever you went, and the past few months have been particularly chaotic, thanks to your efforts.

You were not an easy person to protect, especially since you seemed to have an uncanny ability to slip out of sight when the moment called for it. He was starting to think that you were using the Force, because you would just disappear and then suddenly reappear again somewhere completely different.

Thorn was used to guarding difficult people, but you were taking the cake.

The Jedi Council had insisted that you needed to be assigned a permanent detail, and had tasked him and the rest of the Guard with doing so. And yet, after months, there was not one single clone in the entire GAR that was able to keep an eye on you.

The first time you had given them the slip, Thorn had felt like punching a wall. The second, he was convinced it was an accident. But by the fifth time? It was clear that you were intentionally trying to shake him.

And now, as he stares at his comm, the name of one of the troopers he’d assigned to watch you flashing on the screen, he feels the urge to hit something return with a vengeance.

"Yes?" he answers, his voice tight, and there's a brief silence on the other end.

"We lost her," the trooper admits, sounding miserable. "She said she was going to the refresher and...I guess she wasn't really going to the refresher."

"I see," Thorn says, pinching the bridge of his nose, and he hears the trooper start to apologize.

"It's fine, we'll get her," Thorn interrupts, even though it's far from fine. This is the fourth time they've lost you since they arrived on your home planet, and it was as if your ability to make fools of them all had only strengthened the further they got from the Core. The only solace was that they were far from the watchful eyes of the Jedi Council and the office of the Chancellor, so no one except him knew just how badly they were fucking this up.

“We’ll just track her comm and..." he stops, and his hand falls away from his face. "You did get her to wear her comm, didn't you? Please tell me you got her to wear her comm."

There's another, even longer, pause, and then a small, sheepish, "Sir."

Thorn groans. "She's going to get herself killed."

"We'll find her, sir!" the trooper promises. "We'll scour the entire planet if we have to, she can't have gone too far."

Thorn doubts that, but he doesn't say anything, and instead he hangs up the comm and gets to his feet. He gives a forlorn look to his half-finished report before grabbing his helmet off of the desk and pulling it on, marching out of the office and into the main room where the other Guards are sitting around and playing sabaac.

"Did you get it done?" Burst asks eagerly, glancing over as he strides into the room.

"No, and you're not going to believe what I've just been told," Thorn says dryly, and the troopers all groan.

"What did she do this time?" Knock grumbles. He throws down his cards and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Apparently she went to the refresher and hasn't been seen since."

The group all give each other exasperated looks.

"You know," Burst drawls, "if you just gave us a few minutes alone with her, we'd be able to talk some sense into her."

Thorn stiffens, a rush of...something, some feeling washing over him. It's no secret that his men have become infatuated with you, and Thorn doesn't blame them. You are, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women in the galaxy, and despite the fact that your personality is atrocious, you somehow manage to be charming.

That's the problem.

You're always charming, and he's the only one who ever sees your less favorable side. It's frustrating, and more than once he's had the urge to pull his men aside and ask them how they can stand it, how they can handle being in your presence without constantly wanting to strangle you.

It's bad enough that you make his blood boil, but having to deal with his own men mooning over you is too much.

"That's not how this works," Thorn snaps. "This is supposed to be an assignment, not an opportunity to flirt with our charge."

"So it's fine for you to flirt with her," Burst says, a teasing note in his voice, and the other clones around him snicker. "I see how it is."

"I don't have time for this," Thorn growls, his hands curling into fists. He can feel his face heating up, and he's glad for the protection of his helmet. "She's out there somewhere, unprotected, and you all are sitting here joking around. Now get up, all of you, we need to find her before she gets hurt. Or worse."

"Fine," Burst grumbles, getting to his feet, and the others follow suit. "Where do we start, sir?"

"Fan out, search the entire manor top to bottom. If she’s not here, we’ll start searching the streets."

"We can't possibly search the whole city," Knock protests, and Thorn gives him a long, hard look.

"We don't have a choice," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "We're not letting her out of our sight again. Do you hear me? She's going to listen to us, one way or another."

"Yes, sir," the troopers say, nodding their heads, and Thorn lets out a frustrated huff.

"Now let's go."

It takes the rest of the afternoon and a large chunk of the night, but eventually, Thorn finds you. You're sitting in a diner, your hands wrapped around a mug of caf, and you don't even look sorry when Thorn stalks over, yanking off his helmet and slamming it down on the table in front of you. The motion makes the carafe rattle, but neither of you flinch.

"Senator," he says through clenched teeth, and you glance up at him, raising a brow.

"Commander," you reply with a tilt of your head. You gesture to the empty mug placed across from you. "Caf?"

He falters slightly, confused for just a moment before he realizes what you're doing. You knew he would find you here. Of course you did. And you're just as smug about it as he expected, your eyes alight with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, the two of you at an impasse.

Thorn grits his teeth, forcing himself to calm down. He knows he should be angry with you, and part of him is. The other part, the part that is not furious or exhausted, is relieved that you're safe. You've been gone for hours, and as the time ticked by, he could feel his anxiety building.

You were so stubborn, and you had no concept of self-preservation. If anything had happened to you, it would have been his fault.

He should have taken better care of you. He should have been more careful, should have been watching you closer.

He was not going to let it happen again.

"Yes," he says curtly, sinking down into the booth and removing his gloves, shoving them into the pouch on his belt. "Please."

You pour him a cup, and then you pick up yours, holding it out for a toast. He narrows his eyes, but reluctantly he raises his cup, letting the two of you knock them together.

"To peace and prosperity," you murmur, and Thorn snorts.

"For everyone except me, apparently," he grumbles. You grin at that, a slow, dangerous smile that makes his stomach flip

"Don't be so dramatic," you chide him, and his eyes narrow.

"Dramatic?" he repeats incredulously. "Dramatic? Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"Worried about me?" you tease, and he feels his face flush.

"I—you are—this is serious!" he splutters. "I'm responsible for your safety, and I can't do my job properly if you're running off whenever you please."

"All I want is a little privacy, is that too much to ask?"

“With three assassination attempts in the last month alone, yes, it is," he says flatly. "You are supposed to have a detail. Do you understand me? A detail. That means that there are going to be guards with you. At all times. If you don’t like it, take it up with the Chancellor, I don't make the rules."

You let out a huff, leaning back against the cushions and crossing your arms over your chest. He's sure that you're not used to being talked to like this, and normally he wouldn't have said anything, but he's fed up. It's been three months of constant arguing, of trying to keep you safe. Three months, and he was still no closer to figuring you out.

"I'm not your enemy," he adds. "We are not here to inconvenience you. We are not here to make you uncomfortable. Our only purpose is to protect you and keep you safe. If you would just work with us—"

"I am!" you protest. "I'm working very hard, and I would appreciate it if you would stop treating me like I'm some kind of spoiled brat."

"If the shoe fits..."

You glare at him. "Look, I understand that this is frustrating, but I have a life, Commander. I'm not going to stop living just because the Jedi and the Chancellor don't think I can take care of myself."

"Well, maybe you can't," Thorn mutters.

"Excuse me?"

"Maybe you can't," he repeats, louder this time. "You're not invincible, you know."

"You don't know what I can or cannot do," you hiss. "How can you make any judgements on how I should act when you barely even know me?"

"Because I've had the misfortune of being forced to deal with you," he snaps. "And I've had the misfortune of seeing you make a target of yourself every single day. Just because you're pretty, it doesn't mean you can just get away with anything."

He doesn’t realize what he said until he sees the surprised look on your face, and the color immediately drains from his own. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, your cheeks starting to flush pink, and Thorn feels his stomach drop. He hadn't meant to say that. In fact, he hadn't even realized he was thinking it.

But it was true.

You were gorgeous, and Thorn was not blind. He had noticed the moment he met you, had seen the way the men in the room were drawn to you. You had the same effect on him, although he liked to think he was at least somewhat better at hiding it than most.

Or so he had thought.

"I..."

"You think I'm pretty?" you finally say, a smile starting to tug at your lips, and he feels the tips of his ears start to burn.

"I, er," he says eloquently, and he clears his throat, his jaw clenching. He had walked right into this, and now he was going to have to pay the price.

Your grin widens, becoming impossibly more smug. The white hot anger that had been boiling inside him moments before is quickly replaced with mortification, and Thorn feels the urge to hide under the table.

"Well, thank you for the compliment, Commander," you murmur, and then you stand, gathering up your cloak and picking up his helmet. "But if that's all you came here to say, we'd best be on our way. I have an important meeting tomorrow morning."

"Wait, what?"

You raise a brow, holding the helmet out, and he hesitantly takes it.

"You can escort me home, can't you?"

"I...of course," he says, trying not to sound too flustered. He had expected this to be a lot harder, and his brain was struggling to catch up. He stands, placing his helmet back on his head, and tries not to wince at the smug expression on your face.

"Good," you say. "I'll give you two weeks."

"Two weeks?" he repeats dumbly.

"Two weeks," you confirm, "and not a single other trooper. You and only you. That's the only way I'll agree to this."

Thorn gapes at you, and then he sighs, shoulders sagging. "Why?"

"Because I'm not interested in having a detail. If you can convince me that I can trust you, then maybe I'll consider changing my mind." You shrug, and you hold out your coat, looking at him expectantly. "Well?"

He stares at you for a moment, and then he rolls his eyes and holds the jacket up, allowing you to slide your arms into the sleeves. "You're infuriating."

"And pretty," you say, turning back around to face him. Thorn reaches out to adjust your collar, smoothing the fabric over your shoulders, and you give him a dazzling smile. "So, do we have a deal, Commander?"

He knows it's a terrible idea. He knows the entire Jedi Council would disagree with him. He knows the Chancellor would never approve. But he's so tired of arguing with you, and his men are already annoyed enough. Maybe it would be easier this way. If it was just him, maybe he could find a way to make this work.

"Alright," he sighs, giving a defeated shrug. "Two weeks. And no tricks."

"No tricks," you promise, and despite his better judgement, he believes you. "Come along, then."

"Senator," he says flatly, falling into step behind you, and you give him a cheeky grin.

"Commander." Your voice is sweet, but he can hear the mocking note hidden underneath, and he grits his teeth. "You really are very cute, you know. I'm glad you think I'm pretty."

His blush comes back full force, and he turns his head away, refusing to look at you. Burst catches his eye through the window, giving him a thumbs up, and Thorn wants nothing more than to run into the street and push him into traffic. He gives him a sign to get lost, and the trooper salutes him, turning around and leading the others away.

He can't believe this is his life now. He's supposed to be the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. One of the toughest men in the Republic. How is it that he keeps losing these fights with you? How is it that every time, he's the one who walks away feeling like a complete and utter idiot?

He has no idea how he's going to make it through the rest of the trip.

"Two weeks," he grumbles, a reminder more to himself than to you, and your soft laugh only serves to deepen his embarrassment. He holds the door open for you, and you give him a playful pat on the shoulder as you pass him.

"Don't worry, Commander, I'll be on my best behavior," you promise, and he can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not.

He lets out a long sigh, shaking his head as he follows you out into the street, the door slamming shut behind him.

"Good," he says gruffly. "Because I'll be watching."

You slip your hood over your head, giving him a smirk. "I'll make sure to put on a good show, then."

He has no idea what you mean by that, but it doesn't stop his imagination from running wild. He has a feeling he's not going to sleep well tonight.

"Come along, Commander," you say, and then you're gone, disappearing into the crowds, and Thorn hurries after you, trying his best to ignore the strange warmth blooming in his chest.

It's going to be a long, long two weeks.

Thorn had been prepared for a fight.

He had spent the entire morning mentally preparing himself for the inevitable battle, going over different scenarios and practicing what he would say. It was something he did often, something that had saved him and his men countless times before, and he had expected this conversation to go exactly the same.

He was wrong.

He steeled his shoulders and knocked on your door, waiting for your soft, "Enter," before walking in, his jaw set, ready for an argument.

But instead of the sharp retort he had expected, the door opens, and you're standing there, dressed in an elegant robe, your hair pulled back in an intricate updo. He freezes, caught off guard by how lovely you look, and you smile.

"Commander," you say, and his brow furrows. "Good morning. Would you care to join me?"

"What?"

"Breakfast," you clarify, holding the door open wider, and he swallows thickly. He hadn't expected you to be so... pleasant.

"Of course," he says after a pause, stepping into your rooms. The suite is larger than any room he's ever stayed in, and as he looks around, he can't help but feel out of place. The furniture is ornate, the walls covered with beautiful artwork, and even the floor is lined with thick, expensive rugs. The Governor of your planet clearly likes to live lavishly, and Thorn's sure the cost of one meal in this place could feed a battalion.

He tries not to dwell on that, and he turns his attention back to you. You've closed the door behind him, and you're busy adjusting the folds of your robe. He watches as you smooth the fabric over your hips, and then he looks away, clearing his throat.

"So, are we having breakfast here?" he asks. You nod, motioning to the table set up near the window.

"Yes, if that's alright. My schedule is rather busy, so I thought it would be best to eat here instead," you say, and he follows you over, quickening his pace to pull your chair out for you. You give him a soft smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," you murmur, sitting down and letting him push the chair in.

"Of course," he says, and then he sits down across from you, removing his helmet and placing it on the table. There's a plate of food already set out for him, and he eyes it, wondering if this is all some elaborate trap. A droid wheels up, depositing a pitcher of juice and a carafe of caf on the table, and he waits until it has rolled away before speaking.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says, and you glance up at him. "About this... arrangement."

"Of course," you reply, picking up a fork and scooping up a bite of fruit. "What would you like to discuss?"

He shifts slightly, not quite comfortable with the whole situation. He had not been expecting to get along with you so well, and he wasn't entirely sure what to do with this newfound friendliness.

"We both have jobs to do," he says slowly, "and I understand that they are sometimes conflicting, but we need to make this work."

"Agreed."

"We can't have any more incidents," he continues, and you raise a brow, the corners of your mouth turning up slightly.

"You mean where I disappear?"

"Yes."

"Well, then," you say, taking another bite, and Thorn's fingers tighten around the edge of the table.

"I don't want you leaving the compound without telling me first. I'll escort you anywhere you need to go."

"Commander—"

"And no more wandering off," he interrupts, ignoring the look you're giving him. "I don't care if you need some fresh air or you're bored or tired, you'll ask me or one of my men first, and we'll make arrangements."

"Is that it?" you ask dryly, and he purses his lips.

"No," he replies. "We will continue to check in regularly, and we'll have a meeting every morning to discuss your schedule."

"So, you'll be joining me for breakfast every day, then?"

"I... yes," he says, surprised by your agreement. You shrug, taking another bite, and he feels like there's a catch.

"Very well. Is there anything else?"

He can't help but stare at you, waiting for the punchline, but you're still eating, and Thorn can't detect even a hint of deception on your face. He lets out a relieved sigh, leaning back in his chair.

"Just don't make things difficult," he says, and then he reaches for his caf. "Please."

"I'll try my best, Commander," you reply, giving him a sly smile. That strange warmth returns, the tightening in his chest, and he has to swallow before replying.

"Right," he says. "Good."

"I have a question for you," you say, and he glances at you, raising a brow.

"Okay..."

"Do you always treat your charges this way?"

"No," he says quickly, and he flushes slightly. "I mean, I've never had a charge like you, Senator. Usually the ones I protect are much more cooperative."

"So it's just me, then?"

"It seems so."

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "Well, I'm honored. Truly."

He huffs, and then the two of you lapse into silence. Thorn finds himself studying you as you eat, his eyes lingering on the curve of your neck, the delicate lines of your throat, the way your fingers move over the handle of your mug.

He's seen plenty of beautiful women in his lifetime. Coruscant is full of them. But there's something about you that he can't quite put his finger on. You're so unlike the other senators, and despite the fact that you seem to go out of your way to make him miserable, he can't deny there's a certain charm to your demeanor.

He's still trying to figure out what's going on, but he can't quite wrap his head around it. You're not being particularly argumentative, and for once, the two of you are able to sit in a room together without fighting.

"I'm sure," he mutters, and you glance up at him, a glint in your eye. Thorn meets your gaze, and then he quickly looks away, his heart beating a little faster.

He's in trouble.

"Well, I'll be damned."

Thorn's shoulders slump, and he glances over at Burst, raising a brow.

"What?"

"She actually got you to do it."

Thorn scowls, turning back to his datapad. "Shut up."

"Oh, come on, I'm just saying," Burst laughs, plopping down onto the bench next to him. "I didn't think she'd be able to convince you."

"Yeah, well, she did," Thorn mutters. He's not entirely sure how it happened, but you did. And now, here he was, stuck with you for the foreseeable future. It wasn't terrible, not in the slightest. You were actually pretty good company, when you weren't making his life miserable. But it was still a lot to deal with, and he had no idea how he was going to manage it.

He has no idea what it is that makes him act this way around you.

"How'd she do it?"

"Does it matter?"

"Kind of, yeah."

Thorn sighs, his fingers clenching around his datapad, and he stares down at his boots. He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to admit that he was swayed so easily, but he knows that Burst is never going to let it go until he tells him.

"I just agreed to it," he finally says, shrugging his shoulders. "It was either this or spend another few weeks arguing with her, and I just...didn't have the energy for it."

"I guess," Burst says doubtfully.

"Look, the sooner we get this trip over with, the sooner we can all go home," Thorn points out. "It's not ideal, but at least now we can keep a closer eye on her."

"So it's just the two of you now, huh?"

"Yep."

"Just the two of you."

"That's what I said, Burst."

"Alone."

"What is your point?"

"I'm just saying, sir," Burst says innocently. "If you wanted a little alone time with her, you could have just said so. We wouldn't have minded. Hell, we would have encouraged it."

"Yeah, well, I don't need any encouragement," Thorn growls, and then he stands, tossing his datapad onto the bench and heading off to find a quiet spot.

The truth was, he hadn't really thought about it. He hadn't thought about the implications of what this would mean. Being alone with you, day after day, until the two of you could return to Coruscant. And now, he wasn't sure what to do.

He couldn't exactly go back on his word, not when he had agreed to it. Not when you had given him the chance to prove himself. But it was difficult, knowing that his feelings towards you had been... complicated, ever since he had met you. Knowing that, if he wasn't careful, things could easily spiral out of control.

And now, the two of you were going to be spending an absurd amount of time together. Alone. With no one around to stop him from doing or saying something stupid.

He was in a lot of trouble.

The rest of the morning goes smoothly enough, and when lunch rolls around, he goes in search of you. You'd spent most of the day holed up in a conference room with a bunch of stuffy politicians, and by the time Thorn comes to collect you, the room is empty except for you. You're sitting at the table, staring out the window, and he's taken aback by how melancholy you look.

"Senator?"

You jump, glancing over at him, and the gloomy expression on your face is quickly replaced with a cheerful smile.

"Commander," you greet him, and he gives you a small nod.

"Time for lunch," he says, and you give him a wry grin.

"Is it, now?"

"You didn't have plans, did you?"

"Only to avoid you," you say sweetly, getting to your feet. You dress flows like water around you, the soft fabric brushing against your legs as you stand, and Thorn finds himself momentarily mesmerized.

He blinks, shaking his head, and gives you a scowl.

"Very funny."

"I thought so," you reply, walking past him and out into the hall. You don't bother looking back to see if he's following, and Thorn lets out a sigh before hurrying after you. He catches up with you easily enough, and the two of you walk in silence down to the dining room. You're not particularly chatty, and Thorn is starting to wonder if there's something bothering you.

You usually like to talk his ear off, and the fact that you're not makes him a little nervous.

He's about to ask if everything's alright when you speak up, your voice so quiet he almost doesn't hear it.

"Thank you," you murmur, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, and Thorn can't help the way his brows furrow in confusion.

"For what?"

"For agreeing to this," you reply, giving him a wry smile. "I know it's not ideal, but...it means a lot to me."

"Of course," he says, surprised. "It was the logical choice."

"Logical," you repeat. "Is that why you agreed to it, then?"

He hesitates, not sure how to answer.

"Yes," he says slowly. "I'm sure the Chancellor would prefer that I spend a couple of weeks with you rather than chasing after you every day. He wouldn't be very happy if he knew I lost you again."

You give a small huff, the sound more amused than annoyed. "And the fact that I'm so charming and beautiful has nothing to do with it?"

Thorn snorts, shaking his head.

"You are very charming, Senator," he agrees. "And you are a very beautiful woman. But if I have to spend another day chasing you down the street, I'm going to lose my mind."

"Good," you say with a wicked smile. He turns his head away, pretending to inspect the paintings lining the hallway, and tries not to flush. "Then let's get through these next few weeks quickly."

"Agreed," he says gruffly.

He holds the door open for you, letting you enter the dining room first, and the two of you find an empty table. There's an assortment of dishes laid out, and Thorn is pleased to see that they're not nearly as lavish as the previous meals. You'd been quite up in arms about the excess and waste of the food yesterday, and the Governor has clearly learned from his mistakes.

Thorn pulls out a chair for you, and you settle down in it, giving him a nod of thanks.

"I'm glad to see he listened," you comment, and Thorn looks over at the table, realizing what you're talking about.

"Yes, well," he says, clearing his throat. "I'm sure he doesn't want to risk upsetting you again."

"No, I suppose not," you agree, picking up a plate. When Thorn moves back around the table, he finds a seat has already been set for him, and he gives you a puzzled look.

"Did you tell someone to prepare this for me?"

"Don't sound so surprised," you reply, rolling your eyes. "It's the least I can do."

He frowns, but sits down nonetheless. As the two of you settle in, a few of the other guests glance your way, and Thorn doesn't miss the way they look at you. He bristles, feeling a surge of protectiveness rush through him, and he straightens in his chair, his hand resting on his blaster. You don't seem to notice the attention, and Thorn doesn't want to embarrass you by bringing it up, but he's determined to keep a close eye on everyone around you.

The others take the hint, quickly looking away, and Thorn's mouth twists in a smirk. Satisfied, he turns back to his plate, and he picks up a fork, spearing a piece of meat.

"So, what are your plans for the rest of the day, Commander?"

"Watching you, making sure you don't wander off, and avoiding my paperwork," he says dryly, and he gets a laugh out of you. He feels his cheeks heat, and he busies himself with his food, trying not to stare.

You're even more radiant when you laugh.

"I'd apologize, but I know it wouldn't do much good," you reply. "How is the paperwork going, anyway?"

"Awful."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't believe you," he says, giving you a wry smile, and you grin at him.

"You're right," you agree. "But it's the polite thing to say, isn't it?"

"You don't need to be polite," he says, shaking his head. "We're supposed to be working together, remember? If we're going to have a successful partnership, we need to be honest with each other."

"Well, if that’s the case, Commander," you begin with a mischievous gleam in your eyes. "How do you expect us to survive this week without killing each other?"

"I don't know," he says, unable to hide his grin. "But I suppose we'll just have to make it work."

"You make it sound so easy," you laugh.

"Nothing about you is easy, Senator," he replies, and the two of you continue the conversation, the banter between the two of you becoming more comfortable. The rest of the meal passes in a blur, and by the time Thorn realizes what's happening, he's having a good time.

The conversation is easy, and he doesn't feel as uncomfortable as he usually does. He doesn't feel like he has to constantly monitor his words, or worry about accidentally offending you. He's able to relax and enjoy himself, and he's surprised to find that he likes talking with you.

It's the best meal he's had in a long time, and when the two of you part ways, Thorn's stomach is full, and his heart feels strangely light.

You really were very charming, and he's not entirely sure how he feels about that.

By the time the third day rolls around, Thorn has fallen into a routine.

It's a comfortable routine, one that he didn't expect, but one that is welcomed all the same. His men are less than thrilled, especially since they’ve been given no respite, but they seem happy enough to know that he’s taking the lead on the mission.

You have meetings early in the mornings, which means that Thorn gets up early too. It's not his favorite thing, but it's worth it to spend time with you. The two of you eat together, and then Thorn escorts you to the office, where he stands guard outside your door while you meet with various representatives from other planets.

Then the two of you go back to your rooms, where you quickly eat lunch before leaving to stroll through the gardens.

The weather is temperate on your planet, and the gardens around the compound are beautiful. You seem to enjoy the flowers, and he listens as you point out each plant, the names and the species. Thorn finds himself paying more attention to your voice than the words coming out of your mouth, and he can't help but think that he could listen to you talk for hours.

You're not the arrogant, self-important politician that he'd thought you were, and he's beginning to realize just how much of your personality is an act. The woman you pretend to be is someone who demands attention, and she gets it. The real you is far more humble, and you seem happy to fade into the background when necessary.

Your people love you. They're constantly coming up to you, greeting you, asking after your health, and Thorn is amazed by how many you know by name. He had expected that you would treat them the way you treated him, but they seem happy to see you, and you seem equally delighted to see them.

There are also the gifts. Every few minutes someone will come up and offer something, and it's a constant battle to keep you from accepting. You're not supposed to take gifts, and even though most are small and seemingly harmless, Thorn is not willing to risk anything. So he gently turns down each gift, and each time, your eyes widen slightly and you give a slight shake of your head. The gesture is subtle, almost imperceptible, and Thorn finds it strangely endearing.

It's not the first time he's found something about you to be endearing. The list has grown rather long since you've been here, and it only seems to get longer with every passing day. The way you smile, the way you laugh, the way you brush the hair out of your face. It's all so... charming, and Thorn is starting to wonder if this is what the other troopers meant when they talked about you.

He'd always dismissed them as foolish, but now, as he watches you from his spot in the garden, he wonders if maybe he should have paid a little more attention. He knows that there's no chance of anything happening between the two of you, not unless he suddenly becomes a different person, but that doesn't stop him from looking.

"Commander."

He jerks, his attention snapping back to you, and you give him a knowing smile. "Are you feeling well? You seem a bit distracted."

"I'm fine," he says, his ears burning, and he shifts uncomfortably. "Is it time to head back?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," you say, and Thorn moves closer, holding out a hand. You slip yours into it, letting him help you up, and his skin tingles where you touch him. "I have a conference call with the Chancellor this evening, and I need to prepare."

Thorn frowns. He had forgotten about that. The Chancellor had contacted him the previous night and asked for an update on your safety, and Thorn had told him that everything was going well. He's not sure what prompted the call, but it's not unusual for him to do that, and he tries not to let it bother him.

Still, he can't help but worry. The Chancellor is a busy man, and the fact that he's taking time out of his schedule to speak with you makes him nervous. Maybe the Chancellor is starting to question the wisdom of assigning him to be your personal guard, or perhaps the Council has had a change of heart and is ready to replace him. Either way, he doesn't like it.

"You should wear the purple," he says suddenly, and you turn to look at him, surprise written across your face. "It suits you."

You blink, and then a small smile spreads across your lips, a sparkle in your eye. "Why, Commander," you tease, "that almost sounded like a compliment."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

You let out a soft chuckle, and Thorn has to swallow hard. "Thank you," you murmur, reaching out to brush a stray petal off of his shoulder. He freezes, his breath catching in his throat, and he can't seem to look away. Your eyes are sparkling, and your fingers are trailing up his shoulder and across his chest, and suddenly the temperature seems to increase by several degrees.

He doesn't know what to say, or how to react, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to reach up and grab your wrist. He's not sure if he wants to stop you or hold you tighter, and the uncertainty scares him.

But just as quickly as it happened, it's over. You drop your hand and step away, turning to walk towards the house, and Thorn has to take a moment to compose himself.

"Are you coming, Commander?" you call over your shoulder, and he forces himself to take a deep breath.

"Yes, Senator," he says, and he falls into step behind you, his gaze sweeping over your form, a lump forming in his throat. You look beautiful today, dressed in a pale yellow gown that reminds him of the sun, and he can't help but think about what it would be like to wrap his arms around your waist, to kiss the back of your neck, to feel your skin beneath his fingers.

You look back at him, a mischievous glint in your eye, and his eyes widen.

How long has he felt this way?

He has no idea, and he's not sure he wants to know the answer. You're his charge, his job, and any feelings beyond that are inappropriate. If the Jedi Council ever found out, they would surely be disappointed in him.

He shouldn't want this.

But he does.

And he's starting to realize that the other troopers weren't exaggerating when they talked about how beautiful you were. In fact, Thorn thinks they didn't give you nearly enough credit.

The walk back to the compound is a quiet one, and when you arrive, you head straight to your room. He follows you inside, standing awkwardly in the doorway, and then you turn to look at him.

"Would you mind giving me a moment alone?" you ask.

He hesitates, glancing at the open door, and you roll your eyes.

"I promise not to disappear," you assure him, and he feels his cheeks burn.

"Of course," he says, stepping back into the hallway and shutting the door behind him. He waits a moment, listening for the sound of the lock, and then he walks over to the window, peering out. It's a beautiful view, the city spread out beneath him, the setting sun painting the sky orange and pink. The light catches on the glass buildings, and he can see the faint outlines of ships as they soar overhead.

It's peaceful here, and he can't help but relax a bit. He's used to the chaos of Coruscant, and this is a nice change of pace. The compound is large and well-fortified, and Thorn is confident that no one can get in without alerting the guards. It's a secure location, and it's easy to be lulled into a false sense of safety.

Which is why he's surprised when the door swings open, and a hand grabs him, dragging him inside and slamming him against the wall.

It's an ambush, and it happens so fast that Thorn barely has time to react. He's slammed back again, his helmet falling off, and a foot presses into his chest, pinning him to the wall. A fist comes out of nowhere, and Thorn barely manages to block it, grabbing the arm and twisting, using the assailant's momentum to slam them onto the floor.

The man grunts, and Thorn uses the opportunity to pin him, straddling his hips and trapping his arms, a knee on his chest. His heart is pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he can't help but smile. He hasn't been in a fight in months, and it's been far too long since he's had a good brawl.

He's not sure what he was expecting, but he's glad that whoever it is isn't going down without a fight. He's been tense for weeks, and the opportunity to release some of that pent-up energy is a blessing.

The man bucks under him, and Thorn tightens his grip, a laugh escaping his lips. "Come on," he taunts, "is that the best you can do?"

"Fuck off."

He's about to respond when he hears the door swing open again, and another figure rushes in, tackling him and knocking him off his opponent. They're much smaller, and he's able to toss them off easily, but not before they manage to get in a few solid hits. They land a punch on his jaw, and he sees stars, his head ringing.

The first man is back on him, tackling him and sending him sprawling, and the second figure lands a kick to his ribs. He groans, the wind knocked out of him, and his vision swims. There's a sharp pain in his side, and he gasps, struggling to breathe.

A moment later, he’s on his back, his arms pinned, and a vibroblade pressed to his throat. The man stares down at him, and Thorn can see the anger burning in his eyes. He's panting, his breath coming in short bursts, and Thorn swallows.

The man smiles. "Not so tough now, are you?"

Thorn grunts, struggling against the weight on top of him, but the blade digs deeper into his skin, and he can't move. He's pinned, and there's no way he can get free. He watches the second attacker stand, moving towards the bedroom, and he struggles harder, his eyes widening.

No.

The door opens, and he can hear you let out a gasp. Thorn's stomach drops, his heart clenching, and his fingers dig into the carpet. This can't be happening. If anything happens to you, if these men hurt you, he'll never forgive himself. He can't let that happen. He can't let you get hurt.

He can't lose you.

There’s the sound of a blaster going off in the other room, and Thorn feels ice run through his veins.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

He doesn't even think. He just reacts. The rage builds inside him, the fear and the adrenaline and the guilt all combining into one powerful emotion. He lets out a roar, bucking his hips and shoving the attacker off of him. The man tumbles to the ground, the knife flying out of his hand, and Thorn is on him in a second, his fists flying.

He hits the man again and again, until he can taste blood in his mouth, until his knuckles are raw, until a gentle hand touches his arm and stops him.

The world seems to come back into focus, and he can see the man lying beneath him, bloodied and bruised. He's breathing, but just barely, and Thorn's hand clenches into a fist. If you hadn't stopped him, the man would be dead.

He staggers to his feet, turning to face you. You're watching him, a blaster in your hand, and you give him a small smile. "Nice work, Commander."

Thorn can't speak, his breath coming out in ragged pants, and he shakes his head, the rage inside him threatening to consume him.

"Senator—"

You place a finger over his lips, shushing him.

"It's alright, Commander," you murmur, your expression gentle. "I'm okay."

He doesn't move, doesn't even breathe, and you reach up, placing your hands on either side of his face, stroking his cheeks.

"I'm okay," you repeat, and he lets out a shuddering sigh, leaning into your touch. "See? I'm safe. Thanks to you."

Thorn still can't bring himself to speak, and you give him a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. He hesitates, his body tense, and then he relaxes, letting out a shaky breath and wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. You're safe. You're okay. You're here, in his arms, and he can feel his heart slowly beginning to calm.

You're okay.

He knows he shouldn't be doing this, but he can't bring himself to care. You're here, you're safe, and he needs to feel that you're alive, that you're real, and that you're here with him. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, and he feels your hands slide up his back, your fingers running through his hair, soothing him.

It's a long time before either of you speak, and when you do, it's Thorn who breaks the silence.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. You don't move, your fingers continuing to play with his hair, and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"They must have been waiting for me," you explain softly, and he can feel your voice vibrating through his body. "That man is a guard. And she—“ you nod your head toward the bedroom “—was a maid. I have no idea how they got past security, but I'm not surprised."

Thorn feels his anger start to build again, and he holds you a little tighter. His hands are still shaking, and his heart is racing. He can't believe how close he came to losing you. "Did they hurt you?"

"No," you assure him. "They didn't get a chance to."

He pulls back slightly, meeting your gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have—"

You shake your head. "Commander, I'm fine."

"If I had been there..."

"You were there," you interrupt, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You were there, and you did everything right. You protected me."

He's not sure he did, but the look on your face tells him that he has no choice but to believe you. Thorn nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and you give him another smile, your hands dropping to his chest. You're so close, your bodies pressed together, and Thorn finds himself unable to look away from you. You're beautiful, and he's not sure how he's ever going to stop wanting you.

"Senator," he says softly, and you tilt your head, raising a brow.

"Commander," you murmur, and his breath catches. Your voice is like silk, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

"You are a very difficult woman to protect."

You let out a soft laugh, and his gaze drops to your mouth, watching as your lips part, and your tongue darts out, wetting them. He wants to kiss you, wants to pull you close and press his mouth to yours. He wants, desperately, to forget all about the danger, the attack, the mission, and just be with you. He just wants you.

The two of you stare at each other, neither of you willing to break the spell, and Thorn's hands tighten on their own accord, pulling you closer. You're so close, your noses practically touching, and he can feel your breath ghosting over his lips.

“Commander!”

Thorn’s hands release you immediately, and you stumble back, turning around to face the window as Thorn spins on his heel and steps in front of you, shielding you with his body.

Burst stands in the doorway with Knock behind him, their blasters raised, and Thorn lets out a weary sigh.

Of course. Of course this would happen. He'd gotten so wrapped up in you that he'd forgotten to check his comm.

He's an idiot.

He should have known better.

Thorn raises a hand, signaling for the troopers to stand down, and they lower their weapons, their shoulders slumping.

"Sir," Burst says, looking between him and the battered body on the floor. "We heard shots fired.”

Thorn glances at you, and he can see the corner of your mouth twitching, the barest hint of a smile. You give him a tiny shrug, and he nods, his gaze shifting to the man on the floor.

"There was an attempt on the Senator's life. We handled it," he explains. The troopers tense, and their helmets dart to you, scanning your body.

"Are you hurt?" Knock asks.

"No," you reply, and Thorn can't help the swell of pride in his chest. You'd handled the situation like a true professional, and the fact that you were unharmed was a testament to your training. "I’m alright. Thank you, Knock.”

Knock nods, taking in the scene. "Good.”

“There’s another one in the bedroom," Thorn says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, and Knock nods again, moving past them and into the other room.

Thorn waits until he's gone, and then he turns back to you. He gives you a soft smile, taking a step forward. "Senator, why don't you go and clean up? I'll deal with this."

You look at him for a moment, and then you return his smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Thank you, Commander."

He leans into your touch, his eyes closing. "Of course, Senator. It's my job."

"And you're very good at it," you murmur. Your hand lingers for a moment, and then it falls, and when Thorn opens his eyes, you're gone, disappearing into your dressing room and shutting the door behind you.

Thorn stares at the closed door for a moment before letting out a breath and scrubbing a hand over his face. He can hear Burst snickering behind him, and he turns around, giving him a hard glare.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, sir," Burst replies, trying and failing to hide his amusement. "Nothing at all."

Thorn narrows his eyes. "Burst—"

"Commander, you can't deny that this is a bit amusing,” he says as he moves toward the unconscious man. He kicks him over onto his front, and Thorn has to suppress a wince at the damage he did. The man is covered in blood, his nose is broken, and there are several cuts on his face. His eyes are swollen shut, and his breathing is labored. He's lucky to be alive.

“I don’t find any of this amusing,” Thorn mutters, his expression dark. He's angry, and he's not entirely sure why. These men had tried to kill you, and he should be relieved that they had failed. But instead, all he can think about is how close he'd come to losing you, and how easy it would have been for him to get distracted. How close he'd come to not protecting you. How much worse this could have been.

He should have been more careful.

“If you say so,” Burst replies as he crouches down next to the man, a pair of cuffs in his hands. He whistles low under his breath, looking him over. "You did this?"

Thorn clears his throat, his cheeks heating, and he glares at the ground. "Yes."

"Wow, sir. Nice work.” Burst reaches down and pulls the man’s arms behind his back, and Thorn watches as he binds his wrists. The man doesn't move, his head lolling to the side. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Shut up," Thorn growls.

"Just saying, I'm impressed. You must really like the Senator."

"Burst," he says warningly.

"Relax, Commander," Knock interrupts, appearing in the doorway, and Thorn feels a surge of relief. He’s carrying the woman over his shoulder, her body limp, and he dumps her on the ground next to the man. "We won't say anything."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he lies, but even he can tell that it sounds weak. Burst snorts, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, right."

"Look, this is none of your concern," Thorn snaps, his eyes darting to the door and then back to his troopers. He doesn't want you overhearing their conversation, and the last thing he needs is for this to get back to the Chancellor.

If the Chancellor knew how he felt, if he found out how Thorn had failed him, failed his mission, failed you... well, Thorn would probably lose his position. Or worse.

And it was all because he couldn't keep his feelings in check.

He was an idiot.

The Chancellor had put him on this mission for a reason, and he'd made a promise. A promise to protect you, to keep you safe. And what had he done? He'd let his feelings get in the way, and now he'd failed you.

He couldn't afford to do that again.

“Take them down to the holding cells. Quietly,” he orders, his voice low. “We can’t know for sure that there aren't others. Until we have confirmation, I don’t want the rest of the household knowing about this. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," they say in unison, and Thorn turns his back on them, moving towards the bedroom. It's quiet inside, the door hanging off its hinges, and Thorn surveys the damage, his lips pursed.

The room is a disaster, and he's not sure how long it's going to take to fix. He's definitely going to have to speak to the Governor about the security measures, and he makes a mental note to have a word with him first thing tomorrow. They’ll have to move you to another wing, and the compound will need to be swept for more would-be assassins. He's not going to take any chances.

But those are problems for tomorrow. Right now, he just needs a few minutes to calm down.

He walks over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and leaning forward, his head in his hands. His mind is racing, and his heart is pounding. He feels like he's falling apart, like his whole world is crashing down around him, and he can't catch his breath.

This is the first time he's felt like this in a long time, and it scares him. He'd thought he was beyond this. He'd thought he was above it, the feeling of helplessness, the fear and the panic. But as he sits there trying desperately to get his emotions under control, he realizes that he's not. He's not as strong as he thought. He's not invincible.

And it's all because of you.

He'd thought you were his charge, someone to protect. He'd never expected you to be more than that, to mean something to him. But as he sits here, thinking about how close he'd come to losing you, the terror that had gripped him when he'd thought you'd been shot, the rage he'd felt when he'd seen you in danger, he can't deny it any longer.

You mean something to him, and he doesn't know what he would do if anything happened to you.

Thorn shudders, and he closes his eyes. He can't let himself go down that road. You're safe, and that's what matters. The attack had been averted, and no one had been seriously hurt. Everything was fine. He has to keep reminding himself of that, or he'll drive himself crazy.

"Commander?"

He opens his mouth to respond, his head jerking up, but the words die in his throat when he sees you in the doorway. You're wearing the purple outfit he had suggested earlier, and your hair is styled elegantly atop your head. It's hard to describe the feeling that rises in his chest, a strange mix of relief and awe and longing, and it takes him a moment to compose himself.

When he finally speaks, his voice comes out as a hoarse whisper.

"Senator."

"Commander, are you alright?"

He stares at you, his mind struggling to formulate a response, and you move into the room, kneeling in front of him and placing a gentle hand on his kne

"Commander?"

"I'm fine," he says, clearing his throat and looking away. "Don't worry about me."

You frown as you reach up to brush a lock of hair out of his face. "You're bleeding."

He blinks, startled, and then his hand rises to his forehead, his fingers coming away red. He hadn't even realized he was injured. "Oh."

"Let me take care of that," you murmur, standing up and disappearing into the bathroom. He hears you rummaging around for a moment, and then you return, a small medical kit in your hand. You open it, pulling out a bacta patch and tearing open the packaging.

Thorn lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging. He knows he should protest, that he should tell you that he's fine, that you should leave him alone, but he doesn't want to. He's exhausted, and you're being so gentle with him. He can't bring himself to refuse.

You lean forward, pressing the patch on the cut. He winces, and you make a soft sound.

"Sorry," you whisper, your voice barely audible. You give him a half-smile and tilt your head. "Does it hurt?"

He shakes his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Not at all."

"Liar."

"Maybe."

You shake your head and sigh, your eyes flicking down to his hands. The blood from his split knuckles has soaked through his gloves, and the red darkens the black leather. "Let me see."

"I'll get a medic."

You frown, and he holds up his hands. "Please, Senator. I'm fine. You're already late for your call."

"The Chancellor can wait," you argue, but Thorn shakes his head.

"You know he can't," he says, giving you a wry grin. "I'm a big boy. I can handle a few scrapes and bruises."

You don't look convinced, but you seem to know better than to argue with him. You stare at him for a moment longer, and then you nod. "Fine. But I'll check on you afterwards. No arguing."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replies, and you give him a sharp look. He smiles, holding his hands up. "No, really, I wouldn't."

"Good," you say, your gaze lingering on his hands. "Will you escort me to the conference room?"

He nods. "Of course, Senator."

You stand up, offering him a hand, and he takes it and lets you pull him to his feet. You smile, and Thorn can't help but feel like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. He knows that he shouldn't, but he loves the way you smile at him.

You lead him out of the room, and the two of you head down the hallway. He folds your arm into his, his other hand resting on top of yours, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. He doesn't know what to say, and he's grateful that you don't seem inclined to talk either. There's nothing left to say.

As you make your way to the conference room, he thinks about the events of the past few hours. It had been a close call, and if you hadn't been so quick, or if Thorn hadn't been there...

He could have lost you. He could have lost this. The thought terrifies him, and he tightens his grip on your hand, unwilling to let go.

He doesn't want to think about what would happen if he did.

It's been three days since the attempt on your life, and the mood in the compound is tense.

No one speaks much, and the troopers are on high alert. You seem unbothered by the whole thing, much to his frustration. He's been watching you closely, waiting for a sign that something is wrong, but there's nothing. You're perfectly fine, and it makes him wonder how often you've been targeted. How many attacks have you endured, and how many has he not known about?

It bothers him more than he cares to admit.

He's been sleeping in the hall outside your new room, taking his shifts with the troopers who patrol the corridors at night. It's not a comfortable arrangement, and he's constantly worried that someone is going to attack him, but it's better than being caught off guard. He's not letting anything happen to you, and if that means sacrificing his own comfort, then so be it.

You, on the other hand, seem unfazed. You go about your day, holding meetings, making plans, and Thorn finds himself growing increasingly frustrated. You don't seem concerned, and while that should be a relief, it's not. You should be worried. You should be scared. But instead, you're acting as though nothing has changed, and it makes him furious.

"You need to take this seriously," he tells you after dinner. You're sitting in your room, reading a datapad, and you glance up at him, raising a brow.

"I am taking it seriously," you say, and Thorn huffs.

"You're not," he argues, and you roll your eyes.

"Are you questioning my judgment, Commander?"

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

You place the datapad on the table beside you and turn to face him. "And why is that?"

"Because," he says, his voice growing louder, "this is your life we're talking about. Don't you understand that? Someone tried to kill you."

"I'm aware."

"Then why aren't you acting like it?" he snaps.

You frown, folding your arms across your chest. "What exactly do you think I should be doing, Commander? Should I cry? Should I scream? Should I cower in fear? What would make you happy?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," he growls, pacing the length of the room. "You're acting as if nothing has happened. As if this isn't a big deal."

You shrug, picking up your datapad and returning your attention to it. "It's not."

"Not to you, maybe. But it is to me."

"I'm touched," you reply dryly, and he glares at you. You sigh and shake your head. "People try to kill me all the time, Commander. It's part of the job."

He freezes, his heart skipping a beat. "What?"

You shrug again, not looking up. "It's not a big deal."

Thorn's eyes widen, and he lets out a noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a cry of frustration. He doesn't know whether to be angry or horrified. You're completely unconcerned, and he doesn't know how to respond.

He's always known that your job is dangerous, but he'd never realized just how much danger you were actually in. He doesn't know if the Chancellor or the Council are aware of this, but he knows that he's going to have a word with them. He's not sure how much more of this he can take.

You raise a brow, giving him a small smile. "What?"

"You're unbelievable," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. He wants to punch a wall, or break something. Anything to release the pent-up energy. He feels like he's going to explode, and he's not sure how much longer he can contain his anger.

"Why, thank you, Commander," you say as you turn your attention back to your datapad, and he lets out a growl, pacing across the room. He can't believe this. He can't believe how cavalier you're being, how flippant, and it's infuriating.

He's never felt like this before, and he's not sure how to cope with the emotions bubbling up inside him. He's worried, and scared, and angry, and a million other things, and it's overwhelming. He doesn't know what to do.

"Commander, are you okay?"

Thorn stops pacing and looks over at you, his gaze meeting yours.

"Why are you so nonchalant about this?" he demands, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. "You could have died. Do you realize that? You could have died, and then where would I be?"

Your eyes widen, and for a moment, you look shocked. You stare at him, and Thorn can see the concern in your gaze as you set your datapad down again. "I don't know. Where would you be, Commander?"

Thorn stares at you, unable to speak. He can't bring himself to voice his true feelings. If he does, there's no going back. If he admits how much you mean to him, how much he cares about you, he's afraid of what will happen.

He's afraid that he'll lose control, and that he won't be able to stop himself from telling you everything. From revealing how he truly feels about you. And that would be a disaster.

"Useless," he mutters. "I'd be useless. I'm supposed to be protecting you, and if you had died, I would have been a failure. I couldn't have lived with myself. So, yes, I'm questioning your judgment, and no, I don't think you're taking this seriously."

You're quiet for a moment, and Thorn takes a step closer, his hands on his hips. He's not sure why he's doing this. He knows he's overreacting, and he can't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. He needs you to understand, and he can't seem to keep his mouth shut.

"Commander," you murmur, "that's not—"

"If you'd died, it would have been my fault," he continues, ignoring you. "I would have failed you, and I would have failed the Chancellor, and I would have failed myself. And I'm not sorry. I'm angry. I'm pissed off. And I'm not going to apologize."

You sigh and lean back in your chair. "I didn't expect you to."

"Good."

"Look," you say, standing up and walking over to him. "I know you're worried, and I appreciate it. I really do. But I'm not some helpless damsel in distress, and I'm not going to stop living my life because someone wants me dead. If I did, I would never get anything done."

Thorn's jaw clenches, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I just don't understand how you can be so calm about this. It's dangerous, and I don't like it."

"That's not your choice," you point out, and he scoffs. "I'm not going to hide, Commander."

"Senator—"

"Commander."

"I don't care," he snaps. "I don't care what you want. This is about keeping you safe, and if that means you're not happy, then so be it."

You roll your eyes, turning your back on him and walking over to the window. You stand there for a moment, staring out at the city below, and Thorn watches as your shoulders slump.

"I'm not some pet, Commander," you say, glancing at him. "I have a job to do, and I'm going to do it."

Thorn's eyes narrow, and he grits his teeth. "I'm not asking."

"I know," you say, looking back out the window. "But you can't stop me."

He opens his mouth, ready to argue, but you shake your head, cutting him off. "And I'm not going to fight with you about it. If you want to spend all your time worrying about me, that's your business. But don't expect me to do the same."

He scowls. "Senator—"

"Enough, Commander."

The words sting, and Thorn takes a step back, his face twisting in anger. "Fine," he growls, stalking towards the door. "If that's how you feel."

You turn, giving him a hard look. "It is."

He shakes his head and slams his hand against the door panel. The doors slide open, and he pauses, looking back at you.

"For the record, Senator, I do worry about you. A lot. And not just because it's my job. And I'll continue to worry, whether you like it or not."

Your face softens, and Thorn steps into the hallway, the doors closing behind him. He stands there for a moment, his hands clenched into fists, and then he lets out a frustrated groan, leaning against the wall.

He's an idiot. He's the biggest idiot in the entire galaxy.

He's never felt like this before, and he's not sure how to process his emotions. He's worried about you, and angry, and afraid, and he's so tired of arguing with you. But most of all, he's hurt. He thought that you understood, that you would listen to him. He thought that you would see that he's just trying to protect you. But you don't.

He doesn't know how else to convince you, and he doesn't know what else to do. He can't force you to change your mind, and he can't stop you from putting yourself in danger.

But he can try.

Thorn stalks down the hallway, his boots thudding on the floor, and he tries to clear his head. He needs to get his emotions under control. He's acting like a child, and he knows it. But he can't help himself. Why does he have to protect such an infuriating woman? Why does he have to want you so much? Why does he have to care about you so much?

He's been trying so hard not to let his feelings get the better of him, but he's failing. And it's only going to get worse. He can feel it. Every time he's around you, his emotions are in overdrive, and he's having a harder and harder time keeping them under control. He knows he should back off, but he can't. You're like a magnet, and he's drawn to you. He can't stay away. He doesn't want to.

And that scares him more than any assassin ever could.

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#commander thorn #commander thorn x reader #thorn x reader #coruscant guard #the clone wars #clone x reader #tcw thorn #tcw thorn x reader #roy writes #500 follower celebration #i feel silly posting this bc i'm still pretty sick but #i've been laying here all day bored out of my mind and i couldn't resist #part two tomorrow? monday?

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shotmrmiller · 10 months ago

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okay so !!!! so what if you’re a jealous and possessive pet? like your boy tells you it’s okay to play with the other boys and the other pets and even encourages you like sucking their cock or riding them or eating out one of the other pets but the image of him doing that with someone else’s pet just shatters you. if they’re in a different room that’s bad but being able to see it happen is even worse. you can see the smile they give and the sounds they make and you thought you were special to them but it doesn’t feel like that — how would the boys reconcile something like that?

like knowing the other boys and pets are sharing and playing and you feel bad, especially when they’re all together and everyone is playing but your boy is the only one who’s not and it tears you up because you want him to enjoy and have fun but the thought of him kissing someone else or fucking them, finishing inside them… you could cry.

(bonus angst where one of the boys goes and visits another pet and comes back smelling like them, maybe marked and obviously fucked, and you hadn’t necessarily talked about that yet and it just crushes you and you refuse to sleep in the same bed as them for…. well, for awhile.)

UGH. YOU. I LOVE ANGST.

im a whore for hurt/no comfort so ill try to help write something here cuz if it was me, they can kick rocks. but its not. So.

for the first part, oh man. It's a bottle-it-in situation, imo, because i feel this in my soul. The low grunts you worked so hard to wrestle out of them are easily tumbling out of their mouth now, because of your hard work. It's something so gut-wrenching because that face of ecstasy should only be for you? Then the insecurities kick in. What if they're prettier, what if they're tighter, what if they're simply in another league altogether? (this is me as a hit dog that is hollering)

he's never treated your playdates as a chance to essentially cheat without cheating, he honestly only wanted you to make friends—wanted to expand on the kink you live and breathe by. But regardless, that's how it feels. And this is where the shutdown begins. The silence, the lack of enthusiasm for wanting to put on your collar, the distancing, and when he says, "Does my pet want to play with me today?" you burst into tears. Ugly sobbing, loud wails.

He freezes, for a second, because never in the time you've been together has he ever heard you cry like this. It's agonizing and when he immediately throws himself at your feet, he tries to cup your face with his large hands when you jerk yourself away from his touch.

You've never rejected his touch.

His heart cracks with hairline fractures because this is his love, his future that's falling into pieces in front of him and you don't even want his comfort. He lowers his hands and fists at the fabric of his trousers to hold back from reaching out to you.

For the first time in a long time, his eyes well with tears, and he swallows thickly, trying to open up his throat a bit to be able to say something, anything.

His voice warbles as he says, "Baby, talk to me." He gives you plenty of time to respond, but you don't. Once the tears are exhausted and your body is worn out, you simply turn your head to the side, eyes away from him. The tears that had distorted his vision now fall, dripping onto the cold floor he's still kneeling on. You don't even want to look at him.

"Talk to me, baby, please." His forehead touches your knee. "Please." His tone is desperate as he begs. The sight of a man who's killed people with his bare hands, sniveling by your feet pulls at your own heartstrings. Sigh.

"Would you like to know where you erred?" He whips his head up to look at you, nodding like an idiot.

"Your mistake, was assuming I wanted to share and be shared." He opens his mouth to say something, but you're not here to listen to him. He's here to listen to you.

"No. You presumed I wanted to the same as the other pets, just because we share the same kink? I had to sit there and watch— listen to you fuck someone else, and I couldn't say anything because then I would've been the buzzkill."

You clench your jaw and look directly into his eyes. "Do you know what it's like? No. You don't. You forget that the boys are your friends, your brothers in arms. Not mine. I sat with acquaintances, at best, and had to stomach whatever the fuck that was."

"I no longer wish to—" but he panics here, adapts a crazy-eyed look and cuts you off.

"No, no, no. Please, god no. You're my everything, you, I—" he hiccups, and his shoulders start to shake once he wraps his arms around your waist, and lowers his head onto your knees again, and chokes out, "I am nothing without you. Please."

Having cried all your tears, your sadness fades into sharp, biting anger. "It didn't seem like it though. You were quick to pass me around like some harlot. You're just gonna give me to anyone you see? Hm? What about the neighbor that has been hitting on m—" and he jerks his head back up, eyes deadly, dark with hostility.

"I'd fucking kill him for even having the audacity to ask if he could touch you the way I do."

Scoffing, you say, "And that's how I felt. Fucking strangers touching what should be only mine, kissing what is only mine," your tone turns hushed, "what I thought was mine, anyway."

Holding his gaze, you purse your lips. "I need time to think. You broke my trust. I'm not sure how to move forward from here."

this is too long im sorry uh, so he gives you all the time in the world, all the space you need, for which you're grateful. He's not overbearing, never crowds you. never says anything out of line. He seems fully repentant, dotes on you like his only reason for existing is to keep you as happy as you can feel. He tells you he loves you every bloody day, even if you don't repeat it back. He says it firm, unwavering.

And that's the balm that allays the pain in your heart. But you love him, still, so so much. With a deep breath, you tell him that you're not going to leave him, that you love him still and that's why it hurt the way that it did. But he'll have a ton of groveling to do.

The shaky smile he gives is full of relief. He pulls you to him, in an embrace so tight that you can barely even breathe. And after, he holds your face so tenderly, as if you're made of porcelain, and asks for a kiss, one you agree to. It conveys everything he's been sayings all this time, that he loves you.

and months pass, intimacy slowly turns back to what it was, but with reverent kisses and worship spilling from his lips. Words so sweet, that you break down in tears mid-act because you feel something finally shift back into place. Ofc, he freaks because "Darling, oh god, what's happened" but you pull him in for a kiss, and just tell him that you love him so much. His smile is soft as he says it back.

Then you pull out the collar again, and he panics but you calm him. That you feel ready. You want to play with your owner, and your heart is in his hands, to please take care of it.

A couple of tears fall from his eyes as he clicks your collar back around your neck and swears to never hurt you this way again.

Playdates turn into him being the only one to touch you and vice versa. And he answers to no one when they ask why.

i had a good time im sorry its so long I JUST LOVE ANGST PLEASE.

I hope i gave you what you were looking for ❤

#call of duty #tf 141 x reader #141 pet play

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papaya-twinks · 4 months ago

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just an assistant - l.n

Warnings: Angst, ghosting, swearing

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - y’all are gonna hate me tehe 🤭

Lando was starting to see you as more than ‘just an assistant

And it was well and truly bugging him. You woke up, from your bed, and decided to change into your outfit, a simply, tight white sleeved top and grey joggers, along with some white trainers. The thoughts and sound of Lando from last night, the sound of your name on his lips….you couldn’t forget it.

You’d be psycho not to. You were distracted as you made his toast, the bread coming out a lot darker than you’d hoped, not burnt, but definitely over cooked. Shit. You spread the butter anyways, silently hoping Lando wouldn’t notice as you put the plate down on the table beside him. He noticed, obviously.

Lando was a picky eater, you knew that, but surprisingly, he said nothing, eating the toast anyways, and trying not to spit it out. Your next mistake was when he asked you to the clean his simulator rig, and you’d accidentally knocked over your bucket of soapy water, and it had flooded onto the bottom, luckily not getting any wires.

“Y/N, what the hell?!” Lando exclaimed when he walked in, seeing the little puddle under his face seat. “I-,” you started, but he interrupted this. “God…just try not to mess everything up,” he snapped. This wasn’t like you. This wasn’t like you at all, you never made mistakes.

What had happened to the Y/N he knew? And then the thoughts started flooding in for Lando. Had you…maybe heard him last night? Had he been caught red handed? Did you hear the way he groaned your name? Or how his mind went into overdrive when the sweet, sweet sound of your name left his lips?

He had to talk to you. Lando just had to. To make sure, that his worst fears were not confirmed, and you were having an off day, or something. You tried to avoid him as much as possible, every time you saw his face, images of him between your legs, pressing kisses to your stomach, his lips trailing down past your hips, down your legs, his lips pressing right to your-

“Y/N,”. You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of your own name, not a moan this time, but a colder, sterner tone, as you looked up from the floor you were scrubbing, your hand wrapped tightly round the sponge. You’d look pretty holding something else. Lando mentally scolded himself for the dirty thought, shaking it away as he stared down at you.

Look great on your knees. Enough! This was getting out of hand, and way too far. Lando couldn’t be thinking these things about you, you were supposed to be just an assistant. You were nothing more and meant nothing more to Lando than the person who cleaned up after him and did work and shit. That was your purpose.

“Get up,” he said, his voice commanding yet showing no emotion. You did what he said, trying to push the images out your mind as you looked to him, cheeks tinged slightly pink. “I have a question,” he said, trying to hide the waver in his voice as he looked anywhere but your face, his eyes roving from the floor, to your hands, to your chest, to the wall, to your chest, to the floor, to your chest, to your shoes, to your chest.

Ah. This was getting a bit repetitive. “When did you go to bed?” Lando said, choosing his words carefully. Well shit. “10pm,” you responded simply. It was the time you had GONE to bed, but not necessarily slept…

“Don’t give me that,” Lando said, his voice raising to a snarl. “When did you go to sleep?” he asked, immediately becoming defensive. “Around 11,” you said. You had fallen asleep at 11, but you had just woken up a few times during the night. “Did you wake up during the night?” Lando said, leaning forwards. “A bit,” you saw, cheeks red, as his eyes widened.

“Why’d you ask?” you added, a sudden burst of confidence in your voice. “No reason,” he said quickly, “just wanted to see why you were slacking,”. So you had heard. Shit. Lando ignored you the rest of the day, leaving you to your tasks, and not bringing any girls home that night, instead dealing with himself in the bathroom.

finish the jobs on the list, y/n, I’m out for the day.

That was what the note on the kitchen counter read when you came downstairs, Lando nowhere in sight. He’d gone out, that was reasonable, but he’d usually told you before, at least the day before he’d leave. The list was long enough to keep you preoccupied and you did the work, well enough, when your phone dinged, a message from your friend, Eryn, flashing on the screen.

Eryn: heyyyyy, isn’t that dude u work for’s name Lando Norris or something

You frowned at the sudden message, you’d told her you had a job and mention Lando a few times, but didn’t say anything more. You responded with a 👍 as the three bubbles appeared once more, before she sent you a link. ‘Lando Norris spotted with mystery girl on at a restaurant - could it be his assistant, Y/N Y/L/N?’

You stared at the image of the article. She looked very much like you - incredibly beautiful, of course, and quite similar, but not enough to be as pretty as you. But thanks to the blurry photo, she happened to look exactly like you. There were loads of articles about you and Lando supposedly at some restaurant together, your eyes wide.

Ah shit.

A/N - meow

#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris #lando x reader #f1 #lando norris smut #just an assistant

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aluraveil · 2 years ago

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♡ Poly relationship with Yandere Fyodor, Nikolai, and Sigma!! ♡

If you were the darling of 3 of the 5 members of the Decay of Angels, it would be pretty bad luck for you.

All 3 of them are very possessive of you just like any other yandere. All 3 of them aren't very strict with you, the only rule is that escaping isn't allowed. Fyodor, Nikolai, and Sigma all know that there's no escaping from them with their vast connections and excellent combat skills plus the thousands of people under their command. They're confident that even if you somehow manage to escape, they can easily bring you back. If somehow they still can't find you, they might even pay a visit to Fitzgerald and "borrow" his Eyes of God.

Fyodor is the scariest one out of the trio. Unlike Nikolai, he doesn't necessarily give off a very friendly vibe. Fyodor gives off a don't-piss-me-off-or-you-will-regret-it vibe. It looks like Fyodor is always staring at you and judging you secretly with his challenging and cold gaze.

Fyodor often likes testing you, such as leaving the front door unlocked or even giving you an opportunity to escape. The first time you took the opportunity you were immediately caught and dragged back. Fyodor was dissapointed with you and you certainly didn't want to see him angry.

Fyodor sometimes even flirts with you just to mess with you and to see your reaction. It makes him laugh whenever he sees you blushing or getting nervous.

Fyodor can be pretty sweet with you sometimes and he loves giving you gifts! For your birthday he got you cake and flowers which made you happy. Fyodor glanced in awe at you as you happily ate cake without a care in the world.

Fyodor often calls you his Myshka (little mouse) as a nickname for you. It's only right for him because he's the leader of the Rats of the House of the Dead.

One time you even went with him into the underground base and you saw him typing away with a huge computer setup. Whenever you're at the base, Fyodor wants you to be in the same room. Under different circumstances, he would let you roam around but the underground tunnels were easy to get lost in and he wants to be able to have you at arms length.

This other time you were walking with Fyodor when he was giving out instructions to some of his underlings. You remember when you met some guy named Ivan and he gave off a pretty weird vibe.. you also heard from Pushkin that he was a "total nut case"..

Nikolai is the chillest one out of the trio. He's funny and he shows you tons of magic tricks. You could even fall for him if he wasn't a terrible person plus him being one of your captors.

Nikolai is pretty entertaining and there's never a dull moment with him. You entertain his silly theatrics and he always knows when to make you laugh. Nik's always messing with you by using that stupid coat ability of his. One time, he even grabbed your leg as a joke and he started tickling it. You bursted out laughing both from it being funny but it lowkey creeped you out. Especially with the look he gave you where he grinned really widely and started lifting his eyebrows up and down in a way.

One time, you tried escaping from Nikolai by running into a store and he contacted Fyodor and Sigma letting them know of the instance. Next thing you know, Fyodor and Sigma are laughing their asses off behind a computer screen on the security cameras at the way Nikolai messes with you by having random objects fall on top of you. You're scared shitless when Nikolai decides to drop a random mouse on you..

This other time Nikolai had wanted to show you something during one of his missions that he dragged you along too. Nikolai was recording some video in a meeting room with government officials. You couldn't help but laugh your ass off when Nikolai messed up during the recording session especially since it was live.

"Oh no! An on-air-oopsy! Quick stop the camera, I can't go on any longer!"

You couldn't help but feel bad for the "tiger boy" (as Nikolai referred to him as) when he got hit by a pole as a result of Nikolai's ability..

Sigma is the most lenient one of the trio. For instance, he grants you more freedom than the other trio members and he forgives you a lot more if you make a mistake and you're sincerely sorry about it.

Sigma often has you sit on his lap while he's busy at his desk at the Sky Casino. Whenever Sigma is busy with other things besides paper work, he'll even give you some money and let you roam around the casino.

You have fun playing with the machines and Sigma might even rig one of them to have you win the jackpot. He might even be watching you through the camera and smile at how happy you look when you win.

You're gonna be pretty confused when you see random explosions plus some weird people claiming themselves to be "Hunting Dogs".. especially when you head back to Sigma's office and see a random hole in the wall with Sigma panicking. Who knows what was even going on? Being around the Decay of Angels had its fair share of strange experiences so you weren't surprised when weird things happened in the Sky Casino..

Should you be worried when you spot a pink haired girl who could magically age herself up?..

Hm.

Nah.

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rhiannonsknife · 29 days ago

Text

── ౿🩸DATING RHIANNON LEWIS

— summary: dating rhiannon lewis hcs.

— warnings: fem!reader. established relationship. canon-typical violence. some fluff. and when i say ‘some’, i mean the first point. after that, things went downhill. nsfw content. mdni. knife play. spanking. i didn’t beta read.

only finding out that you‘ve pulled a literal serial killer when your girlfriend comes home covered in blood.

sure, you‘ve had your suspicions that rhiannon was hiding something before: you would occasionally hear her leaving the house late at night whereas she would later claim she went on a walk with tink (who walks their dog at the crack of dawn??) and you sometimes catch a glimpse of bruises when rhiannon comes out of the shower wrapped in nothing but a towel. but she would always come up with excuses for these as well. so realization only really dawns upon you when you get off work early one day, ready to curl up on the couch with some of rhiannon’s ice cream while you wait for your girlfriend to come home. when she does come home shorty after, she’s covered in blood (or dragging a body down the hall, thinking she’s got the house to herself). the prolonged eye contact when she notices you sitting on her couch, the spoon sliding from your grip and clattering down onto the hardwood floor…awkward.

being the only exception on her kill lists!!

rhiannon’s kill lists would make anyone uneasy. except that, for you, it’s oddly endearing because she considers you her only exception once you get to know each other and start dating. she shields you from her darkest thoughts, and despite her usual disdain for people, she’d genuinely want to keep you close. if anyone ever crossed you, though…not only would they immediately make it onto her long list of people to murder, rhiannon would instantly start plotting her next kill. it’s how she shows her love <33 she would definitely have unique love languages guys!! instead of overly affectionate stuff, she probably tends to keep an eye on the people around you to make sure no one ever wrongs you. if someone does, she would obviously try to offer comfort, but her solution would probably be a) unconventional, and b) rather blunt: “want me to kill them for you?“, “i could make their life miserable, y’know?”

taking care of her after a particularly rough night.

do you endorse murder? not exactly, no. but rhiannon has convinced you that all of her victims genuinely deserved it and you know better than to question your girlfriend. what she does out there, you’ve decided, is none of your business. that only changes when she returns back home from her killing sprees: that’s when you’ll help her change her clothes, or run her a hot bath to wash off the dried blood from her bare skin! taking a bath with rhiannon and kissing her bruised knuckles one by one to soothe the ache <33 washing her hair for her, massaging her scalp and her burning muscles in the hot water of the bathtub <33 having her lean against you until it gets too cold to stay in there <333

taking care of her after a particularly rough night.

while she appreciates these loving gestures, it isn’t always what rhiannon needs. sometimes, to be taken care of isn’t what she craves. sometimes, when the adrenaline has not yet ebbed and she comes home in blood that’s still wet and warm to the touch, what rhiannon needs is to take you. in this disheveled state, she will come bursting through the door, stripping out of her clothes the second it falls shut behind her. seeing that you’ve waited for her to come home on the couch, she will snap at you to get on all fours for her, her fingers already unbuckling her belt as she speaks. also: rhiannon who wears the strap when she’s out killing people so she can get down to business right away once she’s back home <33

rhiannon, who doesn’t necessarily needs your touch or for you to make her feel good. the sight of you getting fucked is enough to get her off too.

she’s not opposed to the idea of using you for her own pleasure occasionally. it’s quite the opposite, actually: she loves how eager you are for this, often asking her to use you. but the point is that she doesn’t need that to feel satisfied: watching you work for it, bouncing on her strap whilst she’s still covered in blood or begging for her touch whilst you kneel before her, sucking on her fingers, is more than enough for rhiannon.

rhiannon who fucks you from behind in front of a mirror so she can see your eyes roll back whilst also looking at the reminders of her previous kill.

the blood is smeared all over her as she pounds into you from behind: it’s dribbling down her chest, trailing down the valley between her exposed breasts -she has taken just enough time to unbutton her shirt for you. so you have something to look at, she’d claimed with a grin. you’re not complaining now that you can watch them move with every deep thrust of her hips. there’s blood on your body too. a crimson handprint on each of your ass cheeks. a trail up your spine. rhiannon is making sure you’re marked up in the evidence of her actions. “look at me” she orders sharply as your head falls into the pillows to stifle your cries. when you don’t immediately obey, her fingers tighten in your hair at the back of your head, forcing you to look up by tugging on it. “look at me” rhiannon repeats, moaning as if she could actually feel your pussy clench around the silicone cock. her eyes roll back in the reflection as she looks at the mess she’s made of you, a reminder of the thrill of her murders and the fact that you’re so willingly hers in spite of that. she cums untouched at the realization.

she loves to worship your body.

rhiannon loves to do this when she’s not caught up in the adrenaline rush and actually has time to fuck you good. that’s when she’ll make you strip for her or use her beloved knife to tear the clothes off of you.

okay pause because i need to get into that for a second: rhiannon, who tears your clothes apart with her knife.

she lies you down beneath her, on a night where you’ve got all the time in the world, and reaches for the knife she always carries around with her. it’s slightly unsettling, but you trust her. “tell me to stop and i will” rhiannon murmurs against the back of your neck, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down your spine. she snickers softly when she notices, her fingers running up and down your sides first. then, suddenly, there’s the sharp, cold sensation of the blade against your bare back. you inhale sharply and rhiannon soothes you. “shh” she whispers and you can feel her lips curl into a smile against your skin. “let me have this” and then she’s cutting through the fabric of your shirt smoothly, tearing it off of your bare body once she’s done, before tracing the shape of your outline with the blunt side of her blade. she’s committing every detail of you to memory, following every curve and dip of the body she loves most with the same weapon she normally uses to take lives.

anyway, back to what i was saying. rhiannon worshipping your body.

she adores your body and she will use every chance she can get to remind you of it. once she has you naked beneath herself, there’s no stopping her. she will cover you in kisses, tasting every inch of skin her mouth can reach, licking up the side of your neck before whispering: “gonna fuck you so good” into your ear. and, god, she does: rhiannon who fucks you deep when she’s got the time to!! holding one of your thighs up while her mouth is sucking marks to your pulse point and her hips are grinding in a slow but steady rhythm, stretching you out around her and reaching in so deep.

rhiannon, who moans when she’s literally just finger fucking you.

her jaw goes slack when she first sinks two of her fingers into your wetness, her lips parting against your own so she’s panting right into your mouth. rhiannon’s lashes flutter when she pulls her fingers back, her eyes watching you closely as she pumps them back into you again and again. her face is mirroring your own: mouth agape, brows drawn together in pleasure, eyes hazy with lust. the little ‘uh, uh, uh’ sounds she makes with every single thrust….

she gets rougher in bed after longer periods of time without killing anyone.

she’s claiming to be fine when you go on longer vacations with her but clearly she isn’t. she can’t even enjoy the scenery or all the activities you suggest without feeling the tension of not having the weight of her knife in her pocket. all this pent-up tension leads to her becoming increasingly frustrated and rougher when she’s fucking you. it’s not like you mind it, much, but it’s still a noticeable change: she’ll push you more frequently, fucking you into a state of overstimulation where you literally can’t walk properly for days. her hands are much more aggressive as they tear off your clothes or land hard smacks on your ass that make you cry out in the delicious mix of pain and pleasure. she fucks herself into exhaustion, either by having you on her cock in various positions or by using you for so long she’s a babbling, breathless mess near the end of the night.

rhiannon, who tells you to shut up.

as much as you both enjoy hearing the other during sex, sometimes it’s just not what rhiannon needs (specifically when she’s using you for her pleasure). when she’s sitting on your face or grinding against your thigh, she doesn’t need you to tell her how hot she is, she doesn’t need your words of encouragement or praise. she needs you to shut up and take it. “fucking shut up, will you?” she hisses, pinning your wrists down above your head, her lips lingering above yours as she humps your thigh. “shut up and take it”

— i might add more to this or write a part 2 if anyone wants to hear more of my horny rhiannon thoughts <3

#˙💌 ̟ !! ─ my works #˙🔞 ̟ !! mdni #rhiannon lewis #rhiannon lewis x reader #sweetpea

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babyhatesreality · 6 months ago

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Agent Jellybean

Daddy!Stucky x Little!F!Reader

Warnings: DDLG (SSC), f! reader, reader is named but name scarcely used, language, reader has anxiety, fluff.

A/N- today's story brought to you by a massive wave of anxiety.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. THIS STORY IS SFW- THE REST OF MY BLOG IS NOT NECESSARILY SO. MINORS DNI. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE STOLEN, COPIED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY OTHER SITE BUT MY OWN. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated.

You had had the worst nightmare you could remember last night. Fortunately, you were in Daddy and Papa's bed with them already, so the second you whimpered in your sleep, Bucky had instantly awoken. He held you close, trying to help you gently wake up, but it had been so intense and terrifying that by the time you realized you were awake, you were already shaking and crying so hard you couldn't stop. Bucky and Steve spent the rest of the night soothing and calming you, but you hadn't fallen back to sleep, nor had you truly been able to shake the dread you had been feeling as a result of the dream.

Bucky had kept you in his arms all morning, knowing all too well the toll that a nightmare could take on a person. He cuddled and kissed and comforted you while Steve packed a day bag for you to come with them upstairs while they worked.

You were resting your tired head on Daddy's shoulder as the three of you got off the elevator. Fury was waiting for you, which normally would make you perk up as you loved the gruff director. But you were still too anxious and exhausted to do more than give him a little wave. He looked a bit surprised- normally you were bouncing off the walls- but quickly understood the situation when he saw the ache in his agents' eyes as they continued to touch and soothe you.

"Rough night?" Fury asked evenly, but one couldn't mistake the hint of sympathy in his words. Steve gave him a tired smile and reached out to stroke your hair as Bucky kissed your forehead.

"You could say that," Steve said quietly.

"Do you two need the day?" Fury asked immediately. But before they could answer, you did.

"No," you mumbled, popping your head up. "Daddies gotta be heroes." Your sudden burst of energy over, you slumped back down onto Bucky's shoulder. Fury's eyes met Steve's in surprise, and was met with another tired smile.

"We told her we would stay at home, but she didn't want that," he explained. And it was true- when Steve said that to you at the breakfast table, you almost had another meltdown. He was quick to retract it, and Bucky just tightened his grip on you, both of them assuring you that they wouldn't do that. You settled down after a moment, but then your feelings got even bigger.

The real reason you didn't want them missing work was that you were already feeling guilty that you had kept them up last night, that they were both so worried about you, and that you couldn't let go of the scary feelings. When Papa suggested missing work, all you could think about was the people that were going to get hurt because they weren't there, and that was what sent you over the edge again. After you settled down, you then felt guilty for being naughty and throwing a tantrum when they were only trying to help. You were a bundle of big mean feelings, anxiety, and exhaustion, so all you could do was hold on to Bucky as tight as he was holding on to you.

Of course you didn't tell Nick this- your Daddies didn't even know you were feeling guilty- but you watched for his reaction to Papa's answer. He slowly nodded once, like he was thinking. His face was lined with frustration.

"What is it?" Bucky asked.

Fury took a deep breath, sighing heavily before he answered. "We picked up another former Hydra agent last night," he answered gruffly. "Some...intense programming on this one. Barnes, I was going to ask if you can be in the interrogation room, but...it looks like your services are otherwise needed," Fury said carefully, realizing the sticky situation you were all in.

Bucky and Steve locked eyes over your head. They both knew that the best shot of saving and rehabilitating the agent was to get the Winter Soldier in there. Bucky's eyes pleaded with Steve for a solution. He couldn't let you go- he absolutely would not do it. But the idea of helping to save another person from his own personal nightmare....

In another surprise move, you picked your head back up again and reached out to Steve. "I go with Papa," you said quietly, holding your arms out. Steve instantly pulled you into his strong arms, patting your back gently as you rested your chin on his shoulders. Bucky stepped to Steve's side, smoothing your hair from your face.

"Are you sure, baby girl?" Bucky asked you gently, his blue eyes filled with worry. "I can stay with you- it's okay."

You shook your head a bit and snuggled back into Steve. "You a hero Daddy, you gotta go be a hero."

Steve leaned over and gave Bucky a gentle kiss. "It's okay Buck, I got her," he said lovingly. "Go be a hero." Bucky smiled at bit- hearing you and Steve call him a hero helped to heal something that was still a bit broken inside. He gave you a long kiss on the temple.

"I'll be real close by baby, okay? Papa's got you, you're safe. And I'll come back as soon as I can, I promise." Before he could second guess himself, he turned down the hallway towards the interrogation room. Fury watched him walk for a moment, then turned back to Steve.

"If you're up for it, I could use you and Natasha in a strategy meeting with Stark in the conference room in ten," he asked hesitantly, feeling awkward about which way to step with you. Steve patted you on the back and smiled.

"See you there."

You tried to let the bad feelings go while Papa carried you down the hall towards his office. At least you felt slightly less guilty that you'd been clinging so desperately to Bucky all morning, and now were in Steve's arms, showing him how much you needed him too. The thought made you nuzzle gratefully into his neck. He responded with a gentle chuckle and a long kiss on top of your head.

Papa carefully placed your bag in his office, thinking that if you got overstimulated or upset, he could quickly bring you back here to calm you down. He then proceeded to the conference room, hoping that maybe he could get you to fall asleep before the meeting started and catch up on your rest.

But even cuddled in his lap, as he rocked you gently back and forth, you still couldn't get rid of the big feelings. The world was just too large right now, and you were too tired to sleep or cry or do anything other than just try to make yourself smaller and smaller.

After a few minutes, Natasha, Tony, and Fury entered the room. Fury had clearly given them both a heads up, and they came over to both give you a gentle kiss or stroke your cheek before settling into their chairs. The chatter wasn't words that you could follow, so it was soothing to hear voices that you knew and loved. You began to relax just the tiniest bit.

After a while, you started to feel a bit squirmy, like something was wrong. You realized what it was, and so you gently patted Steve's chest to get his attention. He immediately looked down at you with a smile, and that made you feel better. You held up your hand to the side of your mouth and whispered (so you wouldn't interrupt the meeting), "Papa, can I go get Jellybean please?"

"We can go get her together and come right back if you want to, Peanut," he whispered back, not wanting you to put yourself in a stressful position. But you shook your head.

"M'okay," you whispered. "Need Jellybean, please?" Papa smiled wider and gave you peck on the cheek.

"Okay, Peanut, go get her and come right back, okay? You remember how to get to the office?" When you nodded, he sat up a bit and let you climb off his lap. You tried to be as small as possible as you walked to the door, opening it as carefully and quietly as you could. You missed Fury raising an eyebrow at your exit, then turning to Steve for an explanation, as did Nat and Tony. Steve smiled widely at the concern on their faces, touched that they were worried about you too. "She's fine, she's just getting Jellybean." Natasha and Tony nodded in understanding, but Fury looked confused. Steve clarified. "Jellybean is her stuffed bunny."

"I was wondering what happened to her," Natasha said. "She's never without that bunny when she's upset."

"She likes bunnies, huh?" Fury asked, looking at his agents.

"She loves them. She and 'Bean have been inseparable since the first day we got her," Steve answered, smiling softly at the memory of your delighted shriek of joy upon meeting the fuzzy gray bunny. Just then, you pushed open the door just a bit, peering anxiously around the edge, afraid you had disturbed them once again. Fury leaned into your line of sight.

"It's alright, Little One, come on in," he prompted you kindly.

"Thank you Mr. Nick," you said shyly as you squeezed past the door, Jellybean cuddled in the crook of your arm.

"Ah, and I see you've brought Agent Jellybean," Fury continued. You stopped suddenly in your tracks, looking up at Fury in wonder. "Excellent. Let me know if she had any insights to this mess, hmm?" he said to you, gesturing to the screen behind him. "She's one of our best stealth agents, you know."

"She is?" you asked in hushed wonder, perking up the slightest bit. "How do you know?"

"Because I'm the director of SHIELD. I know everything."

You turned to Jellybean. "He knows EVERYTHING," you whispered to the bunny. Fury kept a straight face while both Natasha and Tony bit their lips to contain their laughter. Steve had the sweetest look of both mirth and mischief on his face, touched that one of the toughest, most bad-ass men he knew cared so much about you that he was willing to grant the title of "agent" to a stuffed rabbit, even in play.

"You're damn right, I do. Now let's get on with this meeting," Fury said pompously, turning back to the map as if nothing had happened. Steve's heart melted as he saw the first smile of the day on your face. You still walked as quietly as you could, desperately needing to be back in Steve's arms, but as you cuddled back into your place on Papa's lap, he could feel some of the tension release from your body. He subtly rocked you back and forth until you finally fell asleep, finally calm in his arms with your beloved secret agent bunny.

#daddy!bucky #daddy!bucky x little!reader #daddy bucky #daddy bucky x little reader #daddy stucky #daddy!stucky #daddy stucky x little reader #daddy!stucky x little reader #daddy!steve #daddy!steve x little!reader #daddy steve x little reader #daddy steve #daddy steve rogers #daddy steve rogers x little reader

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totaly-obsessed · 1 year ago

Text

Opposites Attract

Kyra Cooney-Cross x reader

-> Kyra joins Arsenal and is intrigued by their young, quiet midfielder

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The transfer window of the WSL was coming to a close, but that didn’t necessarily mean that everything was set in stone. It was Ian Wright who set the project “KCC to Arsenal” in motion – the people who had to do most of the work however were Steph Catley and Caitlin Foord.

It was their job to convince their fellow Aussie to join them in London. The youngster didn’t need much to be convinced, she was however interested in her new teammates, begging Steph and Cait for introductions.

She obviously knew most of the team already from watching them play the previous seasons and from stories but Steph obliged, while Caitlin excused herself. By this point they had gotten through most of the team, even the new signings when they came to the most important section, according to Kyra – the people her age.

“And then we have the younger ones – obviously the iconic duo of Gio and Katherine. They keep to themselves a lot though, and I am sure you noticed that neither got a lot of game time last season.” Kyra did in fact know that, already having done some of her own research. Gio’s TikTok page looked like she hung out with the blonde Danish girl a good bit.

“Teyah is the youngest, currently in recovery though.” Arsenal had its fair share of people going through rehab, among them Teyah Goldie, Beth Mead, Vivianne Miedema, Leah Williamson, and Laura Wienroither.

“Second youngest is y/n. Keeps to herself a lot, is quiet, and loves her books. Tends to be a little awkward at first.” The young Australian was curious now, she had seen you play - a fellow midfielder - but no matter how hard she tried, there was barely any social media content of you. Your personal account has just one picture with just you in it, which is the signing picture.

“Very close to Kim and Jordan before she left. The nicest girl I know.”

Kyra wanted to know just about everything, being incredibly interested in the mystery that was you.

Her signing was announced on the 15th of September – deadline day. You, like most of the Arsenal players, were in Germany at the Adidas Headquarters in Herzogenaurach – It was nice to be home again. During lunch, sitting beside Kimi you were nose-deep in your newest book when Caitlin and Steph burst onto the outdoor terrace “It’s official! Kyra is coming to Arsenal!” And just like that everybody was excited to meet the young midfielder everyone had heard so much about already.

Upon returning to London everyone met Kyra, who was already on the training pitch, waiting for her new teammates to arrive. Most of the younger girls immediately liked her, starting to joke around – and while the young Australian was incredibly stoked to meet you, she remembered Steph’s words ‘shy and awkward’.

“Hi! I’m Kyra!” You sat next to the pitch, ignoring the break that was usually meant for drinks and reading instead. Your book was always next to the various bottles – Alessia had already tripped over it twice in her time at Arsenal.

“Hi – nice to meet you.” Your smile was a little crooked and unsure, not certain if the brunette would like to have her hand shaken. Kyra however, excited how she was, pulled you into a quick hug and promptly sat down next to you. She didn’t really say anything, just sat there while you read a few pages of your book – handing you a water bottle when Kim asked if you have had anything to drink yet.

The Scot waited for an answer but you didn’t hear her, too deep into your book. A soft nudge to your shoulder made you look to Kyra, who extended an arm with said bottle “You really should drink something.”

Yeah, the first time the two of you talked was awkward. But the brunette would not give up on you, getting closer to you day by day while getting to know your other teammates as well.

Not even two weeks after her signing Kyra was singing in the gym – loudly. While amusing, the sheer loudness the girl possessed, scared you a little. She and Caitlin were messing around on the ceiling-mounted rings, while Steph stood next to them filming the spectacle. In the background, the fans could see you just blatantly staring at the Aussies when Jen came up to you. “You know that you can just talk to her right?”

Your flinching showed the older footballer just how deeply you were distracted. “I don’t know what you mean.” And with that, you were off – but the Australians had already seen you.

“I think you have a better chance than you think Kyra!” The brunette who had her back turned towards you was confused – “What do you mean?”

It turns out that Kyra was much more relentless than you had thought, roping you into one conversation after the other. She even visited you at home, when you were not expecting her - filling your home with endless talks and many giggles.

The Arsenal woman appreciated how far she was willing to go, knowing that you had tried befriending Gio and Kathrine – but due to your shy and closed nature, they thought that you wanted nothing to do with them.

After Jordan left last season you hadn’t been quite the same – the extrovert to your introvert was missing. Kyra however, gladly took the job without even applying for it. She just showed up and stole it – just like your little heart that seemed to beat out of your chest whenever her hand brushed over your back, or when she kept sending you her most mischievous smile.

While Katie liked to make jokes about your inability to speak whenever the brunette was around, it was she who convinced you to ask Kyra out on a date.

She had been very upfront about her feelings towards you and confessed quite early on, but understood that you weren’t ready for anything at that point in time – So she waited for you to make the first move.

It was at your apartment when you asked her out. Kyra had noticed that you seemed off today, however, she didn’t know what was going on – so she filled the silence with her talking, and talking, and even more talking.

This was weird to her.

When it was just the two of you, you usually couldn’t stop talking either, stumbling over your words. “Okay! That’s enough. What is wrong with you?”

Your big eyes staring at her were enough to send Kyra into a deep state of panic, “It’s just- you seem so off! So I thought tha-“

“Go on a date with me?”

The silence was deafening. And just as you were about to ramble, your face already heating up, Kyra jumped quite literally on top of you, hugging you close to her “Yes! Thought you’d never ask!”

#woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross #woso

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sanjisblackasswife · 2 years ago

Note

okay so i had a silly idea and i needed to talk it out… what about… some fun during sex like it’s not embarrassing but you’re there fucking and then start to joke around and laugh or argue for fun… while fucking at the same time…. with the monster trio + law…. please timi ily 💞💕💓💗💖💘💝💞💞💝💖

“𝔽𝕦𝕟𝕟𝕪 𝕄𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝔻𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕊𝕖𝕩 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕞”

its not a silly idea lowkey reminds me of them funny moments of sex i did w them but anyways i Immediately thought of the different possibilities with Luffy🌚

Black Fem Reader

Ft. Sanji, Luffy, Law, Zoro

CW: Sex, but clumsy sex, laughter, established relationships

Luffy

One of the best things about sex with Luffy is that there is never a dull moment.

He makes sex so intimate yet exciting and most of all funny and sweet

For example, Luffy noticed how sore your body was from a very intense battle days prior and he suggested in giving you a massage since you always begged him to give you one

“Let me give you a message!”

“….a what.”

“A message! that thing you been asking me to do where I put my hands on your back—“

“A MASSAGE?!”

“Yeah thats what I said!”

You got naked, and Luffy didnt understand so he got naked too. Not necessarily questioning him, he was sitting on top of you, dick on your ass as he casually rubs oil on your back while you lay on your tummy.

“Mmmm thank you, Lu. You’re really good at this.”

“Don’t sound so surprised! You always said I’m good with my hands, like when i finger yo—-“

“OKAY LUFFY!”

It was a surprisingly nice silence between you both just for a while , but of course, Luffy being a guy, and with the slight friction and sounds of your pretty moans he started to get hard.

Luffy can usually ignore his boners but in his mind he doesn’t see why to do so if you’re both naked and in bed.

“Hm…um…Y/N…?”

“Hm?”

It was silence for a moment, you didn’t bother to open your eyes, being patient to hear what he has to say, instead you feel something tap your buttcheek.

It was Luffy. Non verbally asking to fuck you by slapping his tip on you.

“Yes, Lu.” You sigh playfully to his request, he giggles, thanking you for letting him slide himself inside you, he hovers over your back a bit, both hands forming gripping your ass as his hips thrust up into you like a dog. You’d be a liar to say his whimpers and pants from behind wasn’t riling you up more.

“Right~ there ah!~” The sounded of skin slapping as his cock dragged in and out, slightly hitting that small sweet spot on the left really had you so close to cumming until—

“Dammit!”

Luffy’s hands slipped, the oil and precum that was mixed on your ass caused him to lose balance and fall atop of you, and to make matters worse he slid off your wet body to then fall off the bed, holding your waist to bring you down in the process.

“Wha—!?”

So here you were, now on top of Luffy, oily, naked and on the floor of the rug. You both stare in confusion for a moment not registering what happened after you both shrieked. The silence overtook the room until Luffy began to burst out laughing with you.

“Why did you fall?!”

“Ion know..” Luffy kept giggling looking down at your lower body, adjusting you to slide back down on his cock, because sure you both kinda ruined the sexual mood, but that doesn’t stop him. “Just ride me then like you did last week.”

You groan, he was so exhausting, and as much as you wanted to protest, he smiled at you, his hair reverting back to it’s fluffy curly state due to sweat. Luffy kisses your lower lip and lays his head down to thrust up into you.

You didn’t mind at that point to finish sex on the floor.

It was Luffy after all.

Zoro

You and Zoro always bicker when like this and something doesnt go either of your guys’ way.

You both could be doing doggy style and Zoro gets pissy because you’re not letting him “do all the work”

It still ends with you both fucking like rabbits, but it’s still such a funny sight to see

“Are you trying to suck the soul out of me?!” Zoro literally was pulling you off his overstimulated dick since you wanted to suck him through his next orgasm, his face was so red and hot you nearly felt bad for how much you gave him a blissful sting after just orgasming.

“Yes, actually…” You smirked, small string of your spit and his cum falling down the corner of your lip, Zoro rolls his eyes .His shakey hand touches your face to wipe the fluid off your face to then put his thumb in your mouth.

“Shut up.” He grumbled, you roll your eyes, arms crossed between his legs suckling his thumb, you whine feeling Zoro place you on your back, upset you no longer have his digit swirling around your slutty tongue. “No more of that shit with you.”

“What shit.” You pout.

“Being so fucking pissy when you don’t get your way.”

“I always get my way so of course I’m ganna be pissy when I—AH~!”

Zoro wraps your thighs around his waist, you don’t even know when he pushed his way in your pussy all you could do was quickly grab onto his shoulders.

“Y-you! Fuck— asshole!” Complaining yet non stop moans hit your green haired boyfriend’s ear, you could feel his sly smirk against your neck while you try to get him to slow down.

You hated how easily he can make you melt once he is on top of you, his weight against yours, grunting and breathing harshly, almost as if he was trying to prove a point he begins talking in between strokes.

“You’re always—-so fucking—-annoying when you don’t listen to me.”

“Fuck! You! I don’t have to listen to shit!”

“Oh yeah?”

In an instant Zoro presses his lips against yours, allowing one hand you move your head closer as he forces his tongue inside you mouth, and just like he predicted you couldn’t help yourself but to latch onto it moaning.

“You’re so full of shit—MMPH!”

You can keep talking your shit, it doesn’t matter to Zoro, he loves it actually, your words as naughty as your body begging for more and he does just that.

You both don’t know what it is about acting out this love/hate relationship during sex, but it fuels you both into some of the best moments in bed, with even sweeter moments afterwards, wtih Zoro holding you close against his tired worn body, and your limp one, kissing you lazily as he praises how well you took him.

That man really falls for you harder each time.

Sanji

It’s kinda common for you both to have a few hiccups when having sex, he still has his moments where the overwhelming pleasure of you naked and touching him gets the best of his actions.

You wanted to ride him, Sanji was always trying to be “against” it only because the mere thought of your breast jiggling in his face, your pussy around his dick and your ass slamming down on him gets him in a very shocked state where he can’t even produce coherent words

He’s afraid he wont be able to last long.

Not like you care, you loved seeing him crumble under you.

“Pleasseee, please please pleaseee.”

You never really have to beg much for Sanji to say yes, but for this case you do and finally after 45 whole minutes of naughty touching and kissing behind his ear as he was in the kitchen he agrees

So, you did the usual; sucked his dick, praised him, got him way more riled up than needs to be and you decide its time to finally sink down onto his dick.

Well you do and not even 2 bounces in he is whimpering like a slut, and cumming like a whore.

“Wait wait wait waitttttt—FUCK!” Sanji holds you down, the harsh grip on your waist as his own hips stutter slamming up into make you cry out he leans into your breast, breath barely escaping his mouth, “You’re too good at this…”

You roll your eyes, your blondie actually looked cute so worn in the face already , sucking your bottom lip as you feel him twitch inside you, his cum making a mess of your thighs.

“You came alot…” You kiss and rub his head, you can hear him pout, Sanji felt embarrassed, usually he is able to at least TRY to not cum before you, but it was all too overwhelming for him.

“It’s okay, Ji…” You laugh picking his head up to cup his blushed cheeks, “I’m glad I make you feel good.”

“You make me feel like I died and went to Heaven but….”

….

“Your pussy is a damn weapon of itself.” He mumbles, covering his attitude by smothering his face back into your breast, You let out a chuckle , his vulgar words during sex never cease to make you turned on and flustered, considering he tries not to speak such filthy words outside of the bedroom.

“Just relax we have all night——MMPHH!?”

Amazed by the swiftness of his speed, Sanji already had you on your back, small light kisses against your lips he looks down to realign himself.

You moan softly, feeling the way his tip was wiggling against your sensitive clit, your noises bring his eyes to snap at you, Sanji always had a tendency of seeing your face the moment he pushes himself inside.

“You don’t have to—ah!” Throwing your head back on the fluffy pillow, the shift in his hips bring you to nip at your lip,

“Dammit I wish you could see your face right now.” Sanji whispered against your lips, his damp hair tickling your cheek, “You’re so fucking hot.”

Your mixtures of moans and giggles were intoxicating to the man, wrapping your arms and legs around him you crack a smile, “You’re so —-cute…”

Sanji blushes, once again feeling himself get close, he buried his face in your neck, breathless laughs hit your skin as his thrust transition from fast and shallow to deeper and slower.

You hum in content, rubbing his nape, “You’re cuter….way cuter….” Sanji finally lets out holding your hips to rock against his. You both coming close to a blissful orgasm to share together, he finally collapsed atop of you, peppering your neck in kisses, praising you softly.

“Thank you for the meal…or whatever.”

You share another laugh with him under the covers.

He was so cute when he got like this. And it was all for you.

Law

You are just a little shit and he knows it.

You always have to make him more stressed than what he is

Law swears up and down you get off to annoying him more than actually fucking him

Like now.

Law agreed to let you sit on his face, it’s been a rough day for you both but as doing so you nearly kill him.

“Why are you trying to suffocate me.”

“Because…”

“Because why?!”

“….you made me upset.”

Law knows why you’re “upset”, so he groans,

“I told you Bepo needed me. I’m here now arent i?”

“You love Bepo more than me just say it.” You pouted, your thick thighs beside his face as you sit bare naked atop of him.

Law sighs, his hands creep to your hips and traces shapes on your fatty dark skin, “C’mon….sit again. But don’t fucking kill me this time.”

You turned your head, huffing, you weren’t actually upset but being a brat came second nature to you. And Law knew it which is why when you got like this, when you didn’t “get your way” he took matters into his own hands.

Or moreso tongue.

“L-Law?!”

Pushing your lower body back on his mouth he looks up at you, his eyes peering up to grab your arms and guide them against the headboard to hold yourself up.

“S-stop—ah! Stop it im mad at y-yyou.” You rocked your hips, trying to move away and yet the flat of his tongue gliding and sliding against your slippery slit just turned him on more, just enough to pull out his own dick to stroke it.

You turn to notice, “Pervert!”

Law winks at you, “Then do it yourself. I felt you clench anyways when you seen it. So who’s the real pervert?”

“You fucker—“

Pushing you lower against his mouth and holding down your thighs, you felt the vibrations of his groans, your pervy tatted boyfriend always gets so caught up in tasting you, that you nearly get lost in the pleasure yourself.

“L-Law!…~”

You reach with one hand to stroke his shaft, grinding against his nose, hearing the wet sounds below you.

“I’m still—hm! mad at you!”

That earned you a smack to the ass, “Yeah yeah be mad and cum on my tongue.” Law muffled on your clit, you wanted to curse him out so badly, and almost like he read your mind you could feel his 2 thicker fingers stretch your tiny hole, bringing you closer to,

“‘m close!” You moaned out picking up your pace with your hand so he can cum with you.

You could hear his whimpers and heavy breathing, making a mess of your palms and knuckles as he bucked into your touch, You knew he’d be super sensitive right after cumming, but you decided to turn yourself around and “clean him up”.

“WH-WAIT WAIT WAIT—FUCK Y/N!” Law’s voice broke trying to sit up, feeling your slutty lips sucking and licking his twitching tip, “N-NOT NOW!”

“Mmhmm” You hummed mockingly against his shaft, “I’m just ganna clean you up.”

He knew exactly what you were doing, and as painfully good as your mouth felt he couldn’t submit so easily to your demise, so he “returned the favor”, by moving you back on his face.

“St-stop it!”

“What?” Law teased, before giving your clit a kiss, “I’m just cLeAnInG yOu Up.”

The sheering competitiveness of you both lasted a while on who can make who cum first.

It was a tie.

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