#the therapist pointed out i was as tight as a knot in my shoulders | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

your-eternal-muse · 5 years ago

Text

Kinda Wish She Were Dead

Heather Series Part 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Bonus! Readers Card Confession Series Playlist

Summery: During a night out on the town with the girls, Reader see’s something she wasn’t supposed to.

Words: 3.7k (my longest yet!)

Warnings: Swearing, a few sexual innuendos, Cheating, Mentions of Alcohol, and a fabulous right hook.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Heather Carmichael, Spencer Reid x eventual Female!Reader

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one....turn it up! Also, the song that inspired this chapter. For the meaning of the song, not that fucking boat scene.

~~~~

It’s hot.

Like “laying naked in the middle of your apartment with the air cranked and every fan blowing on you” hot.

I’m one of the lucky ones.

My old apartment was renovated to include central air a few years before I moved in.

Still, the humidity was smothering.

So why was I putting a full face of makeup on, knowing damn well I’m gonna sweat it off before the end of the night?

Because why the hell not?

It’s the first time I’ve made plans with the girls in months, and I deserve to feel pretty, even if only for an hour or two.

My therapist tells me I’m making progress.

And it finally feels like I am.

I don’t hate the day before it even starts when I wake up.

I hardly close my curtains anymore.

I’d like to say that with her help, everything went back to normal.

I go to work and come home. I hang out with my friends, water my potted plants. Talk to Spencer like I never confessed my love for him.

But it didn’t.

I haven’t really spoken to Spencer since the day I left.

I’ve wanted to.

I’ve wanted to tell him that I’m here. I’m still here. That I’m always going to be here.

That I care about him more than probably life itself.

Ever since I came back, we’ve had to work together, and we’ve had a few small conversations, but nothing like what we used to have.

I crave those conversations.

How we would bounce back and forth from idea to idea, topic to topic without so much as breaking a sweat.

The late night conversations about the probability of aliens, and life on the opposite side of the universe.

I crave him, and the intimacy he brought.

Lately though, he’s been coming to work with a sullen look on his face.

He shows up earlier, and stays later, drowning himself in his paperwork.

When her calls interrupt a caseload, he no longer eagerly picks up to hear what she has to say.

All I want to do is walk over and ask him how he’s doing. How the married life is treating him. If there’s anything I can do to help lift his spirits.

But I can’t.

I’d be overstepping a boundary I didn’t even know I created that night out on the balcony.

Knocking on my door snaps me out of my daze, and I quickly cap my lipstick, making my way towards my front door where my night stands, waiting.

JJ, Emily, and Penelope are waiting, big smiles and laughter bubbling from their lips.

I let the smile spread across my face.

“I just need to grab my shoes and then I’ll be ready.” I usher them into my hallway, running back to my bedroom to grab the pair of heels resting by my closet.

I sit on my bed, slipping them on with ease and grabbing my bag on my way out.

They all ooh and ahh when I step into the light of my kitchen, and JJ grabs my hand, twirling me in place so they can get a better look at my outfit.

“I almost forgot you had party attire, y/n.”

“God, I wish I had an ass like that. I’m older than you. That’s not fair.” Emily says, landing a playful slap against the fabric of my skirt.

“Oh stop it, you flatter me.” Once upon a time, the attention would have made me antsy. The voice in my head would whisper that they were lying to me, that they really thought I was the ugliest thing in existence.

That was then, and this is now. Now the confidence shines off of me like a spotlight.

“You deserve to be flattered, you beautiful goddess you.” Penelope says, her hands waving in the air.

I take a look in the new mirror that hangs in my hallway, and I can’t help but agree. The tight black skirt accentuates my curves, the low cut golden crop top that sticks to me like another skin puts the girls on display, and my heels give me legs for days.

I look damn good.

“Okay okay okay, pre-game selfie!” Penelope grabs her phone and holds up in front of her while we gather around.

She snaps the picture and within a few quick taps, a buzzing emits from my bag.

I dig my phone out, seeing the picture pop up in my notifications.

JJ has her arms wrapped around me, and I’m pressed to Penelope's side. Emily stands over us, one hand on JJ’s shoulder, the other on Penelopes.

I don’t think I could fake a smile like the one on my face even if I wanted to.

I save it to my phone.

~~~

If I thought being in my house, alone, with air conditioning was bad, then I shouldn't have even bothered coming out.

The bar, albeit small, was packed.

Even if there was a breeze, or any airflow at all, the combined body heat of the crowd would have swallowed it up.

I couldn’t really bring it in me to care all that much, though.

The dim lights and heat left my skin with a sexy shine, bringing attention to all the right places.

I could feel the eyes on me.

The ones belonging to men wanting to drown their sorrows in a woman like me, one who appears vulnerable, willing to go along for the ride.

It’s been a while, since I’ve had the attention of the opposite gender, especially this very specific kind of attention.

It feels good, in a way. To be wanted so openly. But it doesn’t mean jack to me, not if it’s not the pair of eyes I’ve been desperate to catch.

I should stop thinking about him.

It’s a girls night out. I don’t have to think, or worry about anything.

Besides, he’s probably busy doing other things. Thinking about me is the last thing on his mind.

I laugh and take a sip from the Shirley temple sitting in front of me, laughing as JJ recounts a story about will and a botched attempt at breakfast in bed.

I pick a cherry up from the fizzy drink, and bite the end off, relishing in the sweet flavor. I pop the stem in my mouth, twirling it around my tongue as I listen to the conversation, pulling it between my teeth and setting it down on the table in a knot.

“Oh my god. Did you just tie a cherry stem with your tongue?” Penelope is cheesing from the other side of the table, the bright pink straw of her margarita almost to her lips.

I laugh, holding it up for them to inspect.

“You know what that means.” Emily says, taking a sip from her own drink, before continuing her thought. “You, my friend, can give great head.”

A blush covers my cheek, but I cock an eyebrow. “Who told you?”

The three women burst into high pitched laughter, and I see Pen pull out her phone. She holds it up to me.

“Do it again. The internet needs to be blessed with this knowledge.”

I chuckle again, the spirit of the night enough to get me drunk off the energy. I grab another cherry from my drink, sucking the end into my mouth before popping it off, and swallowing it.

“Alright, we have one, untied cherry stem before us.” I hold out the stem for the camera to see. “Now watch as I tie it with no hands.” I stick out my tongue, placing it in the middle before closing my mouth.

I rest my elbows on the table, working my tongue around the stem, forcing it into submission to do exactly what I want.

Within 15 seconds, I pull it through my teeth, and hold up a tied cherry stem.

“Ta-da! Magic.” I place it on the table as they clap, smiles wide and goofy from their own alcoholic concoctions.

“She’s single people. And there’s a line forming so shoot your shot.” JJ is the one to speak to the camera, and I giggle, taking another sip.

Penelope brings her phone down, and within a minute my phone buzzes again, this time with the notification of the video being posted.

There are worse things to be posted on the internet about me.

“I never knew you could do that, y/n/n.” Pen says, taking a sip from her drink.

I run a hand through my hair, shrugging. “Didn’t think I needed to put it on my resume. It’s mostly a party trick I use when I like someone. I haven’t used it in years though.”

The unspoken question lingers on the air.

“No, I never showed Spencer. But I’m sure it’d blow his mind. The way that man applies math and logic to everything he does just solidifies the fact that I know he wouldn’t be able to do it.”

It’s been a while since I’ve joked about him openly, but it wasn’t forced. It didn’t hurt.

It was just a natural statement.

“Have you guys noticed that something’s up with him? He seems distant lately.” JJ says, leaning in closer so she doesn’t have to talk over the crowd.

“Okay, so it’s not just me.” I reply, playing with the straw in my drink.

“It’s gotta be something at home. I mean, he doesn’t even remotely act the way that he did when him and Heather first got together.” Emily's eyes look me up and down, reading my body language, but I’m done hiding.

I let the building anger ripple through me.

“He seems...sad. And not like, normal Reid sad where it has to do with his mom or something, no this is like..” she stops herself from continuing the sentence.

I finish it for her. “It’s like, me, sad.”

JJ sighs. “I hate to say it, but do you think it has anything to do with Heather?”

A glass shatters across the room, and like the red sea, the crowd parts.

Everything happens in no more than a couple seconds, but it feels like a lifetime.

Through the empty space, I see two people standing at the bar. The woman has her hands wound into the man's shirt, her body turned as she laughs at someone behind her, I’m assuming the one who dropped the glass.

The man has his hands gripped on her hips, smiling into her hair, before she turns back around, connecting their lips in the most disgusting kiss I have had the displeasure of witnessing.

The rage builds swiftly in my stomach and it pulses from my soul outward. The world’s tint changes and I see red.

“Even if it doesn’t right now, it will.”

When the hell did I stand up?

They stand with me, and I’m about to argue my point when Emily speaks. “You want something to record, Garcia?” She moves by me, fixing my hair, handing me her glass which holds a swig of her drink left. “Record this.”

I take it, downing it for a little liquid luck, and start for the bar, the three of them on my heels.

I profile him as best I can in the 20 seconds it takes to get through the now reforming crowd.

There’s a gold ring on his hand. His pants and shirt are dirty, and his boots are thick. He works in something having to do with construction, which means he’s probably done around 5 every night, and I know for a fact that it is way past that.

I walk up to them, grabbing her shoulder and pulling them apart, stepping in between them, getting face to face to him.

“Before you even think about laying a hand on me, my name is SSA Y/L/N of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the F.B.I. From the look of your clothes and the ring on your finger, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that your wife is waiting for you at home.”

His hand instinctively falls to his back pocket.

“And since you just reached for what I’m assuming is your phone, she’s called you multiple times tonight. She knows. Now, fuck off and maybe you can salvage things with her, but believe me when I say this,” His breath smells sour. “You aren’t even half the man that she’s married to.”

He opens his mouth to say something, looking from me, to Heather, to the three women surrounding her, keeping her from leaving, and the camera pointed directly at his face.

He looks back down to me, and huffs, stepping back and walking in the other direction.

For a moment, I stare at where he stood.

And then a fire ignites in my stomach and it takes everything in me to not beat the girl standing behind me.

I turn, and lightning strikes behind her eyes.

“You’re not gonna tell him.”

“Like hell I’m not!” I take a step forward, and she takes one back, bumping into Emily who has her arms crossed, and her shoulders raised. “You know, I tried so hard to give you the benefit of the doubt, Heather. You made him happy and I honestly thought you loved him, but I realize now that he deserves someone so much better than you.”

“Oh what, someone like you?” She’s snide, her demeanor defensive and cocky at the same time. She thinks she’s gonna come out on top of this.

“You know what? Yes. Someone like me. Someone who wouldn’t even think about doing this to him, because the amount of pain that he is about to go through doesn’t even come close to the stupid fucking reward. Oh, so you slept with some douchebag because what? You’re not getting enough attention?” The words are cathartic, leaving my belly with the venom that has been brewing there for the past 2 and half years.

“I found your letter. I was right about you.”

That would have stopped me in my tracks 6 months ago. Now I don’t even flinch.

“Oh honey, it’s not a fucking secret anymore. You want to hear me say it? I love him. I am in love with Spencer fucking Reid, and the only reason that he is with you, is because I was a decent human being and could see that you made him happy, so I kept my mouth shut. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t give a flying fuck what happens now, because whatever it is, it has to be better than being with a lying, cheating bitch like you.”

“You think he’s gonna run to you? Is that what you’re hoping for? He’s not gonna believe you. And even if he did, I’d turn on the water works and make him believe it was just this one time.”

She doesn’t know she’s being filmed.

I turn to the bartender. “Excuse me, is she a regular here?”

The bartender smirks, wiping down the wood. “Yep. She comes in at least a couple times a week with that dude you kicked to the curb. They almost always leave together.”

Heather scoffs, crossing her arms. “Again, he’ll never believe you.”

“You sure about that hot stuff?” Penelope steps forward, shoving the camera in her face. “Smile for the camera.”

Heather's eyes go wide, before turning to me. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would do it for a fucking corn chip.”

I place my hands on my hips, getting so close to her our noses almost touch. My voice is dangerously low when I speak. “Either you tell him everything or I will. And trust me. I have my ways of finding out if you did.”

I step back, wishing the daggers in my eyes could inflict actual pain, as I turn to walk away.

I hear her shout in frustration before I feel her hands on my back, pushing me forward into the mass of people.

A couple people unaware of the confrontation help me back up with a smile, thinking I’ve just drunkenly tripped over myself.

Emily and JJ each hold one of my arms, making sure I’m stable, while Penelope keeps filming a look of shock on her face.

A wicked smile forms on my face.

I was hoping she’d do something like that.

I turn and my fist connects with her face, a nice cracking noise satisfying the lust building in my chest, as a thin coat of blood covers my knuckles.

Though, it’s not my blood.

She’s holding her nose in pain as she falls to the floor, taking down a bar stool with her, and I swear I see the bartender laugh.

I grab a napkin off the bar, wiping my knuckles before throwing it on the floor by her feet.

“C’mon girls. The night is still young.”

I see them cover their own smiles with their hands, and Penelope starts to giggle the shock away.

I know I should feel bad. It was unprofessional of me.

But she shoved me first.

It is, legally, self-defense.

Is it sick that I wish she would have punched me?

It doesn’t matter anyway. I know she won’t press charges. She’s smart enough to know she just dug her grave.

And now she has to lie in it.

~~~~

The atmosphere is different when I walk into the office the next morning.

It’s tense.

And one look from JJ and an inhale of air tells me why.

Spencer’s here.

I barely have time to set my bag down on my desk, before he grabs me suddenly by the arm, dragging me into a nearby conference room.

The anger is rolling off of him in waves, and I can see by the way he clenches and unclenches his fists, he is pissed.

He almost throws me into the room, slamming the door behind him.

“You want to tell me why the fuck you punched Heather in the face for no damn reason?”

Stupid, stupid girl.

Did she not think, that the way I would find out, would be from Spencer himself?

I can’t help but shake my head and laugh. “She didn’t tell you.”

“She told me that she was having a drink with a girlfriend of hers when you came up drunk, yelling at her, until you just punched her. Can you explain that to me?”

He’s finally yelling at me. After months of begging for him to yell at me, he finally is.

It doesn’t feel as good as I had hoped it would.

I don’t say anything, just pull out my phone to find the video that Garcia sent me.

“Are you serious right now, Y/N? Put your fucking phone down and explain to me why you broke my wife's nose!”

I sit in a chair, setting the phone on the table and sliding it towards him. I lean back and cross my hands over my stomach.

“Watch the video, Spencer.”

“Why? Why should I listen to anything you tell me?”

I lean forward, onto my elbow, annunciating every syllable. “Watch the damn video.”

He stands, and I watch as he fights with himself, before huffing in defeat, sitting in a chair and pulling my phone towards him.

He presses play.

I watch as his anger flows away with each passing second, despair taking its place.

This is what I wasn’t looking forward to. Seeing him see it for the first time.

Watching him break.

It wasn’t pretty.

I watch as tears form in his eyes and silently drop down his cheeks.

He clenches his jaw as he watches her shove me, and the punch that followed.

The room is dead quite when the video ends.

I’m the one who speaks first, my voice soft.

“I punched her, because she had the audacity to do this. She had the audacity to hurt you, and flaunt that fact publicly.”

I swallow, taking a breath before speaking.

“I meant everything I said in that video, Spence.”

He looks up at the nickname, his anger no longer directed at me.

“She hurt you, and I saw red. I didn’t think about what I was doing, and frankly, I’m glad I didn’t. I don’t regret standing up for you. I never have, and I never will.” I clasp my hands together, forcing myself to continue.

“I love you Spencer. I don’t think that’s ever going to change. I’m going to have to live with you finding other people and falling in love, and I promise you, I will support you in that. But not with her. Not after that. You deserve so much better than a girl who thinks she can get away with this just because she’s pretty and jealous.”

He taps a couple things on my phone, before turning the screen off and sliding it back over to me.

He stands.

I don’t. I continue talking as he walks over to me.

“You mean everything to me, Spence. If I know you’re happy, truly happy, then I’m satisfied. I will defend you until the end of the universe comes. You are my best friend, and I love you. And I’m sorry I was never upfront about it before, but I am now.”

I look up at him as he stands in front of me. “I’m done hiding from you.”

He’s still for a moment.

He reaches down and grabs my hands, pulling me up before he wraps his arms around my waist and buries himself into my neck.

I pause, but only for a moment, before wrapping my arms around him and holding him tight against me.

I can feel the wet spots on my neck as he cries, and his hands wind themselves into the fabric of my shirt.

When was the last time he was held like this?

I don’t count the time until he loosens his grip, stepping back from me and wiping his face.

I would hold him until the end of time if he let me.

“Thank you.” He whispers, before moving towards the door.

He opens it and walks out, and I grab my phone, running after him.

I stop in the doorway.

“Hey!”

He stops and turns, and the rest of the team is watching over their files.

My heart is pounding, and I feel out of breath.

“I don’t have a choice,” I let him remember. “But I still choose you.”

A small smile flutters across his face, before he turns and walks away.

I look down at my phone.

Spence xp

[Video]

Sent, 9:06 a.m.

Permanent Tag List: @criminalcow @pinkdiamond1016 @eternityofaxiom @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @marvels-gurl @theamuz @write-from-the-heart @sungieeeeeee @mjloveskids666 @chococereal @itzsoff @gia-kerks @doctorspencereid @imsuperawkward @andreasworlsboring101 @itsmoony @cielo1984 @heistmaster69 @nevvvv @theseuscmander @complementaryvacuum @waywardswain @lindaze @urie-bowie-mercury

Heather Tag List: @drsoftboyreid @racerparker @avaholcombe @rodgertayloroof @stephanieisgay330 @swiftspaperings @rainsong01 @darthseph @liaabsurd @tracyn910 @holypicklelightnickel @pianofirepirate @radtwinkie @madcrazy50 @bweakmybonez @constantlywishingonstars @l0ve-0f-my-life @expressiodepressio @flannelpjpants @x-midnight-violets-x @kwyloz @todaynotseen @caitlin-f @mylovehes @spencerreidsimptime @yoongi-holland @vamp-army @realimbo @stardream14 @magicbeanssss @jessaminelovelace @darthvadersturd @nikkilikewhoa @mellifluouswildbluebells @lex-rodgers-sheild @crist1216 @voguekristens @doctorspencrreid @girlwithcrocs @harryscherrymoon @cherriesnwatermelons @heyitssomegirl101 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @colorfulsunflowerx @falcon-arrows @hereforbeebo @legallyplatinumblonde @thatsonezesty13

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid series #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds series #cm #mathew gray gubler #mgg #heather #song fic #conan gray

691 notes · View notes

moldisgoodforyou · 4 years ago

Text

lost time ch. 5.5

soooo it’s not the next part of study abroad fic like i promised but i wanted this one out of the drafts. pls enjoy

wordcount: 3.6k

warnings: all smut - this is part of chapter five and then a what if they actually fucked lmao

_____

They kept kissing for a while, Sophie lazily toying with the ends of his hair. After a couple minutes, he started kissing along her jaw, sucking just enough at a spot on her neck to elicit a soft moan from her. “I wish I came as your date.” He murmured against her skin as he traced his thumb back and forth over her hip. She froze at his confession, her head clouded without a clear thought. “You’re drunk.” She mumbled back, hand falling from his neck. “I’m not.” He argued, kissing her again. She could taste the rum on his lips, betraying his words.

“Well, I am.” She replied softly, hesitating again until he went in for another kiss. “And I’m still mad about your stupid death cup rule.” He scoffed, softly, but sounded more amused than anything. “You can’t call house rules when it’s not your house.” Sophie scowled and pressed her hand a little harder against his chest. “It’s more my house than yours. Can’t you just follow the rules?” He chuckled, trailing his hand higher and ran his index finger lightly along her spine. “Do you ever stop arguing, Soph?” She shivered at his touch, willing herself not to move closer. “Not with you.”

“Can we…?” He asked with a broad grin, tipping his head toward their houses, just a short walk away.

She paused, considering. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He challenged, stepping closer and backing her up against the wall. She swallowed and felt her heart threatening to beat out of her chest, then willed herself not to think about it any longer - if she did, she’d back herself out of it. “I just. We’re - we’re not going to -” She stammered, and he raised his eyebrows. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” She decided, pushing him a little so she could slip out from under him and walk off the back porch, then around the house. He snorted as he followed her. “Walking through the house isn’t an option for you?”

“Not really a fan of everyone thinking we hooked up.” She lied, striding down the sidewalk determinedly.

He furrowed his brow and jogged to catch up with her, confused. “I thought you said -”

“I did. We’re going to.”

“Then why -”

“It doesn’t matter, god, do you always ask so many questions?” She snapped frustratedly, hating herself as she did. She was better than this, wasn’t she? Being mean to Rafe had always been a coping mechanism to hide the inkling of a crush she’d had on him all those years.

He fell silent, frowning as he followed. Maybe this was a bad idea, right? Some small part of his brain reminded him of the one time he saw a therapist in training, as a favor to a friend also in the psychology major, and the therapist had told him he sounded like he was a little too comfortable allowing people in who repeatedly hurt him. All that after only thirty minutes of meeting the person and a few confessions. Probably bullshit, he always figured, it was just because he was in a vulnerable spot right after he was dumped by Brooklyn and shared a little too much.

They got to his house faster than he expected, and he offered his hand as they walked through the door. He was surprised when she accepted it, a little tentatively, and hoped she couldn’t feel his pulse through his palm. “My room’s just up here.”

“Okay. I like the house, it’s cool.” A lot of their flirty energy had died down and turned to nervous energy, and she wished she’d wiped her palm on her skirt before taking his hand.

“It was built in 1932 or something like that, it actually used to be the governor’s mansion -” He started, only to be interrupted by her. “I know. I had to do a research project on it once, I have the blueprints.”

“Oh.” He showed her into his room, thankful that he’d cleaned up earlier that day, and dropped her hand as he shut the door behind her. “So. Here it is.”

“Rafe?” She took a step closer, trapping him against the door like he’d had her earlier. Had he always had that little smattering of freckles across his nose? They were so faint by now she could hardly see it, but for a moment she wondered what they’d look like in summer, across his tanned skin.

“Yeah?” His hands found her waist easily and he dared to tease his thumb along the elastic of her skirt, nearly making her shudder.

“I didn’t really come here to talk.”

“Right.” He glanced between her eyes and her lips, tongue darting out briefly to wet his own.

She seemed amused, raising her eyebrows. “Am I always gonna have to make the first move?”

He shook his head quickly and leaned down, and she wasn’t sure who kissed who first. Their lips met hard in a heated kiss and it wasn’t long until he reached down and tapped one hand under her thigh. She took the hint and jumped to wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, rolling her hips a little into him.

He supported her with both hands under her thighs and groaned into her mouth as she rolled her hips. Her already-short skirt was halfway up her waist already so there was nearly nothing between them, especially considering his half-unbuttoned shirt and tight pants that left nothing to the imagination.

“Bed.” She breathed out, working at the rest of the buttons down his shirt. He nodded and gently dropped her down onto the bed, then looked up at her with a curious glance as he went to tug off her halter top. “Can I?”

“Yeah, here let me.” She nodded, sitting up just enough to wrestle off the top. He bit hard on his tongue as her breasts came loose, then reached out and cupped them, running his thumbs over her nipples and smirked. “You need to stop hiding these under those big hoodies you wear to class.”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll start just having my tits out in class.” She rolled her eyes, shoving his shirt off his shoulders. “Totally reasonable.”

He laughed and pushed her up the bed, pressing kisses down her throat and along her collarbone. “Sounds perfect to me.” She moaned when he hit the perfect spot at the base of her neck, leaving a red mark sure to bruise. “Rafe.”

He paused for a moment and had to will himself not to cum in his pants just at that sound alone. “Hm?”

“Do you really have to leave hickeys like we’re fifteen?” She threaded her fingers in his hair, wanting to touch nearly every inch of his skin. If she was going to do this once - and she swore she wouldn’t do it again - she was going to make it count.

“Do you not like them?” As if to prove a point, he sucked another one at the swell of her breast, then skated his teeth along her nipple as he moved further down. Her grip tightened in his hair and she let her head fall back, gasping. “Just - fuck - just not where anyone can see.”

“I can do that.” He affirmed, taking his time to leave little kisses and marks all over her chest. She grit her teeth when it went on a little too long, shifting around below him. “Cameron - you can -”

“Yeah?” He lifted his head and moved up to kiss her again but she whined in protest, pressing his head back down. “Come on.”

“Where do you want me?”

“Rafe.”

“I need words, Soph.”

She scowled, not wanting to admit it any way that she was enjoying herself. “You’re just trying to hold something over me.”

He smirked, thoroughly amused. “I’m trying to fuck you, actually, if you’ll let me.”

“Do you always take this long?” She reached for the zipper of his pants in between them and he laughed, pushing her hand away. “Are you this annoying with every man you sleep with?”

“It’s not like I’ll come that way anyways.” She mumbled under her breath and he paused, cocking his head a little. Sophie hated that she wanted to comb her fingers through his beautiful floppy hair.

“You’ve never come from someone touching you?” He asked, a little softer, gentler with his touch. She huffed and shook her head, not wanting to add that she’d hardly come from sex anyways. “No. Now can we just -”

“No, no, I’m going to take my time.” He declared, moving down her body and nipped along her hips, the waistband of her skirt, then slowly unbuttoned her skirt and looked up at her. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She breathed out, embarrassed at how much control he had over her.

He carefully slid her skirt down her legs and let it fall to the ground, then nudged her legs open, positioning himself in between them.

“What are you - oh, fuck.” She cursed as he placed an open-mouthed kiss directly on her clothed clit. He smirked against her and pushed her legs a little wider, then kissed along her inner thighs, peppering kisses along the hem of her panties.

“Can I?” He asked, hooking his fingers in the sides of her thong. She nodded quickly and he pulled it down - just a little bit - then took it in both hands, ripped it clean in half and stuffed it in his back pocket.

“Did you just -” She sat up a little, trying to close her legs, but he nudged them back open, giving her a wolfish grin. “Yeah, I wanted a souvenir.”

“Oh my fucking god.” Sophie laughed a little in disbelief, but it quickly turned into a moan as he licked a wide stripe up her center, wasting no time. He grinned and replaced his tongue with his fingers, first one then two, as he glanced up at her. “Soaked just for me?”

“In your dreams.” She bit back and he shook his head with a grin. Only she could keep up an argument during sex. “You’re in them more often than you’d think, sweetheart.”

As much as she wanted to hate sweetheart, it felt like a knot was forming in her stomach just from the nickname alone. All she could manage in response was just “oh?”

He smirked and continued his ministrations, slow pumps in and out combined with flicks of his tongue over her clit, slowly building up to it. She whined a little, biting her lip. “More.”

“Yeah? You like that, Soph?” Rafe glanced up to gauge her expression and nearly laughed when he saw her head dropped back against the pillows and her hands fisted in the sheets. He just picked up his pace instead, moving to suck on her clit. When he did that, and curled his fingers inside of her, she gasped sharply. “Do that again.”

He used his free hand to push her leg out again, as they were close to clamping around his head, and continued until she was gasping again, her legs starting to shake. “Oh my god - fucking hell, Rafe -”

Rafe took a mental picture and swore he’d never forget how goddamn pretty she looked as she came, calling out his name. It was quite literally a dream come true and he worked her through the orgasm, then climbed back up the bed to rest next to her and give her a moment to recover.

She tipped her head over, looking almost...surprised. “I didn’t think I could - I’ve never -”

He smirked. “Told you I’d take my time.”

“Arrogant asshole.” She bit back, but it didn’t really have the same effect when she was still a little out of breath and had a blissful expression. Sophie glanced down and saw him straining against his pants, and briefly reconsidered - if she just got up and left right then, would Rafe hate her for all of eternity for giving him blue balls?

Then he rolled on top of her, and she felt him against her core for a tiny moment, and decided she could at least go for a handjob if she couldn’t handle the whole thing. He deserved that at the very least, for the way he just made her feel. Also, why had no one in her social circles ever commented on the size of him before, even in high school? He had to be at least six, maybe seven -

“Soph.” Rafe placed a quick kiss on her lips, laughing when she was jerked out of her reverie and blinked up at him.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

She nodded quickly, giving him a small smile. “Are you?”

“I have condoms....” he trailed off, raising his eyebrows with the insinuation. She gave him a small nod and pushed him over onto his back, straddling him and started to work at his button fly.

He let out a choked breath of surprise, just staring at her for a moment.

She felt his gaze and glanced up at him as she undid the last button, placing her hand over his length. “What?”

He swallowed, hard. “I think you might have to yank my pants off. They’re a little tight around the ass.”

Sophie giggled and got off of him so he could swing his legs off to the side of the bed, trying to tug down what he could. She joined in after a moment when they got stuck around his thighs, yanking until she heard a solid rip and immediately put her hands up, eyes wide. “Shit, I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s fine, I’ll just buy another pair.” He excused right away and she bristled, hearing arrogance seep into his tone. That was the reminder she needed that he wasn’t just a hot random hookup, this was Rafe, and even if he could make her cum in five damn minutes from a flick of his tongue and twist of his fingers, he was still everything she hated about him too.

“Where are your condoms?” She reached for his bedside table and he grabbed her hand to stop her, not wanting her to see the drafted screenplay he’d been working on for a class. It featured two sworn enemies, who’d known each other for ages then ended up at the same college even though it was far away from their hometown - fine, there were too many similarities that she’d catch right away. He kicked off what was now three big scraps of his pants and reached in the very back of the drawer to pull out a condom, a sore reminder of how long it’d been.

She sat back on the bed and tried to look impassive at his size, reminding herself she really should have assumed, with the way he was built and all of 6’3”. He caught her staring and smirked, keeping his eyes locked with hers as he rolled the condom on. “You okay?”

She blushed, immediately flustered. “I’m fine.”

“When was the last time you...?”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “Is that really important?”

He shook his head quickly, genuine. “No! No, not at all, but we can just take things slower. If you want.”

She appreciated the gesture - he was probably right - but grabbed his hand anyways, pulling him down to the bed. “I’ll be fine.”

He leaned over her, giving her a long kiss and combed his fingers through her hair. Just that action alone had her wanting to melt into him and kiss him for ages, until their lips fell off - she had to remind herself that this wasn’t a romantic thing with how soft he was being. He nearly reached to hold her hand, then just ran it up her side instead, telling himself that she wouldn’t want that, anyways.

“Rafe.” She murmured against his lips, feeling overwhelmed from the way his hands were everywhere and how he was so damn close and god, were his eyes always that pretty?

He pulled back a little, concerned. “Did I do something wr -”

She didn’t give him the chance to finish. Sophie pushed him onto his back, straddling him and rocked her hips once against him. “You’re taking too long.”

He groaned, his hands immediately going to her waist to support her. “Didn’t realize we were on a time crunch.”

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I was sober.” She reminded him and he frowned, squeezing her hips gently. “You’re not drunk though. I didn’t think you were even tipsy by now.”

“I ...” She trailed off, feeling a little guilty at the way he froze. “I wouldn’t have agreed to this normally.” She wasn’t sure why, exactly, she was lying to him, just felt the need to put him in his place, remind him what they’d be going back to after this one-night stand.

His brow knitted with concern. “We can stop, Sophie, I’m not going to push you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” She amended quickly, feeling way too exposed for a moment to be having that conversation. “I just meant - I don’t know. This isn’t happening again, so. Enjoy it while you last.”

He relaxed a little, his frown turning to a smirk. “While I last? I think it only took me five minutes to watch you cum.”

She had no response to that, so she just huffed, standing up on her knees. “Are you good?”

He nodded, watching with bated breath as she took his cock and lined it up with her entrance, slowly sinking down onto him. He groaned, letting his head fall back for a moment, but kept his grip on her hips. “Fuck, Sophie.”

Just him saying her name - like that - sent a pulse straight to her core. She bit the inside of her cheek hard as she sunk down all the way on him, waiting just a moment for it to turn from a flash of pain to pleasure. “Just - just let me -”

He nodded, rubbing circles on her hips with his thumbs. “Take your time.”

She scowled, almost taking it as a challenge. “I’m fine.” She started bouncing her hips on him, leaning forward a little and bracing her hands on his abs. It took her a moment, but it started feeling better and better, and Rafe’s groans and gasps were enough to spur her on.

“Oh, c’mon...so good, Soph...” He encouraged, bringing his hips up to meet hers. For a few minutes the room was just filled with their breathy pants and the sound of skin on skin. When he felt himself getting closer, he reached in between them and started rubbing circles across her clit, loving the way she gasped at his touch.

She nearly flinched, the feeling of everything being so close to overwhelming. She was so close to reaching her high - again - and kept her eyes on his for a heated moment.

Rafe kept up his motions until he could tell she was close, about to snap, and he was too. “There we go, Soph, that’s my good girl -”

“Not yours.” She snapped hastily and he let his head flop back against the pillow, frustrated, and dropped his hand. “Didn’t mean it like that -”

She shook her head. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter.” Sophie grabbed his hand and brought it back to her clit, hoping to spur him on again. “Please don’t stop - oh, yes, fuck, there -”

He resumed his gentle rubbing, a little more frenzied now, and groaned as she moved her hips a little differently, rolling them and bouncing on him somehow all at the same time. It only took a minute longer for her to come and as she clenched around him, it spurred him on too, making him let out an embarrassingly loud groan.

As they both caught their breath and she climbed off him, panting, he shot her a cocky grin. “Sure you don’t want to do that again?”

She chose to ignore him and stood, hoping it didn’t show how she stumbled just a little from weak legs. She reached for her skirt then paused, standing up with crossed arms. “You took my underwear.”

“I did.” He nodded, leaning back with his hands behind his head, on full display.

Sophie let her gaze rake over him for a second, but he didn’t notice as he was doing the same. “And you ripped it.”

He had the decency to look a little bashful at that. “Probably shouldn’t have.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Rafe gave her a wry smile. “You could stay the night and I’ll give you my boxers to sleep in.”

She huffed and pulled her skirt on anyways, rolling her eyes. “Give it up, Cameron. Never gonna happen.”

“I’m sorry, did you just disassociate from the last half hour?” He raised his eyebrows, smirking.

Sophie wrestled on her halter top, thoroughly annoyed by now - god, only he could switch her mood so easily. “Worst sex of my life.”

He let out a loud, barking laugh. “You know that’s not true.”

“I - well - whatever. I’m leaving.” She started toward the door and he sprung out of bed, tugging on a pair of boxers. “No, hold on, I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

She stopped in the doorframe, crossing her arms. “This is ridiculous, we’re not dating -”

“It’s still three am and I’m not letting you walk.” He shoved his feet into boat shoes and grabbed his keys from his nightstand. “Come on.”

“Just a drive home?” She asked, stepping aside so she could follow him down the hall.

“Just a drive home.” He confirmed. “Jesus, Sophie, it’s just a kind gesture, not a committed relationship.”

“I know, just. I don’t know.”

He cast a glance back at her, frowning a little. “Your last boyfriend was that bad, huh?”

She rolled her eyes, following him outside to the car and got in (after he insisted upon opening the door for her). “No comment.”

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #outer banks #outer banks smut #obx smut #rafe cameron fanfic #outer banks fanfic #rafe x sophie #college rafe #mine #frat rafe

109 notes · View notes

er9tic · 3 years ago

Text

𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇.

summary : eren jaeger confesses his guilt to his therapist , fearful of the boy he suspects of killing.

“You’re awfully quiet today. Something on your mind, Eren?”

⠀

Some was on his mind indeed. A heavy thought. Agonizing…piercing his mind as it replayed over and over. Nonstop. Twenty seven minutes had passed. Twenty seven minutes flooded in an alarming silence, ringing in his ears, blaring at his decision to keep quiet and bottle up the series of repetitive nightmares that refused to leave his slumber.

⠀

But his lips were glued shut. His tongue swallowed back into the depths of his mouth, refusing to come out and let the words fall out and into confession. As much as it hurt, Eren Yeager couldn’t find it within himself to exhale his worries. No. Instead he had to suffer in the pain of it clawing the edges of his throat, digging deep into his flesh and yearning to pierce out the other end of his neck.

⠀

Nails sunk deeper into his skin, the faded dents from his previous grip resurfacing. Pain. Panic. Fear. Not a trepidation…but a constant dread of the truth as crimson soaked hands zapped before his eyes in a quick flash, yanking him back to the dream he had been stuck in for days.

⠀

Speak out, Eren thrashed in his mind. Tell him.

⠀

No. You can’t! What if he proves you right?

⠀

You’ll never find out if you don’t say anything. What if it’s good news?

⠀

No. No. NO.

⠀

Speak ! Use your words. Use your tongue.

⠀

Please—

⠀

Do it.

⠀

Like a long awaited inhale, Eren’s chest heaved outwards, his shoulders rising as the air infiltrated his longs and the knot on his tongue loosened. “I 𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗱 someone.”

⠀

It was that mere statement that caught Doctor Veer’s attention. However, his expression remained unchanged. Unphased. As though Eren hadn’t just admitted the gravest sin. “What makes you think that? Did you remember killing someone?”

⠀

The tightness of his fist released, warmth beaming at the crevices of his nail markings. Pools of an evergreen fury slid down to inspect the palms of his hands, revealing the gathering of the scarlet substance at the surface of where skin split. Shit. He had done it again.

⠀

Hide it. Before they suspect you of harm.

⠀

He pressed his hands against the arm of the couch, forcing the blood inwards as he gripped the edges instead. “I’ve been seeing him again. That 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲 𝗯��𝘆.”

⠀

“The one you suspect to be your relative?”

⠀

He shook his head, the image of his innocent face resurfacing to invite back the guilt that coiled around his faltering heart. “No. He…had longer hair, darker than…the other one. And he was around my age.” Eyelids fell down to relieve him of the landscape around him that shoved at his senses. Instead, he found comfort in the darkness, a darkness that Eren yearned to spend more time in as the nightmare waved into the open opportunity.

⠀

A wide glistening smile revealing pearl white teeth and pure joy. The snaking rivulets of water onto quiet sand.

⠀

Thick umber brows pinched at the sting of images, his body curling at the sight before him, a soft whimper escaped, the grip tightening. “We…we were at the ocean. He was so happy, practically laughing. It…” He lifted a hand to dig into the area of his head around his ear, an attempt to block the ringing sound. “It just echoes…”

⠀

The school of fish. The throbbing hands.

⠀

“My hands…” Oh, they wouldn’t stop shaking. “They wouldn’t stop…hurting. Screaming at me in pain.” Eren gasped out for air, his sobs tearing out through the hard barrier he had managed to maintain successfully for days in their sessions spent in guilty silence. But he could no longer take it. No longer suck it in. “We…W-we saw a school of fish. He was pointing at it, down at our feet…and…and he kneeled down to get a closer look.”

A head dive. No. A shove..

Lowering his hands and releasing the tight clench of his eyelids, the sight of his enemy burned into his vision, almost setting him in a blinding rage. It was their fault. It was all their fault. They trembled violently in anger. Screams of agony slicing beyond the small cuts of his nails. No. This pain was far different. It was murderous. Controlling. It reigned over his ability to fight.

“I…I swear, I kept fighting. I kept pulling back, but they wouldn’t let me!” Eren pleaded desperately. Were his efforts not enough? Was he too weak? Too lost? Too far gone? “Next…” He swallowed up the next sob, regaining his strength, regaining what little dignity he had. He could do this. The ball in his throat grew bigger and bigger with every second he paused. He could tell him. It sizzled against the edges of his inner tissue. He had to tell him. “Next thing I knew, my hands were on the back of his neck. His head…”

Thrashing. Thrashing.

“His head was in the water. It never…it never left the water.”

⠀

Peace..

⠀

Relief.

⠀

Loneliness once again.

⠀

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #eren jaeger #eren yeager #armin arlert #eremin #eremin oneshot

11 notes · View notes

whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

The Silence That Only Comes When Two People Understand Each Other

(not Hannah with the multi-chapter Hotchniss fic again) Stay with me, I’m on a kick, and all I want is cute old Hotchniss but I have to ease my way into that---- Emily and Hotch do not have good parents

She had heard the word before, only with enough context to know that it was bad. Hearing her father mumble it under his breath, eyes darting over his shoulder to her mother still looming in the doorway of their room. “Always have to be a bitch about it,” he keeps moving, paying Emily no mind. She feels his words hit her as if they were meant for her even though he doesn’t even recognize that she’s in the room. She looks to her mother, Elizabeth pulling her robe tighter around her body before turning on the spot and slamming the door shut behind her.

She watches his receding back, looks back at that door, and wonders if maybe she doesn’t understand bitch means.

She was five-years-old and laid out on her back in the mulch, air punched out of her lungs. The slap of that word stinging her cheek, hot tears rolling back into her hairline. For several long minutes, she thinks she’s going to die right here. Her teacher squats down beside her, shushing her with gentle Turkish words that her fogged mind untangles slowly like the maids when they take combs to the knots in her hair. Far more gentle than her teacher when she places her on the bench and whispers soft condolences, picking that mulch out of her dark hair. Next time, she’s promised, she should just let the boys in front of her. Her cheek is cupped in a cold palm and she’s offered a smile as she’s told “boys only push the pretty girls, Emily, be happy you are so pretty to them”.

Turkish has never felt right on her tongue-- she thinks about that teacher’s words often.

She’s twelve standing in her mother’s full-length mirror, she hasn’t seen her father in five years. The cigarette between her mother’s lips bobs as she speaks words that Emily has stopped hearing. The words tumbling, slurred off of her lips, lemmings off cliffs. She stands, hips jerking as Elizabeth tightens the back of the dress but silent. “Do you think that’s what boys want? A little bitch to tell them off?” She’s instructed to suck in and she closes her eyes but does not grunt or dare express her discomfort as the dress is pulled in too tight. “Boys just want a pretty little mouth to fuck. So keep yours shut, I don’t want to even know you’re sitting at that dinner table.”

She’s twelve years old looking at herself in the mirror and seeing what that boy and her mother must-- a bitch. She watches Elizabeth flick the ash off her cigarette into the ashtray. “Jackeline Kennedy smoked,” she defends herself. Emily wonders if Mrs. Kennedy was a bitch too.

She’s nineteen the first time someone tells her that “bitch” was never something she had a choice in. Her Sociology professor looks down at them from the edge of his glasses. Each graduating class seeming to chip him down a little more until there’s nothing but the knarled man standing before them. He sighs for dramatic effect or maybe because he sees the youth and the arrogance in the room before him and can hardly stand to keep going.

“For the same thing,” he begins, “we would applaud a man who takes initiative. A man who points out a flaw is brilliant, he’s genius for seeing something everyone else missed. What about a woman?” He looks out into his audience to find the women thinly peppered in one little section. Women stick together, they’re always together. “What do we think of the woman who demands her rightful spot at the business table? A woman who points out the flaw in the project?”

He’s not expecting it.

Emily doesn’t even raise her hand, “we call her a bitch.”

He stops but finally nods. “We do. We call her a bitch.”

Being a bitch is what gets her all the way to the FBI. Other girls get talked over, they get pushed down. She talks louder, stands up out of her chair, and goes on when her classmates try to interrupt her. It makes her sick, her nerves are shot and so she finds herself swimming in liquid courage. Tequila burns but it makes her louder, prouder. That’s what it takes, that’s what she gives.

She’s a bitch and it’s the only way she’s able to find her voice.

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

His father sends him to boarding school at fourteen. He’s too old to label his darkly circled eyes and too thin limbs as failure to thrive but it’s at least suicidal. A label that they slap onto him like hearing the words will suddenly shoot some sort of life into his veins but he’s tired of being reanimated for the show of fancy old men. Tired, in general. He’s hesitant to trust any of them but he feels as though if he stands any longer his bones will grow too heavy for his skin to hold. He lets them direct him down the hall, too succumbed to his fate to flinch away from the hands that clap his shoulder or jostle his head.

His father told the town, the county, every lawyer, and every person he came across the awful things his good for nothing son had done. That the bruises on Sean’s face were from him, from Aaron. That the boy had uncontrollable anger and it broke his heart to send his own flesh and blood away but he’d been given no other choice. And, by God, if Aaron could so something like that to Richard Hotchner, a man who married such a kind and gentle woman, a man who made something of himself, then they could understand why he had done it.

And the poor man, how could something like that happen to him?

Aaron was assigned his first therapist there for the same reason he got one in every other turning point in his life-- something just isn’t right about him. No matter the walls he places around himself and the personalities that he learns to play to suit a given situation. People still feel his tense muscles when they place a leisurely, affectionate hand on his shoulder. Everyone can see his anxiety and that little thing he does with his fingers.

“I think,” his therapist had once whispered. Leaning in, closing the staggering space between the couch and chair, as if to only speak to Aaron. So softly, so guarded. A secret. “Aaron, I think, the only thing you want is doubt.” A seedling to sprout in his bones, to give voice to the brightest part of him. Doubt that he is right when he looks in the mirror and sees his father. Doubt that he is unlovable. Doubt that his father is right. Doubt when he respins childhood memories to fit his father’s lies. Doubt that he hates being touched. Doubt that he can handle it.

Doubt.

He couldn’t understand what that had meant at fourteen. He hadn’t wanted more doubt than he already had. Doubt his father had actually abused him. Doubt that he belonged. Doubt that he wanted to be here, not just at this school, but in this life. Doubt that he mattered. Doubt that there would ever be a place for him. Doubt. Doubt. Doubt.

Why would he want more doubt?

“I think you’re lying.” Emily Prentiss stands at the end of his bed, the girl who learned to drown in order to stay afloat. Past the point of dipping her toe in the water, she knows how to swim. Folding her arms over her chest, Emily watches him carefully. Frown deepening when all he does is look back at her, seemingly daring her to challenge him. She doesn’t fear him, not in this incapacitated state and not even if he were standing toe-to-toe with her. At the back of her mind, she hears the doctor’s earlier warning about upsetting him. She thinks about the medical file she’d been handed coming in, a whole list of questions they needed to know. The warning, the implication, of the notes on his chart.

His heart has already stopped once today. For thirty minutes, she nearly lost him today and she knows that if she doesn’t push this it’ll destroy him. That’s what happens when you keep secrets like this. But she’s not afraid of stopping his heart. He’s a stubborn bastard, if he wanted to die he would have done that already.

So, she stands there and she’s not afraid to call him out for what she knows is true. There’s something more, he’s deceived by the dissociative way his eyes go out of focus. How she’d felt her own heart leap to her throat when the monitors picked up their pace, his eyes closed but the rest of his body betraying the panic and fear he was reliving. The numbers going from nearly too slow, sluggish to 120, and panicked. His blood pressure still tanked.

Doubt. She has more than just doubt that her inquiry of his well-being --Do you want to talk about what happened-- was met with a true answer. That he doesn’t know and that he can’t remember.

But the truth is not so simple. What is she going to think? What will any of them think if they knew? The way he wasn’t strong enough to fight Foyet off. How it had felt as Foyet stood over him, beaming at their chests with a wide grin of pride. Assuring him that he would live through this. That, after everything is said and done, they’d look the same. That he’d been in and out of consciousness and he’s not sure what happened to him, what Foyet did when he blacked out. How it had stopped hurting but his body had kept reacting forcing him to choke and to hold his breath. How he hadn’t protected himself. Laid there and took it. Closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see.

She doesn’t want to know that but she isn’t given the chance. She looks over her shoulder and sees Haley and Jack approaching. Watches Haley crouch in the hall to say something to Jack, to guide him to the visitor’s chairs just outside the door. The time for this argument has trickled low and she settles one last look on him-- on the dark bruise across his temple and the iodine staining his skin. “We’re not done,” she assures him.

She doubts him and he hates it.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #hotchniss #ian doyle #george foyet

52 notes · View notes

seancekitsch · 4 years ago

Text

Ebb & Flow

part 2 for Heat. diego x reader

warnings: angst, hints of diego’s self loathing, low key set in the prize buck universe but obvs not the same reader character, drinking, oblivious idiot love birds, unprotected pre-marital missionary, edgar allen poe reference, corny ass shit

Four days pass, and every day he debates trying to reach out to you. He wakes up in a cold bed that feels empty without you. But he doesn’t; because you made it very clear you did not want to sleep with Diego Hargreeves specifically. He decides to try to go back to what his life was like before you fell into it. Before he fell for you. He tries to pretend that hair pin (which he’s now tucked away into a drawer) isn’t literally haunting and taunting him every second he’s in his boiler room bedroom. It’s hard for him to sleep or function with it in the room with him, like it screams it’s presence as a trace of you. The hair pin is a tell-tale heart of all of Diego’s misguided feelings and how he so severely misread the situation between the two of you. The hair pin is the constant thrumming of his mind telling him over and over that of course you’d never feel the same way as he does. You were a therapist, he was a gym janitor. Of course you’d tire of slumming it with a man that regularly plays crime fighter at night. Diego is constantly reminded of you even without seeing the hair pin because he just knows where he put it. And that address. That damn address carefully written in blue pen on the back of one of your business cards. Would it be wrong of him to still look into the warehouse? You had to have left it for him on purpose, you had to have taken it out of your bag and left it there purposely on the bed; there was no way it could have fallen out of the bag that was on his table and onto the middle of his bed as you were leaving. Diego tries to bury his thoughts of you in vigilante work, tries to stay out late. He succeeds and returns just before the gym opens in the morning. When he finally gets back to his boiler room, Al offhandedly mentions that a woman had inquired about his whereabouts. Part of Diego desperately hopes and wishes it’s you, but he doesn’t do anything about it. You probably don’t actually want to see him. Or it's one of his sisters. Probably just Allison or Vanya. Family stuff. Maybe they had another dad die or something.

Twelve days later, he finally works up the courage to call the owner of the warehouse to ask about pricing and zoning if he wanted to start his own gym there. He had enough in savings that he could have moved out of his current situation and into a studio like Klaus had, but he wanted to put as much money together for his own gym before he thought of himself. He could sleep peacefully alone on a cot in a gym that he happened to own. The current owner remarks that he had heard Diego would be calling, and says he likes the idea of a gym going into the space there. He thanks the man, and they strike a deal, talk about a title and deed change to be drafted and signed for the beginning of the next month. Diego unofficially owns his own gym now. Normally he would be calling you to celebrate, but instead he dials and hopes the landline at Klaus’ apartment is still connected. Klaus’ partner answers and congratulates Diego, and invites him out to the bar with them this weekend. Diego’s voice declines before his mind can stop himself. Maybe because he didn't want to celebrate with anyone but you.

It’s fifteen days later, Friday, when Diego regrets not going to the bar with Klaus and his partner. It's Diego, a six pack, and that damn hair pin having what looked more like a pity party than a celebration of a major life event. But maybe that's not the worst thing, now he can focus himself for the job ahead, get a good night's sleep. Well, he would have gotten a good night's sleep, if there weren't suddenly shouting coming from the hallway outside his door.

“Klaus, I don't want to be here!”

That was clearly, unmistakably your voice. You were outside his door and vehemently expressing that you wanted nothing to do with this place. What were you doing with his brother? Oh, right. Friday night at the bar. He was supposed to have been there too, but he bailed.

“Well it was either this or you officially become part of my harem for the night”

“I have a home, thank you very much! I could go to it”

“But you left your car at the club, and you live across the city. You’re safe here, even if you are afraid of my brother now.”

Afraid. Afraid. Your opinion of him had gone from disgust to fear. He presses his ear now to the door and can only hear one set of retreating footsteps. Someone is leaving, and if hes right, its Klaus.

Then he hears,

“FUCK,” a frustrated half-groan, half-scream. He has to admit to himself, even hearing how unhappy you seemed, he missed hearing your voice. He missed you. And you were outside his door right now in the middle of the night. Fuck it, he thought, I’m not missing my chance.

When Diego opens the door, he sees you sitting on the ground, tight jean clad legs spread and chunky high heeled boot toes pointed outwards. He always loved those shoes on you. When his eyes meet your face, there’s an indignant pout on your lips, but your eyes are apologetic.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough. C’mon, I’m not leaving you in the hallway.” He opens the door a little wider, enough that he could usher you in, but you don't budge.

“Y’know, i’m not even drunk it's just my-”

“-your rule, yeah, I remember,” You had this rule that no matter what, you wouldn't get behind the wheel if you'd had more than one beer or even one drink stronger than a beer. Always best to err on the side of caution, you’d said. Better to not get pulled over at the very least or kill anyone else at the very worst, and you could handle being inconvenienced if it meant safety. But the fact of the matter is that it's the dead of winter and you live across town. You actually live in pretty close proximity to his new gym.

“Come in, you can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch in Al’s office. It’s two am and you are not walking home looking like that. I’ll stay away from you,” He's trying his best to sound comforting and respectful, but it hurts. It hurts to be inviting you in and knowing you want nothing to do with him.

“You don't have to-” you pause, as if trying to find the right words, “I’m not gonna put you out like that”

Diego nods, and turns back inside the boiler room, holding the door open, and you catch it, following him. It's just like old times, except it isn't.

“Here, I've got a shirt and some pants you can sleep in,” Diego’s rifling through his drawers as he talks, worried he’ll look at you too long and seem as desperate as he is. He manages to throw a clean tee and a pair of jogger sweatpants on the bed, two of the only clean items he has currently because tomorrow is laundry day. Diego turns completely around to avoid looking at you while he can hear you changing, something he never would have done before, but there are boundaries now. He can imagine exactly what you look like right now, beautiful as ever and tired, changing into his clothes, just as it had happened dozens of times before. Only before he would have watched in awe and then grabbed you all to himself.

“You can turn around now, nothing you haven't seen before,” your voice is soft, you don't sound annoyed anymore and he can’t help but feel a twinge of hope at that.

When he turns around, he sees you've neglected the pants all together. Your bare legs end where the hem of his shirt meets the tops of your thighs and - why the fuck would you tell him to turn around with you dressed like this?

You gesture to his bed, and he sits on it, but you don't. You stay standing, looking more apprehensive and nervous by the second.

“K-klaus said you're afraid of me now?” Stupid thing to say. Diego’s tired. His insecurities are showing. You're the last person he would want to be afraid of him.

Your face crumbles into something unreadable, but what he would guess is pity or guilt. Which are maybe worse than fear and disgust by his standards. He lets his head drop, suddenly finding his draped hands between his legs to be extremely interesting.

You shift from one foot to another, unsure of how to answer, but then it comes to you.

You place yourself in his line of vision, not allowing him to look away as you kneel down on your knees between his own. The sight alone is more than Diego can bear.

“No, no I'm not. I'm sorry you heard that and he said that. Look, I wanted to talk to you, not like this, not right now. I came by last week but you weren't here.” So it was you that had come around. Not his sisters like he had convinced himself. You wanted to talk to him.

“I wanted to apologize. I-I shouldn't have left like that. I need to explain to you why I left.” He nods, and lets you continue. “I crossed a line. I was wrong. Our arrangement, I know it was like a no strings attached thing, but I started to have strings! I have so many strings. I broke our agreement, it wasn't casual for me. I broke your trust. I had to leave. I couldn't do that to you.”

Strings. You had strings, attached. To him of all people. You broke the rules. So did he. He searches your face, as if there's something to read on your features, and feels your hands slide into his own.

“I-I-I’m sh-shitty at t-tying knots.” Diego what the fuck was that? He was more nervous than he thought. But you break into a watery grin, understanding the meaning in his words. You nod, and reply,

“I can teach you, if you've got strings to spare.” That was extremely sappy, and he loved it. He had so many strings to spare. He loved you. And he could show it now.

He tugs on your hands to pull them up to his shoulders, and you lean up into it, lips coming together as his hands wrap around your back to hold you tight. He easily lifts you up until he can gather you in his lap and keeps kissing you, over and over and over until you're dizzy. He holds you tightly, not unlike the last time you were in his bed, but this time his hands roam and grasp and touch, exploring you like it's the first time you're doing this. In a way, it is. It's the first time you're doing this so vulnerable and open with one another. You don't have to hide the smile that forms against his lips, you don't have to feel shame in the way that your lips chase after his own when he tries to pull away. You are taking from each other as much as you are giving, and for once you are giving everything.

His hands slide from your back, to the hem of his shirt, to your ass under the shirt. Diego is, at heart, an ass man you remember. He squeezes one cheek, then slaps it. Not hard, just enough to feel the slight jiggle at the contact. He chuckles against your mouth and then continues south, still kneading his hands into the flesh of your ass as his kisses meet the hem of his shirt at the other side, at your neck. You kiss his cheek, his nose, the scar that connects from behind his ear to his eye. Diego takes the time to lick the base of your neck, making you shudder and moan into it before he flips the both of you, surprising you when your back hits the blankets below. Looking up at him, his eyes are full of lust and admiration.

“You look beautiful in my shirt, baby,” he whispers.

“And you are wearing entirely too much, dear” you reply.

He groans, and it turns into a chuckle as he whips his shirt off his torso, revealing his broad, scarred chest to you, which your hands immediately reach for to pull him back down onto you. He makes no move to remove the shirt covering you, but you think this might be doing something for him. Instead, his hands roam under the shirt again, and tease at the hem of your underwear. They aren't a particularly sexy pair, because the last thing you expected to happen tonight is this. It doesn't matter to Diego, who just pulls them down as far as his arm can reach, letting you kick them the rest of the way off as he fumbles with pulling his sweatpants down. There isn't the usual teasing game tonight, no. You'd spent too much time apart, you are full to the brim with love that even a little teasing would have the two of you spilling and in pain. This is fuck-or-die with no real consequences but your own impatience and need for each other.

Diego wastes no time gently spreading your legs with a smooth slowness you didn't know he possessed before easing inside of you. You gasp, close your eyes, and breathe, taking a moment to remember this. This is what it felt like to make love. Another first for both of you. His pace, when he finally begins moving, is slow and steady, he's in no rush now that he has you. He’s quieter than usual, opting to just kiss you until he's sure you can read his mind and just understand what he's thinking. You rock peacefully, like a boat on the ocean, cresting waves within you mounting, exhaling with low moans he's never heard from you before. You never thought slow and careful would bring you to climax, but here you are feeling it steadily build and build. Waves now beginning to crash instead of ebb and flow, Diego’s only warning being your moans beginning to rise an octave. The release hits you in an all encompassing mighty tidal wave, leaving you shaking in his arms, holding onto him tightly like a lighthouse to the shore. This was not a white hot explosion, this was the tides coming home. As you subside, you almost feel ashamed at how quickly you came for him, but Diego is close behind you, your body pulling him to shore after you. He comes with a tight, close-lipped hum of a moan pressed against the side of your neck, and stills above you. His body cages yours to the bed, a willing prisoner of whatever Diego Hargreeves had in store for you. Whatever happened next for him, you were along for the voyage.

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves imagine #diego hargreeves fanfic #diego hargreeves smut #my work

346 notes · View notes

ghosttotheparty · 4 years ago

Text

when everything falls into place and youre finally within reach

Abed takes another deep breath, blinking at himself in the mirror. His fingers rub on the fabric of his hoodie, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth over the subtle ribbing on the cuffs of the sleeves. Sleeves that belong to his hoodie, not Troy’s, though the hoodie he wore yesterday was Troy’s. And the day before. And the day before. And most of the days before that too. He knows Jeff and the others noticed, but he appreciates them not saying anything, not pointing it out.

He also knows it must have been hard for Britta to not say anything, to not use her master psychology skills to talk about the effect his missing Troy has had on him. (If she did talk about it, it would take hours. If she wrote a thesis on his missing Troy it would be encyclopaedia length. Pages and pages and pages and pages about him and the damn hoodies, him and the photos on the walls, the photos he took with him to L.A. for a year and then took back, because he couldn’t handle being away from a place Troy had called home.)

He’s counted the days. And the hours.

He spent four hundred seventy days, twenty hours, and twenty-four minutes in L.A.

It didn’t feel like home for a second.

He does miss it on occasion, just specific things. The park near his apartment building that has geese. The water pressure in his shower. The nice old lady that worked at the cafe, that always handed him his coffee with a smile. But he doesn’t want to move back. It was noisy. There were always more people than he anticipated, especially at the grocery store. He ended up buying earplugs to use on his grocery runs, to muffle out the radio, the people talking and laughing, the sounds of cards squealing on the tile floors and bumping into each other, the electric buzzing of the lights and refrigerators. Overwhelming.

And it’s been one thousand, seven-hundred, thirty-seven days, nine hours, and thirty-six minutes since Abed saw Troy last.

Too long.

Abed started to ache just a few days after he left, a soft ache in his heart and in his arms. An ache he could only describe as longing, if he had described it to anyone out loud. It’s a persistent ache, and he still feels it as he takes yet another breath, listening to the voices outside the bathroom. Britta and Jeff’s bickering, Annie whining, “You guys…” and Shirley saying “Hands off,” aggressively, presumably to Frankie, who, Abed has discovered, has a propensity to sneak bites of food before it’s ready.

He feels happy, even with these aches and anxiety, happy that Shirley is back, even just for a visit. Her hugs are warm, and she always smells good, even if the scents are strong and overpowering to Abed. She squeezed him around the middle when they reunited, and he had giggled, letting her sway them back and forth before letting go and letting her pinch his cheeks.

And he’s happy Annie moved back too. He remembers saying goodbye to her at the airport, hugging and watching, unsure of what to do, as she wiped tears from under her eyes. She had been smiling as she cried, though, which only confused him further. She seemed to understand. “I’m going to miss you, Abed,” she’d said. “Promise you’ll email?” And he’s hooked his pinky around hers, nodding and pulling her into another hug, finally letting go and watching her disappear before finding his way to his gate. She’d squealed loudly when they reunited, much like Shirley, and she’d jumped, tackling him in a hug.

Abed is startled out of his memories when Frankie calls his name gently from the hallway.

“Abed? You okay?”

“Coming!” he calls back, not breaking eye contact with himself, and his mouth twists as he adjusts his hoodie, unzipping it a little, trying to look… at ease.

His heart hasn’t stopped pounding since this morning, since Britta and Frankie arrived. His therapist (not Britta) says excitement and anxiety often feel the same: racing heart, shaky hands, breathlessness, restlessness. It’s frustrating. Abed knows he should be excited; Troy is coming home for fuck’s sake. Finally.

But as he walks to the kitchen to join the others, he can’t help worrying.

What if he doesn’t like how Abed redid the apartment? (It’s the same apartment they lived in before Abed went to L.A. It’s different, though; there’s no blanket fort, the photos are rearranged on the walls, the TV is in a different place.)

What if he doesn’t like Inspector Spacetime anymore? (The thought of it runs a jolt through Abed. He doesn’t know how he would deal with that.) What if he’s just different? Over four and a half years. He must be different. They’ve emailed, of course, and Troy even sent Abed postcards, from Venezuela (Troy said on the back that he finally got the opportunity to use some Spanish), Morocco, France, and Italy (“You would love the pasta here, Abed.”).

Abed forces a smile onto his face as he enters the kitchen, looking from Annie’s beaming face to Shirley’s focused face as she rolls out some dough. Jeff and the others have given up on the whole baking can’t be a personality trait thing. Shirley’s pies are too yummy. Abed looks at Jeff’s face, and Britta’s face, and Frankie’s face, which smiles when their eyes meet. And Chang, who somehow became invited. (Abed thinks it was something like a default invitation.) They all appear to be excited, which just pulls the knot in his stomach tighter. Why is he the only one feeling nervous? Frankie doesn’t even know Troy, shouldn’t she be the nervous one? She’s at a Welcome Home party for a stranger. (Though a part of Abed disagrees. Abed loves Troy, and Abed loves Frankie, so really, they’re a family, even if they’ve never met.)

“Smells good, Shirley,” he says, leaning against the counter and tucking his hands in his pockets. “What time is it?” he asks Jeff before Shirley can respond.

“Almost six-thirty.” Jeff takes a sip from his glass of scotch. “He should be here any second.”

Abed’s stomach takes another dive and he nods as Annie squeals.

“I’m so excited,” she says, bouncing up and down on her feet.

“Me too,” Britta says from where she’s perched on the counter. “I bet he has a ton of stories of crazy adventures and--”

“He’s been on a boat for four years, Britta,” Jeff interrupts. “Let’s calm down.”

“Storms, Jeffrey.”

“Yeah, true.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Abed thinks he might throw up.

Britta and Annie both scream, and Britta jumps off the counter, stumbling as she lands on the floor, trying desperately to beat Annie to the front door, and Shirley squeals, rushing to rip off her oven mitts and untie her apron, and as Jeff yells, “Trooyyy!” Frankie moves out of the way, pressing herself against a counter as she laughs. Abed hangs back, following Shirley into the living room to watch as the front door opens and--

Cool.

Cool cool cool.

Troy is standing there, grinning with his shoulders hunched, his arms already raised slightly, ready for Annie to leap into, and Abed is sure everybody in the building can hear her high voice exclaim, “Oh my god!”

And Abed is frozen, watching. Noticing.

Troy’s hair is longer, tight curls circling his head like a halo, and he has a short beard, scruffy and soft-looking. It’s still Troy. Effortlessly beautiful.

Abed is jostled out of his trance by Shirley, accidentally pushed as she sprints to the door, shoving Britta out of the way to jump on Troy, screaming.

Frankie steps up next to Abed, and he can feel her eyes on him but he can’t look away, still staring at Troy, and everything in him is crashing together, his heart is beating and beating, and every thought he’s has in the past one thousand, seven-hundred, thirty-seven days, nine hours, and thirty-seven minutes, every beating and pulsing thought of Troy Troy Troy Troy Troy Troy Troy Troy is standing there in front of him.

He faintly hears Jeff say something, some teasing comment about how Troy is a real man now that he has a beard, about how Jeff needs to shave so they don’t match, and his eyes catch on Troy’s lips, curving into a bashful smile. Abed’s breath stutters in his throat and he accidentally coughs, trying his best to keep his heart beating because if he doesn’t try he might just fall dead to the floor.

RIP Abed Nadir

Cause of death: Troy Barnes’s existence

And then Troy is in front of him, and it’s quieter than it’s been in the apartment for hours, and Abed can feel not just Frankie’s eyes on him, but also Shirley’s, and Britta’s, and Annie’s, and Chang’s, and Jeff’s, but none of that matters, because Troy’s eyes are on him too, locked on his, soft and dark and gentle, and Abed doesn’t know what to do.

“Hey, buddy,” Troy says softly, and Abed finally exhales, feeling his heart pound away in his chest.

“You sailed around the world,” he says, in a more chipper voice than he thought he could, and Troy grins.

“Yeah, I did.”

“...Awesome.”

And then their hands are slapping together as their other hands hit their own chests, and Troy is giggling and Abed is grinning, and Troy’s hand catches Abed’s pulling him into an embrace.

And Abed sinks into it.

His arms wrap around Troy’s neck and Troy’s arms wrap around Abed’s waist, squeezing him and pulling him closer, ignoring everyone else watching them.

“I missed you so much, Abed,” Troy murmurs, just for Abed to hear, like it’s a secret, and Abed buries his face in Troy’s neck. They sway slightly, and Abed squeezes his eyes shut.

When they finally pull away, after seconds or minutes or hours, Abed doesn’t know, they both take a breath and smile at each other. Abed staps back, looking behind himself to see Frankie, looking oddly sentimental, and he says, “Oh.”

He points a finger and says, “Frankie.”

She steps forward.

“Hi,” she says, extending a hand to Troy, but he opens his arms slightly and shrugs.

“Study group family right?”

She laughs, stepping forward and embracing him, saying, “It’s so good to finally meet you, Troy.” Abed moves back, watching with a smile on his face, his fingers laced in front of himself. Everything is falling back into place. Everything makes sense.

“Oh,” Shirley exclaims, clapping as Frankie and Troy part. “I need to check my pies!”

“Pies?” Troy says excitedly and Jeff steps past him to grab his suitcases from the hallway. Shirley goes into the kitchen and ABed hears her hum a happy “Mm-hmm!”

“Hiii…” Chang steps out from the kitchen shyly and Troy points at him, confusion painted across his face.

“Uhm…?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me!” Chang says, holding his hands out in his defence. “I’m on three antipsychotics and I have biweekly therapy.”

Troy pauses, still staring at Chang in confusion (and Abed suspects a little worry), before dropping his hand and saying, “Good for you, man,” and Chang steps forward, holding his arms out for a hug. Troy obliges and looks at Abed with wide eyes and a smile over his shoulder.

“I made some yummy pies,” Shirley says as they all enter the kitchen area, Jeff dropping Troy’s luggage in the living room, “because I thought it would be a nice par-a-llel, as Abed would say--” (she shoots him a glowing smile), “to when you and Abed first moved in here. You remember, the house-warming party, and Jeff tried to trick us all with the dice, and--”

“We danced to Roxanne for longer than is reasonable,” Annie finishes for her.

“Yes, that was fun.” Shirley sets the pies down and Abed leans against a counter, sticking his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Troy stands next to him, bumping his shoulder and then resting his back against the counter, their arms pressed together. “Well, no one really ate the pies that night but I suppose I was just getting started with baking, maybe they weren’t that good.”

The others, except Frankie and Chang, exchange glances, silently agreeing to secrecy.

“They smell delicious, Shirley,” Troy says and she beams at him.

---

Jeff ordered pizza a while ago, and rather than using a die to choose who goes down to get it, Frankie volunteers. She comments on how weird the delivery man was but says it’s worth it because of how hungry she is. They eat around the dining table, and Troy sits next to Abed. As Britta asks about his “adventure,” (she wiggles in her seat as she says it), Troy’s leg presses to Abed’s. At first he thinks it was an accident, but when Abed shifts his leg, Troy’s doesn’t move.

“I mean,” Troy says, pausing to swallow a bite. “We were only captured by pirates twice, and other than that it was mostly smooth sailing.”

Britta lets out a loud “A-haaaah!” and reaches across the table to high five him while sticking more pizza in her mouth. Jeff rolls his eyes and it takes Chang a second to process it before snapping and cackling.

“Wait,twice?” Frankie says, lowering her slice and looking at him, her expression scandalized.

“Yeah, once in the Gulf of Mexico and the other time somewhere in the Pacific I think, I don’t really remember.”

“How’s LaVar?”Annie asks.

“ He’s good!” Troy’s leg hooks around Abed’s under the table. Abed almost wants to reach under the table and hold his knee or his thigh, but he doesn’t, leaving his hands on the table and letting his other leg drift until it tangles with Troy’s. “I asked if he wanted to come but he said he was just gonna take it easy tonight.”

“Do you think he’ll want to come another time?” Jeff asks. “I was thinking we could have a small party back at Greendale, at the study room. We can retake that photo we took before you left.”

“Oh, yeah!” Troy says excitedly, grinning. “Can we invite the dean too? I miss that funky little dude.”

“...Sure?” Jeff swirls his glass and takes a sip.

There’s a moment of silence as they all dig into their pizza, and Troy sighs happily.

“It’s good to be back,” he says, looking around at all of them. “I missed you guys so much.”

Shirley and Annie both let out their signature “Awww,” and Jeff jostles Troy’s shoulder like a little brother.

“What’s new with you guys, though?” Troy asks. “I mean you told me a lot in your emails but what else?”

“Shirley spun off,” Abed says, pointing a finger at her, and he revels in the way Troy grins at him.

“That’s… true, I did.” Shirley folds her paper napkin and places it delicately in her lap. “I told you about that detective I cook for.”

“Yeah. That’s so cool,” Troy says, leaning forward with emphasis.

“And Annie kind of spun off but she came back,” Abed adds.

“Didn’t you kind of spin off too?” Frankie asks, and Abed shrugs.

“I guess, but I think I kind of knew I was coming back.”

“I am still doing the internship.” Annie clarifies, bouncing in her seat. “It’s just… different. Most of it is virtual, like online and stuff, but every other weekend I go down to the headquarters to work.”

“You’re gonna save the world someday,” Troy says. “Don’t forget about us when you do, okay?”

“Troy, you sailed around the world for four years and I didn’t forget about you.” She pauses. “And you didn’t forget about us either.”

“Of course I didn’t forget about guys, I could never.” Troy looks around the table, at all of them and their greasy pizza. Chang seems more focused on the pizza than anything, but the others are listening intently. “You guys are my family.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Jeff says before Shirley can get an Awww in. They all lift their glasses, and as Jeff says, “To family,” dramatically, Abed feels Troy’s fingers squeeze his knee under the table.

---

Britta suggests they watch a movie, and Troy asks if Abed still has The Breakfast Club.

“Do you guys remember the day we met, and Abed got us all to shut up by reciting a scene from The Breakfast Club?” Annie asks as they migrate into the living room.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, sitting in the middle of one of the sofas. Abed has always wondered how someone can be comfortable like that, legs out, feet planted on the floor, lap empty. But to each his own, he supposes. “Because you guys were arguing so loud the only thing that got you to be quiet was Abed saying ‘No Dad, what about you?’ like young Judd Nelson.”

“He slammed his hand on the table first,” Britta says, flopping onto the sofa next to him “That’s what got our attention.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You guys were already arguing then?” Frankie says. She sits on Jeff’s other side, crossing her legs.

“Day one,” Troy says, sitting on the other sofa. Abed hadn’t replaced the armchairs they used to sit in. Part of him wishes he had; maybe things would feel more normal. But another part of him doesn’t care, because Troy didn’t sit at the armrest, and he nods to it when Abed faces the sofa. Abed sits between him and the armrest, and his weight on the sofa makes the cushion cave, and he and Troy fall into each other. Neither of them move. “One of the first interactions we had in that room was all of us yelling over each other.”

“And you still argue to this day,” she said in wonder.

“Like a true family,” Jeff says in that I’m being sarcastic but you can take me seriously if you want voice with a matching, arrogant smile.

Shirley lets out a sweet, “Yeah,” and she grins.

Abed pulls his legs up on the sofa, his knees bent in front of him as he leans against the armrest, and Troy’s shoulder bumps him gently before staying, pressing. It stays there as the movie starts, as the others quietly talk, and Abed doesn’t tell them to be quiet, because if he’s honest he’s only half paying attention anyway, his mind too focused on the feeling of Troy’s shoulder against his.

It shouldn’t affect him like this. Before Troy left, they were constantly touching: shoulders pressed together as they next to each other like now, hands clasped as they navigate crowded hallways. Troy always went to find Abed’s hand. Once he accidentally grabbed Annie’s and despite her flustered blushing and giggling, he simply said, “Oh, sorry. Thought you were Abed. There you are, buddy!” and pushed past Annie to reach for Abed’s hand. They’d even cuddled, especially after Abed had had a particularly hard or exhausting day. There were some days he just dropped his bag on the floor and climbed into Troy’s bed, waiting until Troy changed into his pyjamas, or finished his homework, or ate dinner, until Troy climbed in next to him and wrapped his arms around him. They knew about the rumours. (Rumours that everyone in the study group had the decency not to bring up. But Abed suspected Pierce somehow never caught wind of them. Thankfully.)

But now it makes Abed’s heart beat too fast. It makes his hands shake. He clasps them in his lap.

He realises the room is dark, and Chang sits on the floor next to Annie, who’s holding a bowl of popcorn. (When did that happen?) She smiles and holds the bowl out for Chang to take a handful, and Shirley sits next to Troy.

“Abed,” Troy’s voice says quietly, and Abed is shaken into himself.

“Hm?”

Troy’s eyes are soft on him, dark and shining with reflections from the TV.

“You okay?” He’s whispering, and Abed nods, smiling. Troy hesitates, smiling back, and he leans forward, bumping their forehead together lightly before shifting in his seat, moving so he can lay his head on Abed’s shoulder.

As the movie goes on, Abed’s heart slows down until it’s somewhere near normal. He sighs, dropping his head onto the back of the sofa and letting it roll until it’s resting on top of Troy’s head. His hair is soft, and it tickles Abed’s face, but he doesn’t move. He wonders if his beard is as soft as his hair.

“Hey Abed,” Jeff calls across the room as the characters dance on top of a table. “Remember when we did that with the pizza guy?” Abed can hear his amusement in his voice, can hear him grinning.

“Vaguely,” he says back.

Troy’s breathing evens out. Abed thinks he might be asleep, and he doesn’t blame him. But after a few minutes there’s a gentle brush against Abed’s finger, his hands curled up between his chest and his legs, and he looks down to see Troy’s hand resting between him and Abed, his finger ever-so-slightly touching Abed’s. Abed uncurls his hand, extending his fingers just enough to pull Troy’s, tugging his hand into Abed’s lap and clutching Troy’s thumb in his fist as Troy’s fingers brush over the back of his hand, sending chills through his veins and down his spine.

Troy sighs, and lightly rubs the back of Abed’s hand.

Abed is almost falling asleep by the time the credits are rolling, and Jeff loudly states, “Well, I should be off.” He stands and shuts off the TV with the remote, which Abed forgot he had, and Troy lifts his head from Abed’s shoulder. “I have work in the morning.”

“Me too,” Frankie says. “You’re not special.”

“And I have class,” Britta says, standing as well.

“Me too,” Shirley and Annie say simultaneously before looking at each other and saying “Ohh,” in high-pitched voices.

“Me too,” Chang says, pushing himself up from the floor. He accidentally hits the bowl of popcorn, and it tips, spilling kernels on the carpet. Abed shakes his head.

“Ben, what do you even do at Greendale?” Jeff asks. (Troy mumbles “Ben?” next to Abed.)

“Uhm…” He finishes standing, about as ungracefully as humanly possible, and dusts his hands off on his legs. “You should ask the dean when we get there because I honestly don’t know.”

Everyone seems to collectively decide to let that pass as an answer. Annie shrugs and steps to the sofa, holding her arms out to Troy. Troy’s hand detaches from Abed’s, (who forgot they were holding hands. It feels so natural. Like it’s how their hands are supposed to be.) and he stands, hugging Annie tightly before she steps back and Britta takes her place.

“You’ll come by Greendale tomorrow right?” she asks as they rock. Jeff hands Annie her jacket behind them and he pulls his own over his shoulders.

“Yeah, of course,” Troy says, letting go of her. Shirley reaches up with grabby hands and Troy chuckles, wrapping his arms around her. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Haaaaaah,” Britta, saying, tugging her leather jacket on. (Abed doesn’t think it can keep her that warm.)

“It wasn’t that good,” Jeff says, shaking his head, and she makes a face at him.

Troy even hugs Frankie and Chang before everyone leaves, after drawn-out goodbyes, I’ll see you tomorrows, and more I’ll see you tomorrows.

When the door clicks shut, the apartment is silent, and Abed takes a breath before turning away from the door, to where Troy is standing. He’s smiling when Abed looks at him, looking like he’s waiting, and Abed steps closer, hearing only his and Troy’s quiet breaths and the gentle whir of the television. Abed doesn’t realise that Troy is moving closer too, until their forehead are pressed together, and they’re breathing the same air, and Troy’s arms are wrapping around Abed again and Abed’s are wrapping around him.

Abed’s eyes close again, and he hides his face in Troy’s neck, and Troy sighs, humming quietly, and Abed wonders why people question existence, because this is it. This is everything.

They stand there for a while, holding each other like they’re scared to let go, like if they let go they might fall apart, or Troy might disappear for another one thousand, seven hundred, thirty-seven days, until Troy’s arms slide so his hands are holding Abed’s waist, gentle and strong, and Abed pulls back, looking at him.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers softly, looking back and forth between Troy’s dark eyes, and Troy smiles, a soft, sleepy, almost lazy smile, and nods, so Abed places his hands on his cheeks, gently brushing over his beard with his fingertips. He was right. It’s very soft.

Abed can feel Troy’s thumbs brushing back and forth over his waist, slow and gentle, like Abed is fragile, and he realises he’s staring at Troy. It’s probably been too long, Abed thinks, but he doesn’t stop staring. He can’t. Usually, when he stares at people for what they consider to be too long, they get weird. They make faces at him, faces that confuse him, or they walk away, disgruntled or miffed. They scoff, wave, ask What? in rude voices. Even if Abed is staring because he thinks they’re beautiful. But Troy doesn’t seem weirded out right now. He’s still smiling, and he looks sleepy. Eventually, as Abed’s fingers gently scratch over his cheeks and jaw, Troy’s eyes drift shut. His thumbs don’t stop moving on Abed’s waist.

“Troy?”

It takes a second, but Troy’s eyes open, hazy, and then they focus on Abed, and his smile grows.

“Mm-hmm?”

“Are you tired?”

Abed would understand, It is getting late, and Troy has been through a lot. Reunions with six people, and meeting a whole new person, even a person he’s heard about, would take a lot out of Abed.

“I’m happy,” Troy says, like that explains it, and Abed hums. “Do you want to sit? Hang out?” “Sure.”

Troy pulls at his waist, and they go to the sofa, and Abed is a little disappointed because it means he has to stop touching Troy’s face. Troy sits first, looking up at Abed, and Abed can’t not smile at him, because he’s finally here.

Home.

He sits next to him, facing him with a leg bent between them, and Troy looks at him, and Abed smiles.

Abed asks, “Can I touch your beard again?” and Troy says, “‘Course,” and Abed smiles.

He touches his beard, first with the tips of his fingers, before smoothing his hand over his jaw, and Troy’s eyes shut again, and Abed smiles.

Troy bites his lower lip, letting his head fall back, and he looks so happy that Abed smiles, and smiles, and smiles, and smiles.

“Talk to me,” Troy says finally, turning his head slightly so he can look at Abed, and Abed cocks his own head, thinking, brushing the back of his hand over Troy’s cheek.

“I’m officially diagnosed with autism,” he says, watching as Troy’s eyes fly open and he looks at Abed, grinning.

“Yeah?” “Mm-hmm.” Abed sighs. “I talked to a psychiatrist in L.A. Jeff was right.”

“That’s great, buddy!” Troy rests his head on the back of the sofa, still looking at Abed.

“But they don’t use Aspergers as a diagnosis anymore,” Abed continues. “Apparently the guy it was named after was a nazi or something.”

“Oh. Gross.”

“Yeah. I doubt Jeff knew that when he said that to me, though.” Abed looks away from his eyes, watching his own fingers brush over Troy’s jaw.

“I mean, I doubt anyone in the study group really knows much about it in general.”

“Britta.”

Troy furrows his brows.

“Really?” “Yeah, when I told the group she was super excited and did a ton of research. I think she knows more about it than I do.”

Troy chuckles, subtly shifting so he’s closer to Abed on the sofa.

There’s a beat of silence and Abed looks up from his hand to Troy’s eyes, and they lock. Troy’s eyes are smiling.

“I thought about giving up so many times,” Troy says. “Giving up and just coming home.” “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I know how important it was to you. That you go out and become your own person, cement your own existence. Like a coming of age film but… in your early twenties.”

Abed hesitates for just a split second, and then moves, setting his hand on Troy’s shoulder and lifting a leg and moving so he’s on Troy’s lap, his legs on either side of him. Troy’s hands wait in the air until he’s settled, and then they’re on him, sliding up his thighs until they’re on his waist, slipping under his jacket and pulling him close. Abed touches his hair, closing his eyes as he feels Troy press his forehead to Abed’s chest, just under his throat.

“I thought about you every day,” Troy murmurs, and Abed tugs softly. A rush of warmth goes through him, and he knows Troy can feel his heartbeat. “Every fucking day.”

“I counted them,” Abed admits. Troy lifts his head, looking into his eyes.

“How many?” he whispers, just a breath.

“A thousand, seven-hundred, thirty-seven. And nine hours.”

Troy exhales, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Abed’s throat, as high as he can reach. When he pulls away, the spot gets cold.

“Troy?”

“Yeah?”

“May I kiss you, please?”

“Please,” Troy breaths, his eyes dropping to Abed’s lips. “Please, please, please, please, ple--”

So Abed does.

Their mouths crash together, and Abed’s hands trap Troy’s face, his palms pressing to his jaws, tilting his head for a better angle, and he feels Troy’s hands press into the small of his back and pull him closer. Troy gently bites his lip, and he licks into his mouth, and it’s nighttime and buttered noodles and Inspector Spacetime and Pulp Fiction and a warm jacket and a pretty die and the colour blue and it’s everything Abed loves and has ever loved right on Troy Barnes’s tongue.

And all Abed can think is finallyfinallyfinallyfinallyfinallyfinallyfinallyfinally.

That this is what they should have done the night before Troy left, instead of just laying together, their arms wrapped around each other, their legs entwined, neither of them really sleeping because neither of them wanted to wake up and find that they had run out of time. That this is what they should have done before exchanging hoodies so Abed could keep Troy there with him and so Troy could bring Abed with him, before zipping up Troy’s bags.

That this is what they should have been doing for years and years, that they should have found each other in the world before Greendale, before Spanish class, before that chapter, just so they could do this sooner.

But every single thought is pushed out of Abed’s mind as Troy pulls away for a gasp and pushes back in, running his tongue over Abed’s lips, smiling gently as Abed buries his fingers in his hair, as Troy lifts a hand from his waist and places it on his face, touching him so gently, carefully, thoughtfully that Abed thinks he might cry.

He doesn’t realise he is crying until Troy is pulling away and gently, carefully, thoughtfully, wiping at his cheeks and under his eyes, murmuring “It’s okay,” and “I got you.”

Abed’s fingers are suddenly clutching at Troy’s hood, and he can’t see because the world is underwater, and there’s a soft whining sound that he realises is him when Troy quietly says, “I know, baby.”

Troy pulls at his neck until their foreheads are pressed together, and Troy is warmwarmwarm and Abed can’t stop. His mouth is talking without his brain telling it to (“Please don’t, just-- Don’t--”) and his hands are shaking, and everything is falling down and falling into place.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Troy says gently. “I’m home.”

And then he’s pushing Abed’s hair back and pressing his lips to his forehead, and his cheeks, and his nose, and then his lips, lingering until he pulls away and Abed subconsciously leans in, trying to catch him.

“I love you so much,” Troy whispers when Abed finally stops crying. “So fucking much.”

Abed slips his hands over his neck, brushing his thumbs back and forth over his jaw. He closes his eyes, pressing his lips to Troy’s before pulling away to breathe and resting his forehead on Troy’s, feeling his hands run over his back and his hips and his thighs and then back again like they’re mapping him out.

They stay there, while the stars and street lamps and stop lights shine outside, while cars and motorcycles and bikes speed by, while the wind blows and the rain falls, they breathe and breathe and breathe and exist and exist and exist.

Home.

#so imcurrently obsessed w community #i started watching it last year but its like all ive watched for the past month #and abed has become one of my top comfort characters #and im just very emotional #that is all #thank you for coming #(i might start posting more community stuff btw sorry in advance to ppl who followed me for skam #community #troy barnes #abed nadir #trobed #troy and abed #troy and abed in the morning #:)

31 notes · View notes

babysizedfics · 4 years ago

Text

janus trying to get child virgil to socialize and it ending in bullying

tw: angst, bullying (not violent) between children, ableism against an (undiagnosed) autistic child

janus always knew that it was healthy to get a child to socialize with other children especially since virgil was not enrolled in education in the mindscape, janus homeschooled him. so when virgil was 6 yrs old he started taking him to a playgroup at weekends (virgil was still mostly mute but occassionally said single words if he needed something like "hungry" or "sleep" or "change")

and janus stayed during the playtime for the first two or three weeks so that virgil got used to the nanny and the environment. janus informed her that virgil was still in diapers and she did look down on that a little and told janus he should get him potty trained ASAP but janus was trying his best.

but for all that time virgil refused to go and play with the other children and just clung to janus, so eventually janus was like okay Virgil, janus is going to go outside for a while then i'll be right back, dont worry this nice lady will look after you - and leaves virgil there for the hour, trying to encourage him to get used to being separated from janus

then when he comes to collect him virgil immediately runs back to him and clings so hard and janus is worried. he asks the nanny how was he did he throw any tantrums did he ask for me and she says he was fine, he did cry a bit at the beginning but then some older kids helped him feel beter - and janus is like oh!! thats amazing thank you!!

and as he carries virgil home virgil is completely silent but janus is like did you have fun? was it nice to play with the older kids? i bet you had lots of fun! and virgil would just cling to him and janus assumed he was shy from interacting with people

so that happened a couple more times, janus left virgil there and virgil wouldnt speak but he wouldnt cry and cling to janus or anything either, so he assumed it was just shyness - there was one time his white hair had clumps of various colours of paint in it and the nanny and janus chuckled over him having an artistic streak

until one day when he comes back a little earlier to pick virgil up just because they had to get to the store before it shut or something - so he shows up early and all the kids are running around playing with toys and stuff, and he spots virgil with a group of three older boys and he starts to smile - until he notices virgil sucking his thumb, which is mainly a sleepy or a nervous habit

so he frowns and steps into the nursery closer trying to swerve around giggling kids and toddlers running around, and he starts to hear the boys

"he wont do that hes only a baby" "no he's not, he's like 4!" "yeah but i seen he always wears a diaper!" *giggles* "i bet he wont do it!" "yeah he will, he will!" "go on tell him to do it!"

and little virgil is just curled into himself and sucking his thumb and looking at their feet because he doesnt like looking at peoples eyes.

and one of the boys says "hey, you gotta eat this!" and holds out a piece of modelling clay and janus' heart races in the few seconds it takes for virgil to start whimpering and step back and another boy quickly pull him closer and insist "the nany said you have to or you'll be in trouble! don't you wanna be good for your weird daddy?" and hear the other boys laughing as virgil sniffles and pulls his thumb out of his mouth ready to reach for the clay

janus RUSHES in and scoops virgil into his arms and coos "no virgil, no no shh you dont need to do that, darling" and virgil immediately starts to cry into his shoulder and clings tight, and literally all janus has to do is look at the little boys - with his pierced lip and his snake tattoo and his scarred face - and the boys run away.

and janus FURIOUSLY storms over to where the nanny was helping a little girl brush a dolls hair and demand to know why she didnt notice those boys trying to force his child to eat clay - and shes pretty flippant like ohh no those boys have always been well behaved, im sure they werent forcing virgil to do anything,

but janus insists and yells that his child was being manipulated by thise boys and she did nothing to stop it and she argues that maybe virgil was just a little confused and wanted to eat the clay - janus is incredulous "are you saying my child is stupid??" "no no not stupid. perhaps special?" she suggests quite condescendingly - and janus looks enraged but the nanny insists that he please leave in case he scare the children. he hisses "gladly." they never go back

janus never learns what the boys did to virgil/made him do in the previous sessions - virgil doesnt have the comminicative capacity to tell him - but he can obviously make an educated guess that the paint in virgils hair that one time probably wasnt his choice

and after that janus never tried to take virgil to that playgroup again. they tried some others over the years, maybe another couple, but they ended similarly, with virgil being picked on - mostly for his albinism or for not being able to speak or basically anything the other kids saw as different.

a few years later he took virgil to an older boys club - the club was maybe like a wilderness thing, where they learn to tie knots and use a compass and stuff - it was when he was about 11 years old and could finally speak in full sentences, so janus thought virgil being able to talk to the other kids would finally give him an opportunity to make some friends. though janus didnt yet realise that virgil was selectively mute, and still couldnt speak with strangers

so when janus picked him up from the first session, he found virgil shaking and tearful standing outside of the club with a big wet patch on his pants and a group of the other boys all sniggering and pointing and whispering a few feet away from him. virgil had gone mute at the club, which became an issue when he needed the bathroom but couldnt ask the club leader where it was or if he could go, and led to a very upsetting and humiliating accident in front of all the other boys.

at that point janus knew he wouldnt be bringing virgil back to that club either, and they basically gave up on getting virgil to socialize with kids his age since it kept ending in virgil being bullied for his differences

...

nowadays i think only janus and virgil (and eventually virgils therapist, dr picani) know about these incidents, janus would never tell anyone else abt them and virgil wouldnt want to relive them by telling his family. so janus is really the only one who realises that virgil being so affected by the cyberbullying he experienced in the past couple of years wasnt just about the cyberbullying, but it probably resurfaced old traumatic memories too

#this one im a lil insecure abt so if you could pls comment or send an ask if u have the energy that would be rlly appreciated #very different from our regular content on this blog #but thsi was surprisingly healing for me to write so i hope at least one of you appreciates it too hdhsh #little/big concepts #nana janus #kid virgil #child virgil #bullying tw #ableism mention #little angst

32 notes · View notes

hopelikethemoon · 4 years ago

Text

The Ranch (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: The Ranch Rating: PG-13 Length: 2700 Warnings: None Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set November 1998 in Laredo. Summary: Reader and Javier tell Chucho a secret.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow@plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts@synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper@awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen@arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque@theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou@yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie @jaime1110

Chucho’s gaze flickered curiously between you and Javier before he turned his back to grab something from the kitchen cabinet, “You two have been acting awfully suspicious since you got here yesterday.”

“Really?” Javier leaned against the kitchen counter, looking towards you then. “Baby, you think we’ve been acting suspicious?”

You pressed your tongue to the inside of your cheek and chuckled, “Maybe.”

“Well, you were both awfully keen to get Josie and those girls off on a trail ride so you could ‘help me’ around the house.” Chucho chuckled, “If you’re planning on killing me, do it outside so there’s less of a mess.”

“We’re not fucking killing you, pops.” Javier snorted. “We have something to tell you. We just didn’t want everyone else around.”

Chucho turned to look at you, hands on his hips in a gesture that you recognized intimately from the younger Peña. “Well, out with it then.”

You touched the turquoise necklace that set against your chest, smiling fondly as you looked towards Javier then. “We got married.”

“Bullshit.” Chucho waved a hand. “What’s really going on?” He narrowed his eyes as he looked between the two of you again. Realization slowly passed over his features, “You’re telling the truth.”

“We got married in May.” You told him, biting down on your bottom lip as grinned.

“Six months ago?” Chucho swore under his breath. “You two are good at keeping secrets.”

Javier tucked his thumbs into his belt loops as he shrugged, “Can’t shake all those years of training.”

You stepped towards him and rested your cheek against his shoulder. “We didn’t want to make it into a thing.”

“I’m speechless,” Chucho admitted. “Never thought I’d live to see my son get married.”

“It took the right woman,” Javier admitted with a grin as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “We’re keeping this quiet. You’re the only person aside from our therapist that knows we tied the knot.”

“Guess I ought to be chuffed you decided I was worthy to be let in on the secret.” Chucho strolled around the kitchen island. “Why’s it a secret?”

Javier looked to you for the answer.

“You know I’m not the marrying type,” You had had long conversations with Chucho about that after the first time he prompted the topic. “But after everything that happened, we were on vacation and I realized… I wanted to marry him.”

“She proposed.” Javier pointed out, grinning at his father. “I did it pops, I got married.”

“I’m proud of you son,” Chucho said warmly, before he looked at you. “I always wanted a daughter. Figured I had the closest thing I’d get to one with you.” He shook his head, “And why aren’t you telling folks?”

“I just want it to be for us.” You admitted. “I don’t want anyone else involved in our relationship.”

Javier ran his hand down the length of your back reassuringly. “So consider yourself lucky, pops. You get to be privy to our little secret.”

“And no ring.” Chucho pointed out with an arched brow.

You laughed, taking the silver band you wore around your wrist off as Javier did the same with his ring. “We got the date engraved with the girl’s birthdays.”

Chucho adjusted his glasses as he examined the engravings, “Well, I’ll be damned.” He passed the ring back to Javier before he embraced his son. “Your mother would be proud of you, Javier. I’m proud of you.”

You smiled warmly as you watched Javier hug his old man back in return. “Javier was quite the blushing bride.” You teased, prompting Javier to flip you off.

“I never needed the two of you to get hitched,” Chucho said as he pulled back. “Anyone with eyes can see how much you two love each other, but I appreciate the principle of it. The tradition.”

Javier chuckled, “Now you can burn those old newspaper clippings from when you put my wedding announcement on page three.”

“Oh no,” He smirked. “I’m saving those for when you two have to clear this place out. I’ll be grinning down from heaven, laughing my ass off as you explain it all to your girls.”

“Now I want to see these wedding announcements.”

“It was 1970. No one wants to see that.”

“Oh God, I was nine.” You laughed, shaking your head. “What was so bad about it?”

“Javier had baby face and a long mane of hair back then.” Chucho gestured to a point just at his collarbone.

“You had long hair?” You covered your mouth as you snickered at that.

“And green plaid trousers,” Chucho told you, much to Javier’s ire.

“You’re not showing her those pictures,” Javier insisted, looping his arm around your waist as he steered you into his side.

“Like I said, you’ll find them one day.” Chucho winked at his son, before looking at you. “Congratulations. I’m glad you made an honest man out of him.”

You laughed, nudging Javier in the ribs. “I don’t know about that. Your son’s still my favorite jackass.”

He scratched at the back of his neck, “You’re not wrong about that.”

“Remind me that I have something for you,” Chucho told you. “Now that you’re officially part of the family.”

“Should I be worried?”

He shook his head, “Not at all.”

“Speaking of family,” You started, playing with the stone of your necklace. “Would you be willing to come for Christmas?”

“Doing something special?”

Javier cleared his throat, “Attempting to.”

Chucho’s brows rose upwards, “What are you two up to now?”

“I haven’t seen my brother since I was like nineteen,” You explained. “I’m thinking about inviting his family to our house for Christmas this year, but… it would mean a lot to me if everyone was there.”

“Monica and Nadia will be there,” Javier continued, curling his fingers around your hand. “We’re thinking about inviting the Murphys.”

Chucho nodded his head slowly as he stared at Javier with an unreadable expression. “You know, Javier… I always wanted the best for you, but I never could see where you’d go with your life. You’re as stubborn as a damn mule. I couldn’t guide you, outside of the occasional sage advice, but look at you now.”

You turned to look at Javier, squeezing his hand as you took in the sight of his flushed cheeks and misty eyes. He didn’t talk about it often, but you knew how much his father meant to him. He used to tell stories about Chucho when the three of you were on stakeouts or enjoying an evening out.

“Pops—“

“No, let me finish.” Chucho folded his arms across his chest and set Javier with a look, “I learned a long time ago, that I just had to let you do your own thing. It would all shake out in the end. Look at you now,” He shook his head. “Married with two girls — three if you take into account how much Monica looks up to the pair of you — and planning Christmas dinner with your extended family.l

You interlaced your fingers with his, rubbing your thumb over the back of Javier’s hand. You pressed your lips to his shoulder, tilting your head to watch the emotions play over his face.

“What? Did I render you speechless?” Chucho chuckled, grinning from ear-to-ear. “We ought to take advantage of this.”

Javier snorted, “Had to go and ruin the moment, didn’t you pops?” He released your hand and moved to give his father a second hug, holding him tight. “It means a lot that I’ve done something to earn your pride.”

“I’ve always been proud of you,” Chucho told him, sniffing a little. “You were a pain in my ass, but you were my pain in the ass.”

You rolled your eyes, “He certainly is a pain in the ass.”

“And you married him,” Chucho grinned at you, moving to pull you into a hug. “You did good, chica.”

“He’s the best person I know.” You whispered to his father as he hugged him back.

“He’s alright,” He chuckled as he pulled back.

The back door opened just then with Josie calling out they were back.

“After dinner, I’ll get you what I mentioned.” Chucho told you as he moved back to the opposite side of the kitchen, making himself look busy.

“How was the trail ride?” You questioned as Monica herded Josie into the kitchen, with Nadia behind her.

“We got about a mile out,” Monica explained as she shed her jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. “But someone had to come back.”

“I had to go potty,” Josie told you, before she darted down the hallway to the bathroom.

“I asked her twice if she’d gone to the bathroom before we left,” Nadia remarked as she moved to open the fridge and grab the pitcher of lemonade out of it. “She assured me she had.”

“She’s not great at that.” You admitted, “We’re working on it.”

“How many times did we stop on the way here?” Monica pointed out, before narrowing her eyes as she looked between you and Javier. “Why do you two look weird?”

“We don’t look weird,” You insisted, a little too quickly.

Javier, on the other hand, did not handle the most minuscule amount of pressure. “We were telling my pops that I finally smoked a joint.”

Chucho tried to mask his surprise with amusement.

You raised your brows as you turned to stare at Javier. And he’d made you promise to take that to the grave!

“You did what?” Nadia gave him a look. “You owe me ten bucks, babe.” She told Monica, snapping her fingers.

“You made a bet?” Javier scoffed, “Monica, how could you?”

“Sorry.” She flashed him a sympathetic smile. “But you’re such an old grouch, I didn’t think it would ever happen.”

He muttered under his breath, “An old grouch.”

“She’s not wrong.” You teased, ruffling his hair. “He did it for me.” You informed them with a warm smile. “After everything with my mother, we both needed to unwind.”

“After the girls are asleep—“ Chucho cleared his throat, “The ones under five.” Monica and Nadia both laughed. “We’ll have to crack into my stash. See if you’re telling the truth.”

“Glad he finally listened to our advice,” Nadia said as she poured two glasses of lemonade for her and Monica. “How was it on your joints?”

Javier shrugged, “I didn’t really notice any pain, but we also fell asleep.”

“Best six hours of sleep.” You laughed, giving his arm three short squeezes before you peered down the hallway, “You okay in there JoJo?”

“Yes!”

“Are you playing with the foaming soap instead of going to the bathroom?”

There was a beat of silence. “... no?”

“Josie.”

“I’m coming!” Josie emerged from the bathroom and came bounding down the hallway, reeking of strawberry soap. “I washed my hands!”

“And everything else, it seems like.” Javier said as he swept her up into his arms and spun her a little, before depositing her back on the ground. “How’d you like riding on the trail?”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, “I’m asking Santa for a pony!”

“Oh Lord.” You rolled your eyes.

“We don’t have room for a pony.”

“Yes we do!” Josie beamed, “Abuelo, can I have a pony? Please.”

“You’re welcome to ride any of my horses, sweetheart.” Chucho answered with a chuckle. “But you should listen to your parents.”

“A small pony?” Josie questioned, setting her sights on Javier once she knew she wasn’t getting the answers from her abuelo. “Daddddddy.”

“Your mother said no.”

“It’s true.” You slapped him in the leg. “Your father also said no.”

Josie pouted dramatically, “But I want one.”

“How about lessons?” You crouched down to her height. “And then when you’re older, we can see.”

“I’m older now.”

“Josefína.”

She stomped her foot, pouting still. “Come on Stevie.” Josie said as she clapped her hands together to get the dog’s attention.

“Please don’t wake your sister up.” You warned her, standing back up.

“I won’t, mommy.”

“I give it five minutes.” Javier said with a shake of his head.

“So you really smoked a blunt,” Monica chuckled. “And to think, you acted like she had lost her mind for enjoying a hit now and then.”

Javier shrugged. “People change. Their opinions on things change.” He scratched at the back of his neck, sinking down into a chair at the table. “I’m not against trying it again,” He told his pops. “But discretion is key, alright?”

“Especially if I intend to start teaching too.” You remarked, moving to perch on Javier’s lap, leaning against him as he curled an arm around you.

“Are you really going to do it?” Monica questioned hopefully. “They’re going to love you.”

“Just one class,” You chewed on your bottom lip. “I’ve already met with the dean. They’re definitely interested in me. The article solidified it.”

“They wanted you before the article too, baby.” Javier kissed the back of your shoulder, “She’s gonna nail it.”

“What are you thinking about teaching?”

“An elective course geared around women going into government jobs. But I’d also encourage men to take the course to get a better understanding of what is happening around them. It’s easy to be complacent.”

You rested your hand over Javi’s at your waist, “It’s a boy’s club and I don’t see any chance of that changing in my lifetime. But at least I can equip the next generation with the tools to combat this shit.”

“The same thing is happening in the science field,” Nadia pointed out. “Look at the women who have worked at NASA and received little credit for their contributions.” She took a sip of lemonade. “And that’s a double-edged sword, because we all know why their names aren’t widely known.”

“It’s all institutionalized bullshit.” Javier remarked, “Best we can do is hope to usher in change.”

“Hey chica,” Chucho said, catching your attention. “I want to show you something.”

You slid off Javier’s lap and followed him down the hallway to where his bedroom was towards the back of the house.

“I never expected Javier to get married,” Chucho told you once you were out of earshot from everyone else. “And I knew Lorraine wasn’t the one for him, so I never bothered giving him this.”

You watched him as he opened his closet and proceeded to relocate several boxes, to get to what he was looking for.

“I’ll be honest, I never expected to get married.” You admitted with a shrug, “I didn’t need that to prove I loved him. But I knew he wanted to — even if he said otherwise.”

“I knew too,” Chucho said with a grin, before he resumed digging in his closet. “I tried to get him to take this when I brought that necklace for him. But he was adamant you’d leave him if he gave you a ring.”

“A ring?”

“Indeed.” Chucho turned around with a small red velvet box, faded and aged. “I won’t be offended if you choose to never wear it, but I’d like it passed down to the girls one day.” He opened the box, revealing a gold and platinum engagement ring with a diamond set in the center. “Worked my tail off making enough money to buy this for Sofía.” He shook his head slowly. “Didn’t get it to her until Javier was nearly a year old.”

“It’s beautiful.” You smiled at him. “I bet she loved it.”

“Wore it every day.” Chucho took your hand and placed the box in it. “She would’ve wanted you to have it.”

“Chucho—“

“You’re part of the family now, you’re going to have to learn to take my gifts.” He teased lightly.

You stared down at the ring, feeling a surge of emotions at the fact that Chucho was giving it to you. “It isn’t fair that you and Javi lost her.”

“No. But life isn’t fair. We’ve got to enjoy what we’re given. While we’ve got it.” He gave your cheek a pat, before he stepped past you. “Now tell me, is it true my son smoked pot?”

“He did!” You laughed, tucking the ring box into the pocket of your sweatshirt. “He was adorable.”

“Good for him.” Chucho chuckled. “Good for both of you.”

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

126 notes · View notes

hale-13 · 4 years ago

Text

State of Grace

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 28 Prompt - Display and

Identity Reveal Bingo Prompt - “Were you ever planning to tell me?”

Peter can do this. It’s just high school and he’s only been on the run from the American government for the whole summer. He can do this.

Words: 2220, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Ned Leeds, Peter Parker/Michelle Jones, Peter Parker & Happy Hogan

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Happy Hogan, Flash Thompson

TW: Mild Panic, Angst

Read on AO3 or below line break.

“Are you okay?” May asks him, leaned against the frame of his open door, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand and a silk robe knotted shut over her pajamas.

“Sure. I’m fine,” Peter says and holds back a wince – he doesn’t even believe himself. He continues to fiddle with the new notebooks he’s shoving in his ratty book bag, fraying and stained from his summer on the run. May offered to get him a new one but he had – stupidly – declined. And, yes, he regrets it now.

The look May levels him with is one of disbelief but he chooses to ignore it in favor of completely unpacking and repacking his bag, shoving his suit into the dark recesses and trying to ignore it. He hasn’t been out as Spider-Man since… well anyway he doesn’t really use his suit as much anymore but he can’t stand to not have it with him. He hasn’t told his SHIELD assigned therapist that yet but he can imagine what she would say.

It’s not pretty.

“You look real fine,” May tells him in her no nonsense way but then her face softens. “You know you don’t have to do this right sweetie? You can home school if you want?”

Peter’s fingers tap a staccato rhythm against his pants leg and he clenches his fist tight enough to turn his knuckles white to stop it. “I know May,” he says. He did consider it for a while but he genuinely loved Midtown and he wanted to have a normal senior year with Ned and MJ; apply to colleges, go to prom and on dates with MJ, graduate. He wanted to get into MIT just like Mr. Stark and share a dorm with Ned and just… be normal.

May lets out a sigh and enters the room, setting her cooling coffee mug on his desk and untangling his fingers from the strap of his bag before pulling him into a warm hug. Peter melts into her and reaches his arms up to hug her back gently. He loves her more than anything and he absolutely hates what he’s put her through. He hates that she can’t work at FEAST anymore, that she basically has to have a bodyguard with her everywhere she goes because of him. That all of her friends have alienated her except for Pepper Potts who lives over two hours away and can’t really visit.

“It’s going to be okay Petey,” she tells him softly as she rocks them back and forth using his childhood nickname and making tears well in his eyes. He’s already cried twice in the last twelve hours so he needs to dry it up or he’s going to look like even more of a mess when he gets to school. “I believe in you and I know you can do it but just know you can leave at any point okay? Remember the meeting with Morita? Just ask and you can leave.”

“I know,” Peter says into her hair – it smells like her favorite jasmine shampoo and the familiar scent is comforting. “I’ll be fine.”

A knock sounds at the door ending their embrace and May looks at her watch and frowns. “Happy’s early,” she mutters, grabbing her coffee cup and shuffling to the door. “Finish packing!” She calls over her shoulder and Peter haphazardly shoves the rest of his things into his bag so that he can join her in the living room as she opens the door and lets out a soft ‘oh’.

“Ned?” Peter says, confused at seeing his best friend in the hallway outside his front door smiling a massive smile. “MJ?” His girlfriend stands next to Ned looking just as bored and unaffected as usual except for the slightly faintly look in her eye that he knows means she’s nervous. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you honestly think we were going to let you rejoin society completely on your own?” MJ asks with a raised eye brow and a smirk.

“Yeah Peter what do you take us for?” Ned jokes, walking through the open door and giving May a quick hug as she closes the door behind them.

And, yeah, here come the waterworks again Peter thinks as he sniffs wetly. Ned and MJ had both spent most of the summer on the run with him or hiding in Dr. Strange’s weird house and he knows today is just a big of a deal for them as it is for him and he never would have thought that they would… he sniffs again and wipes his eyes. “Thanks,” he says sincerely, choked up as he pulls them both in for a hug.

Ned returns the hug, now just as emotional but he can basically feel MJ’s eye roll as she returns his hug. “I can’t believe you actually thought we weren’t going to be here after everything loser,” her voice is fond and Peter squeezes her just a bit tighter. “Besides, I want to see the look on Flash’s face – he has such a massive crush on Spider-Man that his face will make a great addition to my ‘In Distress’ series.”

Ned and Peter both laugh and Peter releases them both. He revels in the warmth for just one more minute before he sobers to say “You don’t have to do this. It could put a target on your backs and I don’t want you to get hurt.” Ned and MJ share a commiserating look with each other before leveling Peter with twin glares and he holds up his hands in surrender. “Just checking!”

He had tried to break ties with both of them when he left at the beginning of the summer but was told, under no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t allowed to make their decisions for them. MJ’s impassioned speech had also contained a thirty minute detailed history of women’s rights and how chivalry was just another way men belittled them and Peter really couldn’t love her any more if he tried.

Before either one of them got the opportunity to lecture Peter again there was a brief knock at the door before Happy opened it and walked in, studiously avoiding looking at May who was fighting a smile of her own. They had been on-again-off-again for months and Peter really didn’t want to think about it. “Hey Happy!” He said, going for bright but falling short and flat. Graciously, no one pointed it out.

“Didn’t know I was chauffeuring half of your school,” he grumbled and Peter’s smile became more genuine – Happy liked to pretend to be gruff but they all had his number – he was super soft and gooey on the inside. “You ready to go?”

Was he ready to go? No, not really, but he needed to so he just nodded, tightening his bag straps around his shoulders and turning to pull May into another quick hug. “I’ll see you after school,” she whispered into his ear with another quick squeeze before moving on to repeat the gesture with Ned and MJ. “Have a good day!” She told all of them as Peter slipped his hand into Michelle’s and followed Happy to the elevator. One of the two SHIELD agents that were constantly stationed outside his apartment followed behind them as unobtrusively as possible but it still made Peter’s skin crawl.

Nick Fury – the real one, not the Skrull (holy shit an actual shape-shifting alien!) that Peter had met in Europe – had assigned he and May a full security detail once he had been cleared of all charges. Peter had hoped they would be gone by the time school started but Fury was nothing if not cautious and Peter had to accept that they would probably be following him for most of the school year. At least he had managed to talk Fury and Hill into keeping them outside the school so he wasn’t being followed by a bunch of guys in suits to all of his high school classes.

“You good kid?” Happy asked once they had slipped into his town car and pulled away from the curb, Peter sitting in between Ned and MJ and a SHIELD vehicle following closely behind them as they navigated the Queens streets.

“Yep. I’m good. Great. So good,” Peter rambled, ignoring the heavy looks MJ, Ned and Happy all shared.

“You sound great,” Happy said sarcastically, flicking his eyes back to the road. The rest of the car ride to Midtown was filled with oppressive silence as Peter’s heart rate ratcheted up higher and higher the closer they got until it felt like it was pounding in his chest when they pulled into the parking lot. The group of four SHIELD agents behind them all left their SUV and ignored the curious stares of the mass of teenagers milling in front of the school as they disappeared into the masses.

“You ready to go Tiger?” MJ asked, taking Peter’s hand and squeezing it again.

Peter gulped, his mouth and throat suddenly dry. “Sure,” he croaked out.

“Dude,” Ned muttered. “You don’t have to do this; you know that right? You don’t have anything to prove.”

“I know,” Peter agreed. “But I need to do this.”

Ned studied his intently for another moment before nodding once. “Then lets go.”

The yard fell completely silent for about ten seconds when Peter exited the car, flanked by Ned and MJ, before everyone started furiously gossiping and pointing at him. Perter felt his cheeks heat up and he ducked his head. “Ignore them,” MJ said, grabbing Ned’s hand with her free one and pulling both of them forward. The crowd parted for them, staring at Peter like he was on display but no one dared to risk MJ’s wrath and approach them.

The hall’s were just as crowded when they stumbled through the front doors but the flood of students inside must have already heard about their arrival since they were, with the level of failed surreptitiousness that only teenagers could achieve, taking pictures and videos of Peter’s entrance into the school. He could feel his face paling and he let his eyes glaze over and go out of focus as his breath quickened.

“Don’t,” MJ said, pulling him along to his locker. “Get your chin up,” she hissed at him, “they’re piranhas, don’t show weakness.”

“Don’t show weakness,” Peter said weakly, feeling a little faint. “Right.”

“Back off,” he heard Ned say angrily to a group of juniors who were approaching Peter with hungry expressions and phones out. “Don’t you have a class to get to?”

“Clear the halls!” Mr. Harrington called from outside his classroom. “Home room starts in two minutes! Get a move on!” He caught Peter’s eye and winked at him as he started herding the unruly groups along and Peter felt something settle in his just a little.

‘Come on Spider-Man,’ He said, cracking his neck a bit and trying to hype himself up. ‘Come on Peter. They’re just people. You’ve got this.’ He rolled his shoulders back and kept walking, trying to put more confidence in his step and ignoring the surprised faces of his friends as he pushed through the crowd to his locker.

Ned split off to head a little further down the hall to get his own things but Michelle opened the locker next to his and gave him a self-satisfied smile. “That was hot,” she told him with a ridiculous wiggle of her eye brows and he let out a loud laugh, giving her a fond look as he stowed his gym bag and slammed the door shut.

“I’ll have to keep it up then,” he said, trying for confident and focusing on her slightly chapped lips. He really wanted to kiss her.

She snorted and grabbed his hand again. “Later Tiger,” she promised. ��But only if you make it through the whole day.”

He grinned back at her, finally settling and ignoring all the people watching them. “How could I not with a promise like that?”

Ned had just joined them when, out of nowhere, Flash planted himself directly in their path, leveling an angry glare at Peter opening and closing his mouth a few times before finally just pointing at him.

“Yes Flash?” Peter asked, confused and tilting his head to the side at his frenemies odd behavior. Flash let out a growl of frustration.

“You’re Spider-Man,” he finally said.

“Uh…” Peter said, taken aback a little. “Yeah? Old news right?”

“You’re Spider-Man,” he said again, sounding beyond angry and yanking at his slicked back hair, mussing it. “You actually let me… I’m Spider-Man’s biggest… you let me call you penis!”

Ned snorted, his face turning red from trying to contain his laugh and even MJ looked a little smug. Perter just smiled. “And?”

Flash dropped his hand, looking crestfallen. “We’re you ever planning to tell me?”

“It’s called a secret identity for a reason Flash,” Peter pointed out and Flash rolled his eyes.

“Fair point I guess,” he agreed, hitching his bag up his shoulder. “See you at lunch Parker.”

Peter stared after him, bemused. “Did that just happen?”

“Oh yeah,” Ned cackled. “And I filmed it!”

Peter laughed and started walking again just as the first bell rang. Maybe he could do this after all.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump28 #Prompt: Display #identityrevealbingo2021 #Prompt: Were you ever planning to tell me?#spider man #Summer of Whump 2021 #Identity Reveal Bingo 2021

6 notes · View notes

amazedforjjk · 5 years ago

Text

Black Crow - Yoongi

Summary: It’s not often you stumble upon a handsome tied up man in your parking lot in the dead of the night. What adventures this mysterious stranger is going to embark you on?

Genre: mafia!Yoongi, angst, humor, a tiny tiny hint of fluff

Warnings: Strong language, violence, blood and injuries, mentions of abuse and torture, tragic backstory, snarky Yoongi

A.N: Black Crow is finally here!! I’m so excited for you guys to read it! I’ll go on a hiatus for about two weeks but I’ll be back, don’t worry! I already have a new story idea I’m excited about!! Please tell me what you thought of Black Crow, I love interacting with you guys!!

Word count: 14K

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

10:43 pm

It’s pitch black when you step out through the big glass doors of your office complex and the only way you manage to put a foot in front of the other without falling on your face is thanks to your flashlight on your phone. Everyone is already gone by now, and you should be as well but your boss had asked you to stay later tonight, because that fucker isn’t able to prepare a powerpoint by himself. Fucking boomers and their inability to use a computer. You huff in frustration as your heels click on the ground. You try to readjust your tight skirt by pulling at the edge. You hate this office with a passion, from your boss to his abject dress code. You absolutely despise having to dress in a tighter than normal grey skirt along with dark pantyhoses and a white blouse just for him to ogle you and your female coworkers. Your scalp hurts from having to pull your hair in a tight bun everyday.

Your heels are so fucking painful after a day of working, your boss making a point of having you run around the open space for different files that he strangely doesn’t need merely five minutes after asking you for them. You are not his assistant either, so you shouldn’t have to do anything for his fat ass but he holds your career in his hands, promising you the position you aspired towards for the past year without ever committing to his word. You huff again as you try to find your car in the dark, holding your phone between your shoulder and your cheek while you rummage in your purse to find your keys. Your office’s neighborhood isn’t exactly unsafe at night but you’d rather be home as fast as possible.

Admittedly, no one’s waiting for you there, except your bed and a comfy pair of pants, but you still sigh in contentment when you find the button to open your car. You get in in a hurry, throwing your bag across on the passenger seat and starting the car up. You already feel more relaxed in your car, removing your painful heels to drive. Your ankles are covered in blisters for sure and the tight fabric of your pantyhose pressing against the tender skin makes you grit your teeth. You drive home in a hurry, certainly not very safely but you don’t seem to care tonight, still fueled on the rage you piled up inside you today.

It’s definitely not your dream job, but a writer’s salary doesn’t pay the bills, at least not yours. And it’s not that bad; Sure you hate everyone in this office but the work in itself is okay, and the paycheck is worth the trouble. It’s thanks to that that you are two steps from owning your apartment in the center of the city, currently reimbursing your loan from the bank. It’s also why you need that new position; Bigger responsibilities but a bigger paycheck and flexible hours, perfect for an aspiring writer. Most importantly, you’ll don’t have to do anything for your asshole of a boss anymore.

You park in your parking spot down your building complex, calming down as you retrieve your keys from the ignition. You sigh. Sometimes you think you let the rage of your job consume you because it masks the loneliness overflowing from you everytime you come back home. You shouldn’t feel that way; you are the one who decided to move thousands of miles away from your parents. You are the country girl who decided to flee her small town to settle in the big city. You are not the only one, most of your friends moved as well, but not to the capital and sometimes you feel really alone. Even if you live in an over crowded city you can’t seem to find people to talk to other than a therapist.

You sigh as you slip your uncomfortable heels back on, stepping out of your car with your bag. You don’t notice at first the grunts and sounds of straining as you close your door and lock the car, but when you do you still instantly. Your eyes scan all around you while you strain your ears to find the origin of the noise. It sounds like a man is struggling against something, huffing and puffing in frustration.

The parking lot is empty and dimly lit, which is not unusual at this time of the night. You grab your phone tightly in your hand. The screen reads 11:07 pm before you tap on the emergency button. You don’t call the cops yet, but you feel a bit more reassured now that they are only a phone call away. You tentatively step closer to the trunk of your car towards the sound, steadying your breathing to be as silent as you can. Surely the person making the sound has already heard you arriving in your car and knows you are here but the fear gnawing your stomach keeps you from thinking straight. You forget about your painful heels, the rage of the day and your loneliness to focus entirely on the sounds . You can tell the man is still struggling, grunts and curse words alike becoming louder.

The deep voice spits a “Fuck!” and a car two rows away from yours sways lightly as if someone pushed against it. Having finally located the source of the sound you approach the car slowly, only stopping when you are close enough to determine what’s happening. A man is sitted against the back door of said car, head turned to look at his hands behind his back while struggling so that you can only see his raven hair. From the rope tied around his shoulders, you gather that his hands must be tied up as well and that he must be trying, with no success thus far, to break free.

He doesn’t seem to have noticed you yet, and you take advantage of that to figure out what the hell you are supposed to do in this situation. You could call the cops, leave him in their hands and he’ll be fine. Or you could try to free him from his bonds, there’s no need to get the police involved if it’s only a bad prank gone wrong. You glance at the chains around his neck; a silver skull is on the biggest of them and you can’t help but gulp. He could be dangerous… Like a gang member? Who else wears chains and skulls nowadays? Or he could be in danger, you realize as you notice a big dark stain on his khaki shirt. Wait, is that blood?

You let out an involuntary squeak as the stain seems to get even bigger. Your eyes widen when you realize how much you fucked up and you bring your hands to your mouth as if it would silence you but it’s too late. At the sound the man snaps his head in your direction, his grey eyes instantly finding yours. His brows are furrowed in both frustration and surprise, making him look intimidating. What shocks you the most though is the huge scar coming from his forehead to his cheekbone. You can’t help but take a step back, your hands falling to your sides, revealing your gaping mouth.

His eyes scour you and his eyebrows relax when he seems to understand that you pose no threat to him, but he still doesn’t talk. He gets up from where he was sitting, using the car behind him for support, gritting his teeth together in effort. You take another step back and your rear meets the car behind you. He looks much more intimidating now; he isn’t particularly tall nor is he very broad but his stance makes him terrifying. Your instincts are screaming at you to run away, that he is dangerous, but it’s like you are glued in place, unable to move. It’s only when he winces in pain again, surely from the wound on his side that you regain your ability to form coherent thoughts.

He is tied up and wounded; The man’s not a lot of a threat for you right now. A kick in his groin and you should be able to get home without a problem. You gulp before breaking the silence.

“You are wounded… It looks bad” is all you can muster tentatively. Silence.

Wow, that was lame, you internally cringe. He simply cocks an eyebrow and a smirk appears on his lips.

“Yeah, no shit”

You stammer and you feel your face heat up. Unable to find a witty comeback, you just huff, crossing your arms on your chest.

“Look, you need help or not?” you say simply but that is enough to wipe the smirk off his lips. It’s his turn to huff before looking away from you and you wonder how he could seem so intimidating earlier. He turns around, not without difficulty, facing away from you in an incredible demonstration of trust, displaying his tied up hands and you warily step towards him.

“Don’t try anything, I have a taser in my purse,” you bluff, eyeing the ropes currently cutting into his chafed wrists. The ropes are bloodied and you question how long he was trying to break free for. His shoulders move up and down as he laughs.

“I’ll be good,” he says, his voice filled with sarcasm. You roll your eyes. He is way too sassy for someone presently tied up.

You start to tug at his binds, trying to find the knot to let him free. He grunts as you put pressure on the damaged skin of his wrists. You look up from his wrist to look at him. He is turned but you can see his strained face in the car window’s reflection. Now that you can see him from a closer perspective, he looks abnormally livid, eyes unfocused and panting. He looks like he’s about to pass out, you note. Wait, he is passing out! You barely have the time to catch him before one of his knees falters.

“Hey hey hey- Dude? Are you okay?” you ask, voice full with concern. He mumbles, quite clearly unable to talk. “Fuck” you curse under your breath. You’ll deal with the rope later, you need to treat his wound. You grab his shoulder, trying to get him to lean on you and you start to walk to your apartment complex. He doesn’t even try to complain, and you are grateful; It’s already too difficult to carry his weight in your flimsy heels, especially without a good grasp on him. The ropes around him make it difficult for you to hold him steady, and he almost fell a few times when you tried to get a better grip.

Your perfect bun is ruined by the time you reach the elevator, and you are panting from the effort. Who’d have thought having to drag a semi conscious man across a fucking parking lot would be so difficult? The elevator ride provides you with a break, and you simply keep him against the wall while you catch your breath. His face is lolling forward, chin pressed against his chest. He still looks white as a sheet and you start to worry. Was it really a good idea to bring him home? You are capable of treating wounds, that’s not the problem, but if his wound is too deep or if he needs a blood transfusion you won’t be able to do anything.

“Shit, I should’ve brought you to the hospital,” you say, mainly to yourself as you stare at the elevator’s mirror.

“NO!” he shouts, making your head snap to look at him, alarmed. He managed to lift his head to look at you, his grey eyes burning with a fiery determination. “No hospital,” he repeats, and you nod at him, disconcerted. He calms after your nod, his head sinking back down to his chest.

Entering your apartment was a challenge; You had to hold the black haired man against the wall with your side while you searched your purse for your keys. He almost fell when you found them and forgot to press into him against the wall to open the door. Thankfully for him you realised your mistake early enough, dropping both your keys and bag to keep him from crashing on the wooden floor. You are also grateful none of your neighbours decided to take a midnight stroll, or they would have seen you pressing a tied up and passed out man against the wall with your body while desperately trying to open the door. Hardly something you want to be remembered by.

You plop the unconscious man on the couch unceremoniously, forgetting for a second his wound. You wince when you realise your mistake, but thankfully the man is too out of it to make one of his snarky comments. You retrieve your first aid kit from the bathroom and take advantage of his state to treat his wound. It is not too deep so you are able to patch it up without having to stitch him up. You’ve never been so happy to have a nurse as a mother, having learned most of your healing skills from her. You conclude, relieved, that his passing out is mostly due to the shock rather than excessive blood loss, since he didn’t seem to have a concussion when he talked to you. Adrenaline must have kept him in a conscious state of mind until he realized you didn’t mean any harm.

You cut through the rope with a kitchen knife, taking the opportunity to inspect him for any more injuries. You treat his wrists with an antiseptic cream before bandaging them. He is not otherwise severely harmed, though he does sport some nasty bruises on his --surprisingly toned-- chest. What the fuck happened to him?

You sit back on the ground, facing him, when you finally finish your check-up. His breathing is steady and he seems to have regained a splash of color on his face. You take the opportunity to take a better look at him. His features are sharp though he does have a cute button nose and cute pink lips. You shake your head to chase those thoughts. What is wrong with you, checking out a passed out man?

You check for his temperature before sighing. You are incredibly tired, the day was already exhausting as it is, nevermind with this sudden encounter. You decide against putting away the kitchen knife, instead taking it with you to your room. You are nice, not stupid, and though you don’t feel in danger anymore, you are not the one to take unnecessary risks.

It’s already well past midnight when you go to sleep, knife under your pillow. You hope your guest on the couch will wake up early as you need to be up early tomorrow for your job. You’d like him to be gone as soon as possible, men like this only mean trouble. Sure you’d like to know a bit more about him, like how did he wind up in your parking lot at 11pm tied up and injured. But you know the saying, ‘curiosity killed the cat’, and you value your comfortable life too much to put it in jeopardy for a man’s backstory. Who knows what could happen?

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

You wake up late the next morning. After a quick shower and almost falling flat on your ass trying to get dressed as fast as possible, you sprint out your room into the living room. The couch is empty and you smile to yourself. He’s gone. Good. It’s one less thing for you to worry about so you dart through the door, trying to make it in time before getting chewed out by your boss for arriving 3 minutes late.

You manage to sit at your desk one minute before the start of your shift and you sigh. Here we go again, another day of having to deal with dumbasses. Despite the fact that you woke up late, the rest of the day proves to be quite good. Instead of being his usual manipulative asshole self, your boss decides to ask you in his office to talk about your well deserved promotion, and tells you that an interview is set for you tomorrow in order to decide whether or not you should get the job. You spend the rest of the day on cloud nine, excastic to finally see your hard work rewarded.

You rush home after another hard day of work, sleep deprived and craving the comfort of your covers. It seems however that fate has other plans for you, you realise when you open the door to fall on last night’s guest. He was still here. Shit. He is comfortably seated on your couch, feet on the table while he’s watching TV. Eyes wide, you drop your bag on the floor.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?! I thought you were gone!” you shout at him. He nonchalantly eyes you up and down, smirking at your crestfallen expression.

“You locked me in this morning,” he answers simply. “I couldn’t open the door to get out.”

The way he pronounces these words without a care in the world leads you to believe he mustn't have tried really hard to get out. You bring your hands to rub your face, feeling anger building up within you. Who does he think he is?

“You have a nice place,” he says gesturing around him with his hand. “Also, you shouldn’t keep a knife under your pillow, it’s dangerous,” he adds, brows furrowed in fake concern.

“You went in my room?!” you ask, clearly fuming. The nerve of this guy!

“Of course, I had to make sure I couldn’t find another exit”, he says, as if it was obvious. This guy is seriously getting on your last nerve, and you grit your teeth, trying to avoid exploding in his face. He seems to pick up on your aggravated state and his face becomes serious. He lifts his feet from the table, standing up to move closer to face you.

“Thank you for last night. I owe you a lot”

He bows slightly and it’s like your anger evaporates, making way for your curiosity to take over.

“Yeah about that… What happened to you last night?” His face hardens instantly and his whole body stiffens. He seems to ponder what to say for a while, obviously not quite ready to let you in on the situation.

“I can’t tell you--”

“I think you owe me that much” you retort, interrupting his refusal. He huffs and thinks for a bit more time.

“You’re right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I had... uh... Some troubles... With a gang”

By the way he forces the words out of his mouth, you figure this is the most you’ll get out of him right now. It does make sense in a way, and you are now glad you could help him. You hum in acknowledgment and he seems relieved to know you won’t ask anymore questions. It’s his business anyway, and you already know enough.

“I figure that you need to lay low for a while, wrong?” you sigh, passing by him to go to the kitchen. He looks surprised but quickly regains his composure. He hums positively, still not quite sure where this is going. “It’s late, you can stay tonight as well if you want.”

You don’t know why you are saying this. Inviting a stranger to stay for one more night? Are you going nuts? Are you really that lonely that you would invite someone --whom you met in sketchy circumstances, let’s not forget-- to spend the night with you? His response cuts the little voice in your head nagging at you.

“That’d be good, yes” and you turn to meet his eyes. His face is still serious but you can discern a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m Y/l/n Y/n by the way”

“Min Yoongi”

“Nice to meet you, Yoongi. Tonight’s menu is take out,” you say, turning to face him completely, leaning on the counter behind you.

“I’m fine with that,” he says with a playful smile and you don’t fail to notice the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Did you say something funny?

You brush it off, instead focusing on ordering chicken fried rice and dumplings from your favorite chinese place in the neighborhood on your phone. Yoongi returns to focus on the TV while you order, and you take advantage of this to observe him. At first glance, he looks fairly nonchalant, without a care in the world, but the more you examine him, you notice the slight movements of his eyes whenever you make a sound. He doesn’t look uneasy, more like generally careful of you. In fact, it looks like he chose to sit where he could monitor you without you catching him, sitting at a certain angle so he doesn’t have to turn his head to watch you.

You gulp, suddenly feeling more on edge than before. Now that you see it, he seems more controlled than you would think, as though the very way he sits is meticulous; as if to convey that he is non-threatening to you, while still being able to act if need be. You can’t help but feel he might have downplayed his troubles, that type of behaviour does not match with a small lowlife’s who would just have “some troubles with a gang”. No, he knows what he’s doing, and has known from the very beginning, purposefully using sarcasm to break the tension and get you to help him. You don’t think he manipulated you into bringing him home though, that man was too passed out to manage that feat.

You grab the counter to ground you. Realising you just welcomed someone that appears to be dangerous and manipulative into your own home is not a great feeling. If Yoongi has noticed your sudden tenseness, he doesn’t let it show. He’ll be gone by tomorrow, you remind yourself, trying to calm your pounding heart. You feel like a prey stuck with a wolf in sheep’s disguise. But you are no damsel in distress, you’ll be just fine if you stay wary. Keep your guard up while not letting him know you figured him out. Guess you’ll be sleeping with a knife under your pillow tonight as well.

The rest of the night continues on fairly pleasantly. You do most of the talking during the night, telling him stories about your awful boss and your dream job. Yoongi is actually good company, listening to you with a smile, though you still feel that he contains himself. You purposefully avoid talking about his past or his job, not wanting to make a wrong move and anger him. The less you know the better. The atmosphere between the two of you is still somewhat tense, and you all but jump when the doorbell rings, announcing your dinner’s arrival.

He does seem to relax once his stomach full, even going as far to flash you a gummy smile when you lose balance and the empty take out boxes come crashing onto the ground. Granted, he was laughing at your clumsiness but you had a good time nonetheless.

“I need to be up early tomorrow, I should hit the sack,” you say while throwing out the take out boxes. “I’ll leave at 7:30 so you’ll have to leave at that time too”, you add and he hums in understanding.

You bid him goodnight before entering your room and as you are pushing the door a small “Thank you, Y/n” escapes his lips. You turn around and return his small smile. Is it just you or did this one seem sincere?

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

You don’t wake up sleep deprived this time around. In fact, you feel better than you have in a while. Is this the effect of having company for once? You scoff at your own thoughts before preparing yourself for the day. No, it’s of course because of your near new job interview. Yoongi is up and ready when you step out of your room to get your coffee, his wet hair sticking to his face.

“You want one?”, you ask him, pointing at the coffee machine. He nods and thanks you when you hand him a coffee. This morning feels a little awkward, you note. You are not quite sure what to say in this situation, and apparently neither is he because the both of you are just staring at each other while sipping your coffees, waiting for the other to say something. You also note the contrast between you too; him, wearing worn out grey jeans and an oversized khaki bomber jacket, and you, wearing a tight black skirt, an assorted suit jacket and an ironed white blouse. Once done with your coffee, you slip your uncomfortable heels and the both of you step out into the elevator.

It is finally time for you to separate when you step out on the street. You turn to face him, suddenly feeling embarrassed. What to say? You are relieved when he starts talking first.

“Thank you for letting me stay, Y/n, I owe you one”, he says with a small smile.

“Well, two if we’re honest”, you answer with a smirk. He looks at you amused. You take a glance at your watch. “Alright, I should go, or I’ll be late for my interview. Goodbye, Min Yoongi”. You wave at him. You fail to notice the men coming up from behind him. You should have, you have never seen them before, and them sporting black clothes and heavy gold chains would have stuck with you. Yoongi does notice the ones coming from behind you though, his eyes widening. It’s far too late however, and he cannot reach you before he is grabbed from the back. You scream when you feel two pairs of hands on each side of you, maintaining you in place. Yoongi is trying to fight off his assailants but he is quickly overpowered, knocked out by a nasty blow to his temple. For your credit, your struggling gave them a hard time trying to contain you as well, scratching and kicking in every direction, but a hit in the face is enough to finally calm you, rendering you unconscious.

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

You wake up face down in the trunk of a car. You can tell by the sound of the engine as well as the smell of gasoline. Your head hurts and you are disoriented. Everything is dark and you are cramped up in a tiny space, something soft under you. The haze surrounding your mind lifts instantaneously when you remember what happened before you blacked out. You struggle when you find out your hands and feet are tied up, but still at once when the soft thing under you releases an ‘ooomph’ sound.

“Yoongi?!”, you shriek. You immediately regret speaking so loud, cursing under your breath. Just because you can’t hear them in the car doesn’t mean they can’t hear you.

“Yeah..” he responds, voice strained, obviously in pain from the elbow you lodged in his ribs as you tried to move around.

“What the fuck is going on?”, you whisper-shout, anger boiling in your veins. You knew that man was trouble but you invited him in anyway. This is what you get when you don’t listen to your instincts. You hear him sigh above your head.

“Remember the gang I told you about?” he says tentatively, knowing you are only inches away from exploding. “Well, I killed their leader and they are not very happy with me right now.”

You can’t believe what you are hearing.

“And that’s ‘some troubles’ for you?! What the fuck, Yoongi?!”

“That’s really all that you take away from what I just said?”, he retorts in disbelief.

No, it’s really not. But right now, the fact that you are acquaintances with a murderer is the least of your worries. “Fuck”, you utter, hitting your head softly on his chest. The fear mixing with anger inside you makes it difficult for you to think. How are you going to get out of this mess?

“You seem awfully calm for someone who’s just been kidnapped, Yoongi”, you say against his chest, your head still a bit dizzy from the hit you’ve received from your kidnappers.

“This is not my first rodeo, sweetheart”

You scoff at his nonchalant response, but it somehow reassures you a bit. At least you are not alone.

“So, what’s your fucking plan to get us out of here then, cowboy?”, you ask, expecting a brilliant plan to get the both of you out of harm’s way unscathed and-

“I don’t know yet”

Were you drinking anything, you would’ve spat your drink in his face in disbelief. But you are not, so you decide to head butt him in the chest instead. Hard.

“Ow, what the fuck?”, he whisper-shouts, obviously surprised by your sudden violence.

“You got me in this mess dude, now you get me out of it!”

You are seeing red. Even in this kind of situation he isn’t serious, driving you crazy with his nonchalant responses. He is going to get me killed, you think to yourself.

“I’ve escaped once from them, I can do it again. They are not exactly the brightest bunch”, he says, and you feel him shift under you. “The sole fact that they took you with me is proof. Would you turn on your back please, darling?”

Though you don’t understand why, you comply without a complaint. The man is supposed to be used to this, now’s not the time to ask questions. You twist on your back with difficulty, not without purposefully elbowing him in the stomach once again, disguising it as an accident when he starts to curse you out. As soon as you are in position, you feel his hands feeling around their way to yours, reaching your binds in no time. You can’t help but shriek when the cold blade of what you guess is a knife touches your forearm.

“First rule of kidnapping, darling, always check the belt”, he explains while cutting through the rope attaching your wrists together with dexterity. You are free in less time that you need to say it, rubbing your chafed wrists in disbelief. You are impressed to say the least, and quite relieved to have underestimated your kidnappee buddy. He hands you the knife.

“Alright, now I need you to free our feet. With you on top of me like that I can’t do it”

You start to shift in the small space trying to bend in order to reach your feet, feeling as you go. You’ve never been the most flexible but you don’t pay mind to the pain in your lower back as you start to cut through the rope around his feet, a weird feeling of deja vu settling in the back of your mind.

“Wait… Is that MY kitchen knife?!”, you ask in an ushered yet still incredulous voice, recognizing the grip of the knife in your hands.

“Of course it is”, he says as if it was obvious. “Did you seriously think that I, a hit-man searched for by the most dangerous gang of the country, would leave anywhere unarmed?”, he adds after hearing your disbelieving scoff. His feet are free now and you start to cut through your binds.

“The most dangerous- What?! I thought you said they weren’t the brightest bunch?!”, you reply, incredulous, stopping to cut for a second.

“Well yes, I killed the brains of the gang”, he says matter-of-factly. “You done with the knife? Give it to me.”

You hand him back the knife, your ankles now free of the restraints. The car is still moving, and you start to wonder what Yoongi is planning to do. Best course of action would probably be to wait for the car to stop and the kidnappers to open the trunk, taking them by surprise.

This doesn’t seem to be what Yoongi has in mind however, as you feel him start to rip off the carpet on the floor of the trunk. Your eyes widen but you try to move over to the front part of the trunk, letting him space to go on his rampage on the carpet. Has he gone mad? Is this how you die?

“What the fuck are you doing?”, you ask him through gritted teeth. Now’s not the time to attract attention.

“I’m looking for the trunk release cable” he says flatly, obviously focused on his task.

“Huh?”

“It should be… Right about... Here!” He pulls on something at once and the trunk suddenly opens. Your eyes hurt from the abrupt surge of light and you shield your eyes. The car starts to sway dangerously, the kidnappers obviously as surprised as you are to see the trunk pop open. Your eyes don’t have the time to accommodate before Yoongi yanks you by your hand, making you crash in his chest, before jumping, effectively throwing the both of you out of the trunk onto the road. Thankfully, Yoongi had the presence of mind to jump at an angle, making you tumble into the sidewalk instead of underneath the wheels of the car behind yours.

You barely have time to register what just happened before Yoongi pulls you by the hand again. Everything hurts and you are not quite sure what just happened, but you follow suit, running after him. You discard the only heel left on your feet after your little acrobatic feat in order to be able to run properly on the sidewalk. You don’t even pay mind to the incredulous glares the two of you gather. Oh what a sight you must be, running barefoot in the streets, cheeks, hands and knees wounded, your clothes a mess and your previously done up hair flowing in the wind. There are not many people around, making it easy for you to run, but easy for your kidnappers to find you. The car must have stopped a few moments after the trunk popped open because men are running after you, screaming.

Yoongi makes a sudden turn in a narrow and dark alleyway. You want to ask him where he is leading you but you are too breathless to even say a word. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to keep going like that, especially since your feet are starting to hurt from the gravel and the shards of glass covering the alleyway. You keep on running anyway, somehow convinced that the man running in front of you knows what he’s doing.

The sound of a gunshot rings right next to your ears, the bullet embedding itself on the wall alongside you. You shriek as the sound brings you back to earth, and you start to run even faster, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Yoongi doesn’t even flinch, continuing to run, brows furrowed and eyes trained in front of him. You make a second abrupt turn, leading even deeper in the maze of alleyways of your city. This part of the town is known to be the headquarters of the criminal activity, so it’s no wonder you are completely lost here whereas Yoongi expertly proceeds through, leading you to an unknown place.

The deeper you sink in the maze, the more people you meet, and the more scared you become. Everything is so foreign and dangerous to you, and you grip tighter on Yoongi’s hand as he pushes through the mob. It might be a bit stereotypical but these people all look too intimidating to you, especially since you are running away from men who just tried to kill you. You should thank them really, since they help you escape, unbeknownst to them. The alleys are larger now, though still very dark, and your nose catches whiffs of grilled meat and other delicacies as you run past the shady food stands. You are a bit overwhelmed as you progress through the crowd; Your heart is beating in your ears and your mind is racing, unable to entirely make sense of what you are experiencing.

Yoongi yanks on your hand once again, beckoning you to turn in yet another alley. This one is distinctly smaller and emptier than the former, and Yoongi stops abruptly in front of a back door, letting go of your hand to pound on the dirty metal door. His pounding is insistent and for the first time he looks nervous, eyeing where you just came from warily. The door doesn’t seem to want to open despite his persistence and he starts to curse. Behind him, you are quite literally trembling with anxiety. Your heart is throbbing in your chest and you only just realise your cheeks are wet with tears. Have you been crying the whole time?

“Fuck Jin, open the god damn door!”, Yoongi shouts, fist thumping against the metal, startling you from your thoughts. The door finally rattles and opens to reveal a tall yawning man. His brows are furrowed in discontent and you can tell he is going to chew Yoongi out before stopping crestfallen upon seeing his state. He doesn’t even notice you at first, too preoccupied for his friend to cast you a glance.

“Took you long enough” Yoongi grumbles, quickly grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside after him, pushing past his friend who is still staring at him, mouth open wide. The latter sighs before closing the door without a word and following you. The doorway leads to a small living room with a kitchen in the corner lit up by a yellow light bulb. Yoongi lets go of your hand to sink on the couch, and you stay still, not quite sure what to do while Jin settles on the armchair on the opposite side.

Jin looks fairly angry, his eyebrows furrowed and his tired brown eyes shooting daggers at Yoongi. He passes a hand through his black hair, exposing his forehead. He is obviously waiting for Yoongi to explain, his plump lips pressed in a tight line when he realises his friend isn’t going to say anything.

“What the hell are you doing here and what happened to you?” is the first thing he says, concern not well hidden under the apparent annoyance in his tone. He turns his head to you and he shoots you a concerned look. “And who is she?”

Normally, you would have clapped back that she has a name and that if he wanted to know anything about you he could ask directly, but you are too shocked to say anything, still unable to register what is happening right now. He must sense what state you are in because he walks to the kitchen and offers you a drink. You accept it wordlessly, staring blankly at him and then at the glass.

“Well apparently, Wolf’s Fang did not appreciate me killing their leader and tried to kidnap me. Twice”, Yoongi replies with his usual nonchalance. You are happy to note that you are not the only one it drives crazy, judging by the look on Jin’s face.

“Wolf’s Fa- Yoongi, I told you not to approach them, they are trouble,” he says, jaws clenched in obvious annoyance as his friend shrugs. He sighs and turns to you. You can tell he is trying hard to conceal his anger, though the furiousness of his eyes betrays him. “You don’t look so good, sweetheart, you should go to the bathroom”, he tells you, pointing at a corridor. He doesn’t need to pry, you are happy to get away from the tension in the room, making your way towards said corridor.

The bathroom is small, covered in tile. You lock yourself in, slashing your face with cold water, eager for the haze surrounding your mind to leave. You might have a small concussion from your earlier acrobatic feat, along with the mild marks of road burns on the side of your head. You can still hear the argument in the living room between the two men, and you cut the flow of water to listen to the ushered voices.

“-I told you it was the worst idea you’ve ever had, I can’t believe you did it anyway”

“What was I supposed to do, Jin, let them get away with it?”

“It was twenty years ago Yoongi-”

“They killed my parents, I don’t really think there’s a ‘best before’ date on revenge.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. Just because you are used to killing people doesn’t mean you can take on everyone, Yoongi. They were too dangerous for you but you still went away and killed their leader. I told you to wait and build a team but no, you couldn’t fucking wait, could you? I shouldn’t have told you.”

“It was MY revenge Hyung-”

“That’s why you involved the girl?” Your brows furrow, and you sit on the toilet seat, eager to know what they are going to say about you. Yoongi takes a second before answering, his voice calmer and you have to strain your ears to hear him.

“No. That- That was a mistake. She found me the first time I escaped and she helped me.”

“And that’s how you repay her, by implicating her in your shit?”

“No, I- I just wasn’t careful enough. I didn’t mean for her to get caught up in this.”

“Awww, little Black Crow didn’t want her to get caught in this” Jin retorts sarcastically. “Well guess what, fucker, because of you she’s going to have to hide from one of the biggest gangs in the damn city! I don’t even care that you bring ME into this mess, but you just had to involve an innocent person. I thought you despised that.”

“I fucking hate it!”, Yoongi shouts. “But it’s too late to change anything about that, isn’t it Hyung?”

You rise from your seat, having heard enough. You don’t want them to fight because of you, and you’re afraid you’ve spent much more time in the bathroom than appropriate. Having finally regained your senses, you feel the strain your chase has on your body; your muscles ache and your feet are bloody, shards of glass and tiny pieces of gravel embedded in your skin. You tiptoe back into the living, jaw clenched from the pain, trying to avoid putting too much weight on your feet as well as bloodying the floor. They both fall quiet when you appear through the opening of the corridor, eyeing you with concern.

You can easily guess what is going on in their heads. You are still very pale, and you seem weak, eyes still a bit unfocused as you lean on the wall for support. they must wonder how much you’ve heard, and how much of a problem you are going to be to them. You are a witness and you know what Yoongi does for a living - ha, puns- and though it hasn’t crossed your mind to call the police on them, they don’t know that. Finally, you still have a gang trying to snag you, and you don’t know just how much information your kidnappers have on you. They could try to use you as bait, thinking Yoongi must be attached to you in some way.

In conclusion, this is a mess. You’ve missed both work and your interview this morning and people are bound to ask questions about your whereabouts. You’ve always been the most diligent in terms of work, never taking a day off or arriving more than 10 minutes late. You obviously don’t have your phone or your wallet on you right now, having lost everything when you were kidnapped, and trying to go back to your apartment right now, without your keys on top of that, seems fruitless.

“How are you feeling?”, Jin asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence that settled in the room.

“Still a bit light-headed. I might have a minor concussion… I think. Also I need a first aid kit, if you have one please?”

“Sure, I’ll get you that. Sit down.”

You settle on the other side of the couch as Jin exits the room from the corridor. Yoongi hasn’t said anything yet but you can see hints of concern in his eyes. Similarly to you, his already scarred cheek and his hands are bruised because of the fall from the car, though he doesn’t seem to have hit his head -which isn’t surprising since, unlike you, he was expecting the impact. He moves closer to you on the couch to take your hands in his, observing the wounds on the back of your hands.

You are slightly taken aback but don’t say anything, an unexpected blush creeping on your cheeks. He seems too focused on your hands to notice your tenseness, and you are glad. What the hell is wrong with you? It must be the concussion, making your cheeks heat up, because it certainly can’t be the way his soft hands delicately hold yours- No! What is going on in this brain of yours?

“Are your feet okay?” he asks suddenly, and you squeak in surprise as his grey eyes find yours. He doesn’t comment on your reaction, and you are happy to not receive one of his snarky remarks.

“Not really, that’s why I asked for the first aid ki- Whoa, what are you doing?!”, you shriek when he grabs your legs to prop them on the couch. He sits at the end of the couch, grimacing as he takes in the poor state of the bottom of your feet.

“There’s gravel in there, I’ll have to clean it up--”, he starts.

“No- No, you don’t have to do that, I’ll do it myself,” you interrupt, slightly panicked. To be completely honest, you don’t really trust him to do any good. The man doesn’t exactly save lives, he takes them, and he doesn’t really strike you as the healer type. You think you are saved when Jin comes back and hands you the first aid kit, one of his eyebrows raising in a silent question as he reads the anxiousness on your face. Unfortunately for you, Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind your nervousness, simply snatching the kit from your hands and putting himself to work.

Turns out you were nervous for -mostly- nothing. Yoongi actually has a steady hand, and he removes all gravel and shards of glass in an instant and rather unpainfully. He does however make the mistake of spraying antiseptic directly in your wounds, which hurts like hell. He apologizes profusely, obviously distraught by your unexpected blood curdling scream while Jin laughs freely at his startled face. As he finishes bandaging your feet and Jin brings you hotel slippers to wear for the night. They are way too big for your feet but actually quite comfortable so you accept them with a smile.

You are set to stay low in Jin’s place for the day. It would be too dangerous to leave today according to both Yoongi and Jin, and the both of them decide that you would leave during the night.

“It’s at that time that the alleys are the more crowded,” explained Jin, “the less attention you draw, the better”. That is a kind of logic you can get behind, especially since you can barely walk - let alone run if anything goes wrong.

Yoongi advises you to sleep when he notices your eyes getting droopy, and he leads you to a bedroom. You sink on the bed in exhaustion, your body suddenly refusing to carry you anymore. You feel sleep enveloping you as Yoongi starts to leave the bedroom.

“What’s going to happen after we leave?” you ask sleepily, barely keeping your eyes open. The question stops him dead in his tracks, and he turns to face you, a serious look on his face. He ponders for a little while before answering you.

“I’ll bring you to my place and we’ll find a way for you to go back to your life,” he responds, eyes earnest and you hum sleepily in acknowledgement. Satisfied with the answer, you let yourself slip into an easy sleep.

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

You wake up a few hours later, with an empty stomach but an already clearer head. It takes you a minute to remember exactly what happened to you and where you are, feeling dejected when you realise it wasn’t just a very realistic nightmare. It’s all his fault, you realize. Your life was going well before you decided to help Yoongi - well, before you were manipulated into helping him is more correct. Even if you despise your job because of your boss, you still enjoy your little routine. Working during the week to pay off your loan, writing during the weekend or enjoying your free time. Sure you were alone most of the time and you longed to meet new people, you still liked your quiet life. It was all supposed to come together today once you’d get that promotion, but no, that had to be ruined for you. One thing is certain: once all of this is over, you don’t want to ever hear from Min Yoongi again.

You decide to limp to the living room, the rumbling of your stomach prompting you to seek sustenance. Both Jin and Yoongi are in the living room, Yoongi sleeping on the couch while Jin is busy on the phone looking out the window near the kitchen. His brows are furrowed and he looks deep in thought, making you reconsider asking him for food right now. He doesn’t seem to have noticed you entering the room and sitting on the armchair, and you take advantage of this to stare at him in tranquillity.

It makes no doubt for you now that Jin is also a very dangerous man. If his earlier behaviour wasn’t particularly intimidating in any way, the man barking at the phone in front of you exudes a deadly aura. He is quite obviously trying to resolve the mess his younger friend put himself -and you- into, calling multiple people and furiously scribbling on a notepad on the counter in between calls. He seems to know exactly who to contact, calling people back to back, until he slams his phone on the table, sighing in exasperation. He takes his head in his hands and sighs again.

“Jin?” you ask tentatively, and Jin’s head snaps in your direction. His dark eyes immediately find yours, and you gulp, intimidated by his intense glare. When he realises it’s just you, his features soften and you feel yourself being able to breathe again.

“Do you have something I could eat?” you ask after he beckons you to speak with a hum. He nods, making his way to the cupboards. He rummages through them and you settle on a stool behind the counter. Jin doesn’t look satisfied as he pulls out a cup of instant ramen and he shoots you an apologetic smile. “Ramen is fine,” you assure him, feeling too hungry to fuss over the quality of the meal. It actually reminds you of your student days, living off ramen, coffee and the sheer will of escaping your parent’s house. Granted this is not how you envisioned your future, running away from a gang with your new friend Yoongi the murderer, but you longed for adventure, right?

Well it’s not like you have much of a choice anyway, you remind yourself as Jin sets the meager meal in front of you. You must pull a crestfallen grimace because Jin laughs at you and you dive in, eager to hide the embarrassment creeping on your cheeks at his windshield wiper laugh.

“Who were you calling?” you ask with a mouth full, keen to change the focus on him rather than you. He rests his elbows on the counter across from you and he tries to find his words.

“People who could help resolve the situation,” he answers simply.

“Right… ‘Resolve’” you say with a sarcastic smile. The only way to ‘resolve’ the situation, as Jin says, is surely to take out the gang altogether. It is obviously weak at the moment because of the loss of their boss, and it’s the best time to strike.

“We need to ensure your security - that is, unless you believe you can do it alone?” he retorts, raising one of his eyebrows in defiance. You scoff at his smirk.

“Of course not.” You pause. “Thank you for helping me,” you add earnestly after a second.

“Don’t thank me, thank Yoongi. He’s the one who asked me to help you. Apparently he owes you”, he says dismissively, returning to the kitchen to throw away your no empty ramen cup. You swallow with difficulty. Of course he’s only doing that because he owes you, what did you expect? Both of those men are hardened criminals, though you don’t exactly know what Jin dwelves in. It would be foolish of you to think that neither of them is protecting you out of the goodness of their hearts. They are not as naive and generous as you are, and Yoongi could easily have left you to die had you not saved him earlier.

No wait… This is because of him that you are in this mess, of course he has to fix this situation!

“Anyways,” Jin adds as he comes back to face you, “Yoongi is going to bring you to a safer location and then he - along with my team - is going to sort this mess out. And then you’ll be good to go, as if this never happened.”

He emphasizes his last words with a dark fixed gaze on you. You gulp at his sudden change of demeanor from casual to threatening. You know exactly what he means by that; You’ll have to keep quiet about what happened, or else. You nod a bit too eagerly, suddenly intimidated by him. This seems to please him however, and he smiles at you, obviously content that you understand the true meaning of his words.

You spend the next hour or so abstently watching TV from the armchair while waiting, Yoongi still happily slumbering on the couch. There isn’t much more to do than wait, and you are bored out of your wits by the time Jin decides Yoongi slept too much and hits him with a rolled up magazine to wake him up.

“What the- What was that for?!” Yoongi indignantly asks, rubbing his head, his still sleepy eyes shooting daggers at the elder.

“It’s time for you to move” is all he says before he leaves the room, not even paying attention to the string of curses Yoongi sends flying his way. You chuckle at his indignation and he shoots you a dark look, amusing you even further. He sighs before chuckling too and he rises from the couch to stretch his limbs. Jin comes back to the living room with a backpack he chucks at Yoongi. The latter catches it effortlessly before sitting back on the couch to rummage through it, taking out a gun and observing it, checking the magazine in a swift motion.

“You might need that,” Jin says, leaning back against the kitchen counter and Yoongi thanks him. You eye warrily the weapon; You can’t say you feel particularly reassured with this. You’ve never been one to like firearms, and the sole fact that you were shot at earlier today reinforces your apprehension. Yoongi seems to sense your tenseness and he hands you your kitchen knife. You look at him questioningly.

“It might be too early for you to use a gun, let’s stick with things you know for now,” he explains with a knowing smile. For now. You can see Jin’s eyebrows furrow in the corner of your eyes but you don’t comment on his choice of words, merely nodding in understanding. There’s also a pair of grey sneakers in the bag, which Yoongi throws your way. They are too big for your feet but this is the best you are going to get so you don’t complain. You are now set to leave and Yoongi beckons you to follow him through the corridor. There’s a back door that you hadn’t noticed after the door leading to the bedroom.

Yoongi reaches to open the door and stops, taking a look at you. You are opening your mouth to ask him what’s wrong when he suddenly removes his jacket to throw it around your shoulders.

“You’ll attract too much attention otherwise” he says, and he slips through the door. You follow him into the alleyways, clutching his jacket to cover you more, hiding the knife in your hands under it.

The alleys, much like Jin explained, are more crowded than when you arrived. You are significantly less scared than before, focusing on following the man in front of you instead of observing the people around you. Yoongi is leading you through the crowd, eyes scanning the mob looking for potential threats. Jin had advised you to leave separately but it just wasn’t possible for you to navigate through this maze alone, and you are grateful to be with Yoongi right now.

People don’t seem to pay much attention to either of you and you are able to reach an underground parking lot safely. Yoongi had made sure you weren’t followed before reaching for keys in the bag. He presses the button and the lights of a car a few rows from where you are flare up. Yoongi grabs your hand and leads the both of you to the black car, letting you get seated on the passenger side before unceremoniously throwing the bag on the back seat.

The car is surprisingly nice, a black Mercedes with tan leather seats. You squeak in surprise when Yoongi makes the engine roar as you are attaching your seat belt. You don’t even have the time to say anything before he slams the acceleration pedal, leaving the parking spot like a mad man. You grip the armrest in a futile attempt to feel safer, not quite at ease with Yoongi’s aggressive driving.

You can tell he is a good driver, expertly avoiding the few other cars as he speeds down the highway, but you can’t help your heart from pounding in your chest. You’ve never been this fast on the road, and the happy glimmer in Yoongi’s eyes everytime he goes faster doesn’t exactly reassure you.

The only positive aspect with him driving this fast is that you quickly arrive at the destination. You are surrounded by tall glass buildings, and you furrow your brows. This can’t be where Yoongi lives, can it? It doesn’t make sense. Yoongi parks the car in another underground parking structure, and you step out of the car with wobbly legs and a confused expression plastered on your face. You don’t even have time to ask the first of the thousands of questions swarming your mind right now before Yoongi makes his way towards an elevator.

Unlike you, he seems perfectly at ease as he waits for the elevator, even smirking at your bemused face. The ding of the elevator makes you step out of your thoughts and you start to stammer as you follow Yoongi inside. He presses the button going to the 37th level.

“You- You live here?!” you ask, incredulous as the elevator starts its ascension. He shoots you another smirk, his eyes playful.

“What, you think I kill for the sole pleasure of it? Of course not, I’m not a monster, Y/n.”

“I- I don’t--”

“Hitman is a relatively high paying job, I’ll have you know,” Yoongi explains in fake seriousness, obviously reveling on your confused state of mind. You raise one of your eyebrows in defiance at his words, eyeing him up and down as if to prove a point. He isn’t exactly dressed as someone who makes a lot of money. He scoffs at your attitude, and he crosses his arms on his chest.

“Hey! I like these clothes!” he says in indignation and you roll your eyes at him. The elevator stops and the both of you step out of it. “Anyway, nobody knows about this place so we’ll be safe here,” he says while walking to a door at the end of a corridor.

“Nobody?” you ask as he opens the door.

“Not even Jin. It’s a safe measure. I don’t know where he lives either. No one in the gang does. That way, if someone gets caught, they won’t be able to tell where the others are.”

He opens the door and enters his apartment. You take a second to look around you. His apartment is big and modern. The walls are painted white, contrasting with his dark furniture. In the back of the apartment is a huge window, providing an incredible view of the city. But the view is unable to distract you from the many questions swirling in your mind; How many people has he had to kill in order to pay for a place like this? The place you were at just earlier wasn’t Jin’s home? The gang? What is going on? Yoongi must notice your confusion -- maybe because you are still on the doorstep, staring around with a gaping mouth -- because he sighs and starts to explain further.

“We were not at Jin’s. It’s one of our safe places all over the city. There’s always at least one member there, and this time it was Jin’s shift and I knew he was going to be there,” he starts explaining.

“Wait wait- You are in a gang?!” you exclaim, eyes wide. The more you think you know about Yoongi the more lost you get. It wasn’t bad enough that he is an assassin, he’s also part of a gang?

“Would you please come in before shouting those kinds of things?” he retorts through gritted teeth, ushering you inside and closing the door. You sink down on the leather couch and stare in the void, still not quite able to process everything. You should have seen it coming if you are really honest, but it seems that you find yourself to be in an even bigger mess than you thought everytime Yoongi tries to explain himself.

“Yes, I’m in a gang. I’m an assassin. Jin is the leader’s right-hand man. More than that he is my friend,” he says, eyeing you warrily and holding his hands up in a defensive stance, as if scared you’ll explode. If anything, you should be the one to be scared, you think to yourself, especially since you can’t understand why he would say that. Perhaps it’s because you are aware of what would happen to you, would you ever try to say anything to anyone. Not that anyone would believe your story anyway, or that you would risk telling anything to anyone. You shudder when you remember Jin’s hidden warning. Yoongi lowers his hands as you seem to have calmed down and he sits across from you on a leather armchair.

“I talked with Jin about taking down Wolf’s Fang. I’ll leave tomorrow to deal with that with other members of the gang. Then you’ll go back to your life”, he explains nonchalantly. For some unknown reason, his last words set you ablaze with rage.

“What life, Yoongi? You ruined that, remember?” you spit at him harshly, rising from your seat. He looks completely taken aback by your sudden outburst. You had made sure not to let show how much you resent him for dragging you in this situation; You needed him to fix everything, and shouting at him that it’s all his fault surely wouldn’t help your plans at all. But you snap because of his nonchalant attitude. He destroyed your chances at getting your promotion, having to go no-contact. He put you at risk of getting kidnapped and then shot, even though he knew he was himself in danger.

“Aren’t you an assassin, aren’t you part of a gang? Didn’t you know you would put me in danger with you?” you shout at him, pointing at him aggressively to emphasize your words.

“I didn’t mean--” he starts, but you interrupt him. Anger is bubbling inside you and you can’t contain it anymore.

“You knew you were putting me in danger but you stayed anyway!”

“You were the one who said I could lay low at yours!” he retorts, rising from his seat. You scoff at his irrelevant argument and he immediately cringes at his poor wording.

“I didn’t know you were an assassin and a gang member! I would’ve thought twice about letting you come into my life if I knew I’d get kidnapped!” you spit, your jaw clenched in anger.

“I didn’t want this!”

“Well I sure hope so!”, you scoff, hands rising in the air in disbelief. “But what did you seriously expect, huh?” You try to chase away the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. Now is not the time to cry.

“I know I should’ve left you!” he starts in anger but his voice breaks and he looks away. You look at him in confusion. You are not used to seeing vulnerability in him. Granted you don’t really know him but this feels out of character for him. “I just- I didn’t want to be alone,” he says, voice pregnant with emotion. You are taken aback by his sudden openness, brows furrowed and mouth gaping in confusion. He still doesn’t look at you, and you don’t manage to say anything, too lost to be able to utter a word.

He passes a hand through his black hair and sighs loudly. The both of you are standing awkwardly, you staring at him and him making a point of avoiding your eyes. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something, anything, but you are left utterly speechless. He scoffs darkly before walking towards the back of the room to a kitchen.

“Anyway, you’ll be safe tomorrow, and you’ll be able to leave.”

Yoongi exits the room and you are left alone with your thoughts.

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

You decide to sit on the floor in front of the big windows, enjoying the unending view. It must be one in the morning, and the streets are empty, apart from the odd car driving down the road every once in a while. The sight is calming, as you see the few lights still lit up in the night. Your apartment is not exactly downtown so you don’t have a view as nice as this one. Everything is so silent, so still. You know exactly why you are staring so intensely at the view, trying to chase any thought of Yoongi.

You are definitely calmer now but you don’t want to think about him, trying to bottle up any emotion deep down. You’ve never been one to have a healthy relationship with your feelings, and you are not going to start now. Most of your resentment is gone now that you finally confronted him about it, but your last exchange only left confusion. Confusion on what he was talking about, but also on why your heart squeezed so painfully when you saw him so vulnerable or when he walked away from you. You bring your knees to your chest.

In a way, you can understand where he is coming from. You let him stay and threw all care in the wind also because you were feeling lonely. Perhaps both of you were weak at that moment. Surely he should have been more careful, but you don’t blame him as much as you did before.

You hear a door open and close but you don’t move from your spot, keeping your eyes trained on the view. From the corner of your eyes, you see Yoongi sit cross legged next to you. The both of you stay in silence like that for a bit of time, watching the horizon before you decide to break the silence.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you like that,” you say softly, turning your head to look at him. His grey eyes meet yours. They are definitively warmer than before, and you feel reassured.

“Hmm. I just hope the neighbors didn’t hear you scream,” he answers with his usual snarky grin. You shoot him an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, that might be a problem in the future.”

He doesn’t look too concerned, shrugging and leaning back on his arms, stretching his legs as he takes in the view in front of him. One question still plagues your mind, and you can’t stop it from spilling from your lips.

“When you said you didn’t want to be alone earlier, what did you mean?”

He doesn’t look taken aback by your question, and he turns his head back to you, sitting up straight.

“You ever wonder where I got that from?” he says, pointing to his scar across his right side. You nod positively. “When I was six, my parents were attacked by a man and his small gang. My father was a rich accountant who refused to work for them, and the leader of the small gang took offence. One night, they raided my house, torturing and killing my mother in front of his eyes, and they planned to do the same to me.”

Yoongi pauses, staring at his trembling hands, and you regret asking him such a personal question. It is obviously a very difficult subject for him, but he resumes talking before you can say anything.

“Apparently, the neighbors heard the commotion and called the police as the leader carved a line across my eye, so he decided to kill my father and to flee. I was placed in an orphanage for boys. During that time, I met with Jin and 5 other boys. We all grew up without being adopted, and one of the other boys, Namjoon, decided that we needed revenge on life. We started partaking in some pretty illegal stuff, and our little group grew. We were seven at first, and now we are the most powerful gang” he says, a hint of pride in his voice at the last sentence.

“For more than twenty years I searched for the people that killed my parents, and Jin is the one who finally found them. It was the leader of Wolf’s Fang, a rival gang, and I decided that I waited enough for revenge. I made sure he felt tenfold the pain he inflicted my parents.”

Yoongi’s eyes are dark as the night now, contrasting with the paleness of his skin under the moonlight. An aura of dangerousness is radiating from him, and you can’t help but feel intimidated.

“But when I finally killed him I felt so empty. What was there anymore?” he adds with furrowed brows and he stares at his open hands. “I got what I wanted. I lost my edge that day. I had nothing left to fight for, or at least I was convinced of it. They found me easily, I wasn’t even trying to hide. But I remembered that they already caused my family too much pain, I wasn’t going to let them cause more. If I were to die, it wouldn’t be by their hand. So I escaped. And that’s when you found me”

He turns to face you, his eyes back to their warmth, making your cheeks heat up.

“I guess I just needed a stranger to take care of me a little,” he concludes, smiling awkwardly at you.

A comfortable silence settles between you while the two of you enjoy the view. Something seems to have lifted from Yoongi’s shoulders, he looks much more relaxed than when you entered his appartement. Maybe because he told you everything, the whole truth, and that he doesn’t need to hide anything from you.

You don’t know how much time you spent in silence together, enjoying each other’s presence before you start to feel tired again. You haven’t really slept that much yesterday and all the tension from the day vanishes, leaving tiredness in its wake. A yawn escapes your lips. You don’t even know why you lean your head on his shoulder but you do, perhaps too sleepy to even realise what you are doing. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind thankfully, and he leans his head on top of yours. You fall asleep like that, and you don’t even stir when Yoongi lifts you up to place you on his bed before joining you.

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

It’s well into the morning when you wake up. It takes you a minute before understanding where you are, your heart racing a bit when you realise you are alone in an unknown bed. Yoongi must already be gone, you realise when you walk into the empty living room. It’s already 12 am so you decide to head to the kitchen in search of something to eat. After your meal, you take a shower, taking some clothes Yoongi left for you this morning. You can’t help the blush creep on your skin as you realise he thought to leave you clothes just before leaving to take down a gang. The clothes he left are too big for you, an oversized t-shirt, a sweatshirt and a comfortable pair of sweatpants, but you enjoy the cozyness --and his smell on the clothes-- too much to complain.

The rest of your day is spent waiting. You start by exploring every inch of the apartment, trying to discover more of Yoongi. Unfortunately for you, you don’t find anything except one photo, hidden between two books. You found it by error, accidentally knocking a row of books on the desk. You instantly recognize two people in the photo, Yoongi and Jin. They seem much younger, barely adults. The others seem much younger, and your heart twists. These boys are too young to be in a gang... You turn the photo to inspect the back and you find an inscription.

“Birds of prey - 2013

Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook”

The seven of them are looking in defiance at the camera, as if they have something to prove. You sigh before placing back the photo.

By the time seven rolls around, you can’t help but feel a bit worried. Is it normal that he’s been gone for so long? What if something has happened to him? What are you supposed to do then? You decide against pacing, choosing to sit on the armchair across the door instead, knees to your chest as you wait for his return.

When the door finally opens, you spring from your seat. Yoongi comes in while limping but as soon as his eyes fall on you, a warm smile erupts on his bruised face. You are too preoccupied by his disheveled state to return his smile, instead coming to his side to help him walk to the couch. He stops you in your tracks with a raise of his hands.

“Don’t worry, someone already took care of me. I’m all patched up,” he reassures you, and a bit of tension eases from your shoulders. You sit on the armchair as he settles on the couch. He can tell that you are dying to know what happened, seeing as you are practically buzzing across the edge of your seat across him.

“It’s over,” he states simply at first and you let out a sigh of relief. It’s finally over? It almost doesn’t feel real, as if these past days were just a dream. “We took care of most of the members, and Namjoon ordered some of our men to make sure the rest join them soon”

“That means I can go home?” you ask excitedly. You could have sworn you saw a hint of disappointment in his eyes but it left as soon as it came.

“Yes, of course,” he says, “I could drive-”

“But first, we need to celebrate our freedom,” you interrupt him with a smirk. He is surprised at first, but soon returns your smile.

“You’re right, let’s order some takeout for tonight”

You spend the evening eating and laughing. You are happy to finally see Yoongi relax completely with you, able to tell you stories about his life. You now would like to meet the rest of the boys in the photo, first and foremost to thank them since they were part of the team that took out the gang, but also because they sound funny in Yoongi’s stories. They all seem closer to a family than most of the conventional ones, and the fact that they are gang members doesn’t really scare you anymore. They are Yoongi’s friends, after all.

By the time you finish your meal and a movie, it’s ‘unfortunately’ too late for you to go home, and Yoongi advises you to stay just one night more. Seeing that you’ve done the same for him, he has to return the favor, he explained, and you happily oblige, perhaps a bit too ecstatic to be able to spend more time with him. It’s funny how fast you’ve come to trust this man and enjoy his company, even though you are aware of his profession.

This time, it’s him who falls asleep first, head leaning on your shoulder while watching a movie on the couch, and you decide to put him to bed. You chuckle at the feeling of deja vu when you lead him to the bedroom, supporting him as he limps his way to the bed. You pause for a moment after he sinks on the mattress; Where are you supposed to sleep? On the bed with him? On the couch? You are about to step out of the room when a hand catches your wrist.

“Where are you going?” he asks groggily, eyes barely open to look at you. You smile at him.

“Nowhere” you answer, and he closes his eyes back, his hands slipping from around your wrist as a reassured smile creeps across his lips.

You settle on the other side of the bed, careful to still put distance between you. You turn on your side to be able to face him. He is peaceful like that, and you smile to yourself as you brush away the stray strands of black hair covering his eyes.

The next morning passes rather quickly, mostly due to the fact that you sleep off most of it in Yoongi’s arms. After a rather flustered waking up, and an awkward breakfast, the both of you decide to get you back to your apartment. You need to swing by your office first, as you need to retrieve your spare apartment keys in your locker. If you were previously warry to go back there and face your boss, you don’t even care anymore. You’ve almost died for fuck’s sake, what can he possibly do that will scare you. If anything, he will be the one to be scared if he dares to say anything, Yoongi assured you, making you smile.

This time, he drives rather calmly and you are grateful for that. First of all because you don’t want to die in a car crash, and secondly because the longer the ride, the more time you can still spend with Yoongi. He is more silent than usual, a sullen look on his face. You can understand him, for some reason you aren’t exactly the happiest at the prospect of going back to your previous life, to your stupid job and your stupid boss, and more importantly to your empty and lonely apartment.

Maybe some of Yoongi’s nonchalance rubbed off on you, you think to yourself as you stroll inside your office building, wearing oversized sweats and followed by a scary looking man with a scar across his face. You don’t even stop to answer the questions the office bitch sends your way, shutting her up with a dark glare. You’ve never liked her, she always took credit for other’s work, so you don’t feel guilty for scaring her. You go straight to your locker, Yoongi still following behind you. You are thankful for him being with you, you are sure you wouldn’t have the same confidence without him.

You are rummaging through your locker and retrieving your things when a furious voice interrupts you.

“Y/l/n! Where were you? You’ve missed almost a week of work! It’s unacceptable-”

A week? What a joke, it’s only the third day you’ve missed. Anger starts to bubble inside you. You’ve never missed a day of work before, and this asshole makes it as though it was a regular occurrence, not an ounce of concern in his annoying voice as he shouts. You tune him out as you continue to search for your stuff, and you ignoring him only seems to infuriate him more - and you love this. You’ve suffered his abuse too much to pay anymore attention to him, and when you finally find your keys, you slam your locker door, shutting him up instantly.

You turn around to face him, reveling on the look of absolute shock written on his face. The once so soft spoken and respectful employee is so disrespectful now. You notice Yoongi glaring daggers at him, jaw clenched, and you are thankful that he doesn’t say anything. This is your moment.

“Listen asshole, I’ve had enough of your shit. So stop harassing me or I’ll make sure you won’t ever be able to open that mouth of yours again,” you spit coldly. He stammers, trying in vain to say anything. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Also, don’t even dare try to complain about me to HR or the police, I have enough proof of workplace abuse to get you fired in a second. I’ll be back to take the rest of my stuff,” you add, glancing around in the office to find every pair of eyes on you. Satisfied with your little outburst, you leave, prompting a smirking Yoongi to follow after you.

It’s only in the car that the frown on your face lifts instantly and you burst in laughter with Yoongi.

“That felt good,” you confide with a playful grin. He returns your smile, his eyes twinkling with something that looks like awe and pride. The car ride to your apartment is already more cheery, the both of you laughing at the looks on their faces when you exited dramatically. You’ve dreamed of doing that more than once, and it seems that Yoongi gave you enough confidence to stand up for yourself this time.

The realisation that it’s goodbye seems to dawn the both of you when you enter the elevator. Your heart squeezes in your chest as the elevator gets closer to your floor. This can’t be it. You have to do something. The door opens on your floor and you step out after Yoongi.

He follows you to the door and waits as you turn your key in the lock. Thoughts are swirling in your brain; Will you be able to see each other after this? Does he even want to? You turn around when the door is finally open. You don’t know what to say, and your racing mind isn’t helping you trying to figure out a way for him to stay with you. He seems nervous as well, biting his bottom lip as his eyes avoid yours.

“Thank you… For keeping me safe,” you say meekly, cheeks heating up. His smoke colored eyes meet yours.

“Of course Y/n, you saved me first,” he responds softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. He does have pretty lips. So pink, and they look so soft. You don’t even realise you are staring at them until they come closer. Wait what? You snap your eyes to Yoongi and you meet his gaze. His face stops only inches away from yours and you feel your whole face burn, and your heart beats at a thousand miles an hour. He is right there in front of you, so close that you can feel his hot breath tingling against your skin, yet he is not close enough for you.

You crash your lips against his in impatience. It feels as though you’ve been waiting for this for your whole life, feeling so right to be in his arms. The kiss is full of passion, his tongue sneaking past your lips to find yours. His hands grip on your hips to get you closer and you practically melt in his arms. Everything feels so hot, his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, your hands entangled in his hair. You breathlessly pull away from his kiss to grab him closer to you, flushing his body against yours. He hastily closes the door behind you and his lips resume their assault on yours. Let’s just say that you stayed together in more ways than one that day.

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

Meeting Min Yoongi was maybe the best mistake of your life. Sure, you got kidnapped and shot at, you lost your job and had to hide from a powerful gang with an assassin, but you’d do it all over again just for him.

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

Thank you @minty-joonie and @wwilloww for helping me proofread!

I hope you liked it!! Please tell me what you thought of Black Crow!!

💜

156 notes · View notes

wolveria · 5 years ago

Text

Buttons - Ch. 3

Pairing: Therapist!Connor x f!Reader

Summary: Connor knew he shouldn’t be so attracted to his patient. It wasn’t right, especially when she had been nothing but sweet to him.

But when the opportunity presented itself to finally get a taste of her, he couldn’t help himself.

Chapter Warnings: Explicit dubcon

Word Count: 3.4k

Co-authors: @uh-kitty-got-wet, @groovylabrat, @technohumanlation

AO3

(Moodboard created by @uh-kitty-got-wet)

“I would tell you if something was wrong, of course,” you said, trying not to shiver as the hand remained where it was, heavy and hot on your shoulder.

“Not having nightmares again, are you?”

The question was perfectly reasonable, so there was no reason for your cheeks to be on fire or for you to clutch the couch cushions as tightly as you did.

“N-no. No nightmares.” Oh, definitely no nightmares.

He hummed thoughtfully, and then he slightly squeezed your shoulder, making you jump.

“You’re incredibly tense,” he said, repeating the motion. “You shouldn’t hold so much tension in your muscles, especially here. It increases the chance of cluster headaches and neck injury.”

You couldn’t breathe, or think, or function at all as he moved his hand closer to your neck and pressed the pad of his thumb against the top of your spine.

“You’ve got a knot. Right… here.” He rubbed the spot harder, digging into the sore muscle.

You moaned, and immediately slapped your hand over your mouth.

He stopped moving his thumb.

Fuck, you thought, panicking. Fuck, fuck.

“Sorry,” he said with a little laugh, as if you hadn’t done the most embarrassing thing in the world. “Forgot to warn you this might hurt a little. If it gets to be too much, please tell me.”

Oh. He thought you’d moaned in pain.

You lowered your hand from your mouth, nodded and gave a strangled, “Okay.”

Connor placed his hand on your other shoulder, effectively doubling your heart rate as you pressed your thighs together. You felt like you were going to explode or catch fire on the spot.

He began to rub both of your shoulders, long and deft fingers working through your muscles. Goosebumps erupted over your skin, your nipples were painfully hard, and you ached between your legs.

All from a simple massage that probably meant nothing to him. It wasn’t fair.

“Is this all right?” His voice had dropped to a low murmur that was sinful enough to short-circuit your brain. “If you’re uncomfortable, just tell me to stop.”

“No,” you rushed out, immediately flushing. “It’s-it’s fine. Great, really. I… think I needed this.”

He gave a low chuckle. You were pretty sure you could come from his voice alone.

“Really? I couldn’t tell at all,” he teased, fingers pressing into an especially stubborn muscle. “But honestly, someone as young as you shouldn’t be so tense. It’s unhealthy. Are you practicing any muscle-relaxing techniques at home?”

“I don’t think so. Unless drinking counts,” you sheepishly added.

“No, drinking does not count,” he reprimanded you, even as you could hear the smile in his voice. “I have a few suggestions, if that’s all right?”

“Sure,” you said, head hanging forward as you continued to relax. He could do anything to you right now and you wouldn’t care. It felt so insanely good, better than any massage you’d ever had, and those fingers and his voice were better than any porn.

You really needed to stop lusting over your therapist. It was wrong, pathetic, and clearly pointless. This wasn’t going anywhere except to give you another broken heart.

“Well…” He moved his hands back up to your neck, the tips of his fingers gently cradling the columns of your throat as his thumb worked against your spine. You thought you had died and gone to heaven. “Lying down and reading is a good one. Stretching your muscles everyday also helps. Relaxing in a hot bath.

“And, of course, there’s masturbation.”

You stopped breathing. Went stock-still like a frightened rabbit before a hunter.

“Really?” you asked faintly, on autopilot as your brain tried to catch up. Did he know what you had done just before your session? Was he just teasing you some more?

“Yes, absolutely,” he said, still massaging your muscles as he had a whole bunch of tensed up ones to work through. “It even helps bolster the immune system. I recommend it to all my patients.”

“Oh.”

All his patients. It didn’t mean anything. He was just being a good therapist. Of course he was. He was a professional and you were a pathetic lowlife who let your innocent crush run wild until it had become totally perverted and—

Connor’s hands went still as he leaned down, put his mouth close to your ear and murmured, “I can show you the best technique, if you like.”

This couldn’t be happening. Surely, you were still dreaming. There was no way—

“Okay.”

He seemed surprised, going by the short breath he sucked it, but it was nothing compared to your own shock. Had you just really agreed to let Connor show you how to masturbate “properly”?

He removed his hands from your shoulders, and for a moment you thought he was going to laugh at you, tell you it was a joke and you really were pathetic to fall for it.

Instead, he stood before you, peering down so intently that you felt he could see right through you. Hear each beat of your heart and listen to each shallow, pulled breath.

Normally, the glasses perched on his nose gave Connor a soft, endearing look. Now he looked almost predatory as his analytical gaze roved over every inch of you. And then he reached up, pulled at the knot of his tie, and tugged it off in one swift motion.

You gripped the edge of the couch. Holy shit.

Connor sat down next to you on the couch, and the parts of you that felt they were on fire burned even brighter.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice raspy and low as he looked you in the eye. “If we have to stop later, you’ll be even tenser than before, which will make this entire exercise ineffective. So once I start… I plan to not stop until it’s finished.”

This was really happening. You nodded, licking your dry lips and swallowing the lump in your throat, voice shaky but the words clear.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He gave a little smile, so faint you almost didn’t catch it, and then he took your hand, holding the back of it against his palm.

“Good. Then let us begin.”

Connor sounded so formal it was almost funny, as if this really was some kind of legitimate therapist practice, but there was nothing professional about the way he gripped your hand, placed it on your thigh, and pushed it up your skirt.

“I’m glad you wore this today,” he said, almost conversational except for the hoarse quality of his voice. “Makes it easier for the both of us.”

A small whimper escaped before you could tamp it down, the tips of your fingers against your inner thigh combined with Connor’s low praise already too much. How were you going to do this and survive with your mind intact?

“It’s all right,” he breathed against your cheek. “Don’t hold anything back. This is all about making you feel good.”

You couldn’t hold back, even if you’d wanted to. Connor pressing your own fingers against your clothed sex was enough to pull another noise from you, a stifled, strained whine.

“That’s it,” he instructed sweetly, guiding your fingers into a slow, circling motion over your clit. “Just like that.”

You shut your eyes tight, trying to be quiet despite what he’d said, and Connor gave a sigh.

“You’re not relaxing.”

He didn’t give you an opportunity to respond; Connor pushed your hand harder against the fabric barrier over your clit just as he gently wrapped his fingers in your hair, tilting your head to the side so he could press his nose against the side of your neck.

“Relax.”

He said the word against your skin, moving lips forcing a shudder out of you, and just as if he had you under a spell, you began to relax, muscles becoming loose and pliant under his control.

“That’s my girl.”

Between the guide of his skillful fingers, his lips teasing your neck, and his low, murmured praises, you were already well on your way to reaching that peak. He felt so warm, his voice more raspy than usual, and that hint of cologne you’d always thought smelled nice was now intoxicating.

But just as you started to feel your walls tightened, Connor pulled your hands away, and you gave a pitiful moan.

“Impatient, aren’t you,” he teased, drawing your hand up your mound and to the waistband of your panties. “Insatiable little thing.”

You were beyond speaking at this point; all that was left to you were needy whines and breathy, strangled groans.

Connor, meanwhile, seemed as composed as ever, even with his tie removed and the top button of his collar undone, leaving a delicious swath of pale, smooth skin. You wanted to reach out and suck on it, leave a hickey he would have to hide from his next patients, and the thought made you wild with need but your hands remained next to your legs, clutching the cushions for dear life. You didn’t know if he would let you touch him, but you wanted to, desperately.

Still leading your hand, he dipped your fingers under your waistband, moved them down, and guided them over your folds. Your face was on fire, made worse when you both felt how drenched you were.

“It seems to me you really needed this.” Was it your imagination, or did Connor’s breath hitch and nearly stutter? “How long have you been… wound so tight?”

As he said the words, he pressed your fingers inward, teasing and prodding your entrance. You rolled your hips and arched against the back of the couch, unable to keep still or quiet as you released a muffled cry.

“You’re holding back again.” You felt something warm and wet against your skin, and belatedly realized he was dragging his tongue along your neck. You whimpered and tried to squeeze your thighs together over his hand. The stimulation was too much and not enough.

With his free hand, he grabbed your knee and forced your legs apart.

“What did I say about relaxing?” he nearly growled, sending a shiver up your spine. “Even now, you’re still fighting it. You have to trust me.”

You nodded, eyes still shut down, because you couldn’t look at him without dying on the spot. It was purely self-preservation at this point. “I trust you,” you managed to breathe out.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Connor nibbled at your earlobe, gentle but the scrape of his teeth still forced out your moan. “Now for this part… you have to make sure you’re properly lubricated.”

As if to make his point, he swirled your fingers between your folds, coating them with your slick. “If you do this technique dry, it’ll be uncomfortable. Painful, even. We don’t want that.”

You were barely able to follow his words, enjoying the lull of his voice more than anything. It was better than in all your fantasies combined.

He moved your fingers upward, placed them directly on your clit, and began to move them. A counterclockwise motion that was slow and methodical but already threatened to break you to pieces.

“The key is to set a steady, rhythmic pace,” he said, his tone ridiculously formal again except for the hoarseness. “Another tactic that people overlook is to keep your body relaxed, but to keep this area taut.”

Connor slid your fingers down again to your entrance, teasing against it before returning to your clit. He continued to speak, ignoring your choked cry as if he hadn’t heard it.

“Tensing and flexing your pelvic muscles is key to achieving a satisfying orgasm. So in this case, I do want you to tense up here. Can you do that?”

Oh, fuck, was about the most coherent response you could come up with, but you managed to choke out a, “Yes.”

You really did try to follow Connor’s instructions. Relax your muscles except for between your legs. Easy. Except you were a giant stress-ball of horny and you wanted to jump into Connor’s lap, unzip his pants, and sit on his dick.

The thought made you moan and arch your back again, desperate to move your fingers faster, but Connor wouldn’t let you, forcing your fingers to remain at the slow, torturous pace.

It was good, so good, but it wasn’t enough, and Connor was keeping you just short of reaching your peak. He might actually succeed in driving you crazy.

Fuck it. If he was going to keep torturing you, you were going to enjoy it was much as possible. With your free hand, you slipped it under your shirt, pulled your bra down, and rubbed your thumb harshly over the nipple. The additional stimulation made you almost sob with relief, unable to be still as you squirmed and pushed up against his hand.

You heard Connor suck in a breath, his hand suddenly still, and without thinking you grabbed his lax fingers and forced them back onto your clit. Directly. His hand remained frozen, even when you tried to move it. Despite his lanky limbs and slim body, he was very strong.

You finally opened your eyes, met his warm brown ones, and desperately begged.

“Please…”

He chewed the corner of his lip as if conflicted, even with his hand down your panties.

“Please, Connor.” Your words were a choked moan, his name a sinful plea on your lips, and you saw the moment his resolve break.

Swallowing hard enough for his Adam’s apple to bob, he removed his hand entirely from your panties. For a moment, you thought you’d misinterpreted, but then he lifted his fingers to his lips, glistening with your slick, and cleaned them off with his tongue before popping them into his mouth.

You just stared at him, sure your mind had just broken, especially when he pulled his fingers from his mouth with an indecent pop.

And then… he removed his glasses.

You’d never seen Connor without his glasses before. He looked… barely restrained. His eyes, normally so warm and soft, were sharp and edged like the blade of a knife. Like he wanted to take you apart and make you all his.

Apparently, that’s what he intended to do.

Connor rose to his feet and stood between your knees after kicking them apart, barely giving you any time to adjust before he knelt on the cushion between your legs. He grabbed your thighs and lifted you up, settling you into his lap and trapping you between him and the back of the couch.

You watched, mouth dry and chest heaving as he unbuckled his belt and harshly pulled it from its loop, tossing it aside. His eyes never left yours even as he unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks and pulled his cock out of his boxer-briefs.

You’d never thought it was possible for a cock to look so delicious, and his was mouth-wateringly gorgeous. A nice size and girth, flushed and already leaking precum at the tip.

He didn’t give you enough time to admire it; Connor looped one arm around the small of your back, lifted your hips, tugged aside the crotch of your panties, and pulled you up onto his lap. The tip of his cock pushed past your slick entrance, and he slid the rest of the way inside without much difficulty from how wet you were, but you were suddenly so full you could barely breathe.

“Fuck,” he gasped against your ear. It was the first time you’d ever heard him curse. “You’re so… tight.”

You held onto his broad shoulders like a lifeline, fingers digging into his dress shirt and whimpering as you wrapped your legs around his narrow waist.

“Connor,” you nearly sobbed from relief and the almost-painful fullness. You didn’t care if it would hurt, you needed this. Needed him. “Please… fuck me.”

With a low growl, he thrust forward, crushing you between the couch and his chest, half-holding you up as he thrust into you again. Each drag of his cock inside you made you moan, or cry, and you buried your face into his neck as your walls already started to tighten around him.

He felt better than a dream, hitting the spots you could never reach yourself, the sound of his hips slamming into yours wet and obscene in his small office. You could feel yourself dripping, making a mess of both of you, but neither of you cared.

“Connor.” You repeated his name, over and over, voice rising in pitch the tighter you became. “Connor.”

“I know,” he gasped out, fingers digging into your hips as he increased the brutal, merciless pace. “You’re doing… so well, baby girl. You’re… almost there.”

You half-sobbed at the praise, wanting to come so badly, but at the same time, conflicted. Never wanting it to stop. Not wanting this fantasy to be over.

Maybe Connor sensed it, because he latched onto your throat with his mouth, nipping and sucking and kissing your skin as if he could live on that alone.

“Come for me,” he growled, and you did, unable to do anything but obey.

You gripped him so tightly you must have left bruises, arched your back, and cried out sharply, your whole body shuddering as you pulsed and throbbed around him. Stars exploded behind your eyes as pleasure sparked through every nerve and inch of your skin, and all you could do was cling to him tightly so you wouldn’t drown beneath the waves.

Connor gave a choked curse, his pace staggering into shallow, uneven thrusts, before he pushed all the way inside and shivered hard. He held you tightly against his chest as he groaned into your hair, panting and holding you on his lap as his cock twitched and throbbed inside you.

Only when you felt his cum start to leak out of you did you remember you hadn’t used a condom.

Shit.

You expected him to pull out of you, to tell you to get out now that he was done with you. Instead, Connor kept his arms around you as he shifted over, sitting back and pulling you onto his lap, still embedded deep inside you.

And then he did something you never would have expected; he took your head between his hands and drew you forward, pressing his soft lips against yours. Tender, warm, and inviting, the tip of his tongue licked against your lips. You gasped and shivered and he pulled back, a small, satisfied smile pulling at his lips.

“So…” His smile fell and he looked almost nervous. You almost missed it because he had lowered his hands to your hips and begun tracing distracting circles on them with his thumbs. Even through the cloth of your skirt his touch was warm and electric. “I don’t know if you would be interested… but…”

He faltered again and you weren’t imagining the shyness there, which was crazy because he’d just given you the best orgasm of your life. What could he possibly have to be bashful about?

“Yes?” you asked, surprised at how raw you sounded. You curled your finger into his hair, liking the softness of it, and needed to do something with your hands before you decided to start riding him again. His cock, even though it had softened, was still very distracting inside you.

Connor’s cheeks a pretty pink, so endearing and awkward as he leaned into your touch. “I was wondering if you’d… maybe want to come over to my house tonight?”

You blinked at him. Probably the fifth time he’d broken your brain in so many minutes.

“I mean,” he flushed a deeper pink, “I feel like I at least owe you dinner. I’ve been told I’m a decent cook, and… that is, if you don’t want to sue me for… for malpractice—“

You surged forward and pressed your lips against his, forcing him to stop talking.

Connor gave a startled gasp, giving you the opportunity to lick into his mouth. You could feel his dick give an interested twitch inside you. You groaned, shifting your hips a little. You knew your time was almost up, so there was no possible way for a round two, but…

Going to Connor’s house? Having him cook you dinner? Maybe even stay the night in his bed?

You broke the kiss, took a steadying breath of air, and smiled down at him.

“Yes,” you said. “I’d love to.”

#dbh #detroit: become human #detroit become human #connor #rk800 #connor x reader #rk800 x reader #connor fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #co-authors #fic rec

160 notes · View notes