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aureatelys · 5 months ago

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as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader w.c.: 6k a/n: inspired by that one gifset of hotch desperately needing some moisturizer on his neck im so sorry. also my first time writing hotch's pov, pls be gentle. c.w.: fluff! friends to lovers, kinda sunshine/girly!reader, mutual pining, alcohol mention, author pretending like they know about skincare, hotch is whipped and touch starved af, no y/n

summary:

You think Hotch needs to take better care of himself. Hotch doesn't know what to think. Or, 5 times you teach Hotch about skincare more than he wants to and 1 time he teaches you.

read below or ao3 here

one.

When Hotch first walks into the conference room ready to go over a new case, there’s something different that he can’t quite put his finger on.

Words dying in his throat, he sweeps his eyes over the entire room and doesn’t see anything significantly out of place. Then he’s passing over everyone’s faces, mentally keeping a note on how exhausted most of them are looking, and then landing on you.

Having only joined a couple of months ago, you were still fairly new to the team. However, with your sunny disposition and eagerness to learn, you blended right in. Hotch had watched in amusement as you were able to keep up with Reid’s ramblings, Morgan’s flirting, and Garcia’s antics. You were insightful, able to give new perspectives that Hotch would never have even considered, patient with victims and their families, and Hotch admired you for that.

Today, however, you look considerably suspicious as you give him a sheepish smile and a little wave. “Morning, Hotch,” you say, eyes sparkling, followed by a round of greetings from the rest of the team.

“Morning.” And then he spots a machine on the table near the wall, shaped and designed like a cat and spouting off what looks like steam at a steady and continuous rate.

Now that he’s noticed it, he realizes the conference room feels significantly stickier, the sudden humidity a stark contrast to the dry winter air outside. He can sense the slight congestion he’s been waking up to the past several months gradually disappearing.

“It’s a humidifier,” you explain after spotting the slightly confused expression Hotch was wearing, as if he’s never seen one before. To be fair, he doesn’t think he’s seen one in years as Haley was usually the one who dug it out of storage when Jack wasn’t feeling well. “I brought it from home, I thought it was a little dry in here. Is that okay?”

“I hope so, I was worried about getting a nosebleed the other day.”

“It’s good to have it around during this time of year, Hotch. Did you hear Anderson coughing this morning?”

“It’s also beneficial to have one on while you sleep, both with the white noise and being able to clear your sinuses and breathe easier with its optimal humidity levels.”

Truthfully, Hotch doesn’t care and he’s sure there isn’t some ridiculous regulation about not allowing a small humidifier, especially when Garcia has two space heaters in her office that you’ve had to ask to borrow at least twice a week.

However, the way you’re glancing up at him now from your spot at the round table, eyes wide and fluffy pink scarf wrapped around you because you apparently run colder than the rest of the team, Hotch would probably let you get away with anything.

He immediately sets that thought aside, not wanting to dwell on exactly what that means right now. He takes the only empty seat left that just happened to be right next to you, making sure to keep a respectable distance. “It’s fine. Just make sure to turn it off and empty it before we go.”

You give him a blinding smile that momentarily distracts him from the bubbling humidifier and the clouds of mist that are nearly falling into his face. “Sure thing. Did you know that it can also help with dry skin? So technically, we’re just taking care of our bodies if they ask why we need it.”

Although it makes sense now that he thinks about it, Hotch didn’t know that. He also doesn’t remember the last time he put on lotion or moisturizer, no matter how dry his hands felt.

Just then, Garcia wobbles in with her yellow heels and coffee mug, immediately launching into the brutal details of the case and where the team will be headed out to for the next couple of days.

When Hotch gets up to grab his go-bag from the office, he tries to ignore how it feels like he can breathe a little bit easier.

two.

“God, it’s freezing in here.”

Hotch glances up from his laptop mid-report to witness you taking the seat next to his with a resounding oof. You’re wrapped up in a blanket that you had brought from home that has somehow taken permanent residence on the jet, shivering despite the heater being on full blast. The corner of it lands on his knee, soft and warm.

The team had just finished a case in rural Montana, surrounded by mountains of snow and the wilderness. You had remembered to pack warmly at least, as Hotch had witnessed you struggling to take off the several layers of sweaters every time you arrived at the precinct. He remembers frowning in the car on the way to apprehend the unsub as you shivered in the passenger seat, having had to wear only a layer or two due to the bulky Kevlar vest and needing to be quick on your feet.

“It’ll warm up here in a second,” Hotch says, already wracking around his brain to see if there was another blanket hidden in a compartment somewhere. “A cup of tea will probably help.”

You slouch down further in your seat, cocooning yourself even further under the thick blanket. “I don’t want to get up.”

Hotch is almost tempted to lock his computer and get up to make you that cup of tea himself, however he glances around the cabin and notices several knowing pairs of eyes on him. He doesn’t have to be a profiler to know what the rest of the team thinks—that he’s gone soft on you.

You with your fuzzy blue blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cape and the thick socks that you put in your bag specifically for the plane ride home. He knows he’s not imagining the lingering glances you throw at Hotch or the way you occasionally stay late as an excuse to bother him in his office.

And he doesn’t necessarily mind. There’s a strange, innate pull that tugs in his stomach when it comes to you, causing him to watch you more carefully and seeking out your presence at almost every opportunity. The sheer grip of panic on his heart when you were shot after taking down an unsub by yourself and without backup several months ago had Hotch re-evaluating everything he knew about himself.

He’s aware of the possible repercussions, which is exactly why Hotch has learned to be patient when it comes to you, who has threatened him to forgo his patience altogether with every bubbly laugh he can hear from his office or knock of your shoulders against his in the conference room.

So he doesn’t get up to make you that cup of tea despite knowing how you take it with a splash of milk and two sugars, and instead turns back to finish the action report.

It’s only several minutes later when he notices you rummaging around in your bag out of the corner of his eye before you pull out a small and colorful lotion bottle with a triumphant noise. You pop the cap open and slather some on your hands before you’re turning to face Hotch again, the novel that Reid recommended to you untouched on the table. “Do you want some?”

The bottle in your hand looks somewhat familiar, most likely something he’s passed by at the store or on your desk, but Hotch balks at the pink flowers painted all over the bottle. He’s lucky the undoubtedly suffocating smell hasn’t hit him yet. “I’m fine, thanks.”

But you don’t put the lotion back in your bag, instead shifting in your seat until you’re fully facing him. Your blanket is nearly draped over Hotch’s thigh. “Are you sure? You know, it’s really important to make sure your hands are moisturized, especially with how cold it is here.”

He doesn’t know why you’re so adamant about this, peering up at him with bright and eager eyes and the open lotion bottle poised over his hands. He’s never liked putting on lotion, or any kind of creams, as it always made his hands feel uncomfortably greasy. He would eventually wash it off anyway.

He turns his attention back to his laptop, yet wordlessly puts a hand out towards your direction.

He thinks you’re going to pour a generous dollop and let him rub his own hands together, but instead, he nearly jumps in his seat when you’re grabbing onto his hand with both of yours and slathering whatever’s leftover on your hands into his palms and the back of his hands.

Your hands are cold, even moreso than his, but the sharp tingle that runs up his arm at your touch causes something warm to bloom in his chest.

“I didn’t want to waste it,” you respond to the confusion on his face. You’re thorough; making sure to slather the cream in between his fingers and even down to his wrists. He senses the sneaking glances the rest of the team are throwing his way, maybe even smug, but he’s painstakingly distracted by the way your hands look in his, the way he can feel both of your hands gradually warming up.

And then you’re pulling away, and Hotch suddenly misses your tender touch.

Like he expected, his palms suddenly feel gross, unpleasantly slippery like he has oil all over them. He wants to rub his palms on his pants or go wash his hands, but your watchful eyes stop him.

And then it hits him— the sudden scent of you, floral with some hints of vanilla, overwhelming his senses. It’s undeniably the same scent as your perfume, the one that seems to linger every time you stride past him at the office or when you’re leaning over Hotch to laugh at something Morgan said. Now, it causes him to sharply inhale, chest feeling unnervingly tight as he unconsciously marks it to his memory.

You’re still watching him with an expectant smile, bottle stored away in your bag for you to pull out again after you’ve gotten up to use the restroom and used the cheap hand soap that you’ve repeatedly complained about before. You look unfazed, as if your simple touch hasn’t sent Hotch’s brain reeling.

“It’s nice,” Hotch manages to say, voice only slightly strained. The smell is not as strong as he expected, but it’s still doing strange things to his heart more than he’d like to admit.

If possible, your smile widens. “Just nice?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s quite my signature scent.”

You hum and turn away, picking up your book despite Hotch knowing you’re not going to read a single page of it today, the spine already creased from where you’ve been laying it face down multiple times over the past month. “No, your signature scent already fits you.”

Hotch says nothing, not entirely sure how to respond to that, but your attention is already caught by the game of cards Reid and Emily are playing several seats away. You immediately set your novel down and scramble up and out of your seat to be their enthusiastic audience, leaving a trail of vanilla behind you.

Hotch immediately misses the warmth of your blanket.

three.

“What are you looking for now?”

You’ve been digging through your bag, your pink personal one that’s almost as big as your go bag, for the past five minutes. Hotch can hear the various items clinking around and the crinkling of multiple old receipt papers as you curse under your breath. He frowns, tempted to encourage you to clean out your bag if only to make packing more convenient for you. He couldn’t count the number of times you’ve exclaimed on the jet that you had forgotten something.

The team had gotten called to another small rural town in North Dakota for an unsub that’s been killing during the protective guise of blizzards, which is why Hotch was driving so painstakingly slow that Morgan would’ve surely had an aneurysm if he was in the same car. Despite the roads having already been salted, there was still a concerning amount of ice on the roads that had Hotch sitting ramrod straight in his seat and gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were nearly turning white.

Luckily, it was only you and Hotch in the car, heater on full blast. You’re wearing at least three sweaters today with your coat draped over your legs and haven’t even complained once about it being too cold, citing how you’ve never seen this much snow before in your life. Hotch found it all extremely endearing watching you nearly jump in your seat at how the evergreen trees looked covered in snow. Like a Christmas movie, you had said.

“Found it!” You pull out a travel sized bottle of sunscreen, hurriedly twisting the cap open to squeeze and draw lines down three fingers.

Hotch glances at you out of the corner of his eye, brow furrowed in confusion at your strange method. “Sunscreen? Are we going to the beach?”

“God, I hope not. I didn’t think to pack a swimsuit.” You roll your eyes while slathering the cream on your forehead, cheeks, down your neck, and even strangely over your ears before rubbing the rest on the back of your hands.

Hands tightening on the steering wheel, Hotch clears his throat. “I didn’t expect you to be so invested in your skin health.”

“It’s called skincare, Hotch,” you tease, screwing the cap back on but suspiciously leaving it out on your lap. “And it’s important to take care of your skin. Did you know that snow reflects UV rays, so even during winter you should put on sunscreen?”

Hotch chuckles before he could stop himself. “You’re starting to sound like Reid.”

“Did you want some?” You’re twisting your body again to face Hotch, eyes sparkling despite it being horribly dreary and cloudy outside.

The only times Hotch has worn sunscreen was during especially hot summer days when he took Jack to the park or to go swimming. He’s seen you apply sunscreen in the office even when it was raining outside and the sun wasn’t forecasted to come out that day. He’s grown to learn not to ask questions.

“I’m okay, thanks.” The answer’s immediate, partly because he doesn’t need sunscreen and partly because he is concentrating on not crashing into a ditch.

“Come on, Hotch, it’s good for you!” He knows this is exactly the same thing you said on the jet several weeks ago, and since then, every time you’re putting on lotion and he’s somewhere in the near vicinity, you’re already squeezing some on his hands before he could respectfully decline. Luckily, you haven’t tried to apply it for him again.

You’re incredibly stubborn and Hotch wonders if you’re persuading the rest of the team to invest in expensive and fruity-smelling creams in an effort to have everyone properly take care of their bodies like you are with him.

“Alright.” And then he’s pulling his foot off the gas pedal just a bit to compensate for the distraction of having to put his hand out, desperately hoping you’re not going to lean over to apply it to his own face.

You luckily don’t squeal in excitement like he expected, just silently squirting the cream into careful and meticulous lines on his three fingers. Hotch can tell it’s definitely more of an expensive brand than what he was used to during the summer—lightweight and smelling like nothing.

Hotch carefully slathers it onto his face, starting at his forehead, down his nose, and then out to his cheeks and his chin. There’s still quite a lot left on his fingers and he remembers how you made sure to spread some on your neck, so Hotch does the same thing. However, he is definitely not going to put some on his ears.

Satisfied, you put the sunscreen away and twist as best as you could underneath your thick layers to put your bag in the backseat, because the floor of the car was too wet from the snow from your shoes.

“Happy?” Hotch’s face inexplicably feels greasier than he would like, but it’s not as bad as the vanilla-scented lotion or the cheap sunscreen laying forgotten in his closet. It’s already absorbed into his skin and when he rubs a hand along his jaw, he realizes that it must have had some moisturizer in it as well because his face feels softer than he was used to.

“Ecstatic,” you say, turning your face towards the window to hide the wide grin spreading across your face.

four.

The fourth time Hotch learns about skincare from you was completely and utterly by accident.

It had been a long and brutal couple of days chasing a serial in Tennessee, one that had nearly as much technological experience as Garcia. He had been two steps ahead of them until tonight, when they had finally caught a break and caught him before he could take any more women to hold hostage.

The all-consuming relief was palpable during dinner at the hotel restaurant despite the underlying knowledge that the same thing was going to happen next week. Conversation flowed, drinks were had, and Hotch was adamantly ignoring the fleeting looks you were throwing his way across the table.

Hotch and you had been dancing around each other for months, tension so tangible that the rest of the team were starting to feel uncomfortable. He’s been able to brush off Dave’s sly remarks in the privacy of his office, Morgan and Emily’s raised eyebrows tossed in his direction at every interaction he had with you, and Garcia’s elbow jabs at every possible second when you were in the room.

It's been frustrating for him, to say the least. He can’t tell them that he can’t make that choice for you, that he’s too conscious to not cross any of those professional boundaries himself. If that means that Hotch has to wait for several more months for you to make the first move, if that even happens, then so be it.

When Hotch watches the way you throw your head back in laughter at something Dave says at dinner, eyes bright and face slightly flushed from the wine, he thinks he’d be willing to wait as long as you wanted.

After being nearly kicked out of the restaurant from being too rowdy and Hotch hinting at being able to take the rest of tomorrow off once they fly back in town early, the team quietly shuffles back to their respective rooms. He knows there’s about a 50/50 chance that most of them will sneak out to a nearby bar in ten minutes, but at least he warned them ahead of time.

“Night, Hotch,” you had said, giving him a little smile and wave before your door across the hallway clicked shut.

Something warm settled in Hotch’s chest at that, so he did the most reasonable thing to cope with the unfamiliar and turned the TV on to a random news channel. With the volume on low and his laptop and files laid out on the rickety table, he got to work.

Several hours pass like that as he throws himself into the fine print, going over everyone’s action reports from last week and shuffling through old crime photos to make sure everything matched. It was a familiar process, and almost concerning with how much comfort he’s found in it—the scratch of his pen, the drone of the city several floors down, and the growing smudge of ink on his hand from his thoughts running faster than he could write.

When he gets to your report and notices it’s missing several key points of the case, as well as your loopy signature, he frowns.

The immediate thought that comes to mind would be to just put the file aside and move onto the other one. It wasn’t as if the report was due this second and he knows there were plenty of others that required more immediate attention.

The other thought that emerges, almost reluctantly, was that Hotch could easily go across the hallway and ask you to take a look at it and finish the report rather than waiting for the following morning on the jet when the rest of the team was undoubtedly going to be hungover. Prentiss was most certainly going to be cranky and demand everyone to be quiet because the hum of the jet was already grating enough. He’d just be doing the team a favor.

That’s what Hotch tells himself as he stands up from the low desk, neck and back aching, and makes his way out his room and to yours across the hall.

He briefly pauses, straining his ears as if he could hear anything through the door and over the erratic thumping of his own heart. Hotch is suddenly aware that you may be sleeping, or even out with the rest of the ladies to a sleazy bar, and he’s about to turn back around with defeat weighing heavy on his shoulders when he hears the click of the bathroom door open and your humming, faint even through the thick wooden door.

Feeling confident that he’s not disturbing you and something else Hotch can’t name at the fact that he’s going to be seeing you in the privacy of your hotel room, he raps twice against the door.

“Just a second!” And then the door swings open.

Hotch’s attention is immediately caught by the fluffy headband you’re wearing, light pink and with a comically large bow in the center. You’ve clearly just gotten out of the shower, the scent of your body wash infiltrating Hotch’s senses and causing him to tighten his grip on the files he forgot he was holding in the first place.

You’re wearing a matching set of light blue pajamas, short and clinging to your body in a way that has Hotch immediately tearing his gaze away and back to your bare face. Your lips are glossy, slicker than normal, there’s a drop of water slowly trailing down the side of your neck, and a dab of cream on your cheek that you seem to have not noticed.

“Hotch?” you ask, confused, before letting out a squeak and crossing your arms over your chest in an effort to hide your modesty. Hotch ignores the fact that it just makes everything worse. “Is everything okay? Don’t tell me there’s a case.”

The droplet of water has disappeared underneath the collar of your shirt and the scent of vanilla nearly suffocates him. “No case. Just needed to get your final touches and signature on this report.”

He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as strained to you as it does to him as he remembers why he was standing in your hotel doorway in the first place, the files in his hand suddenly weighing like a ton.

You don’t seem to notice anything wrong, if anything, a slow smile spreads across your face that has Hotch’s stomach flipping.

You look radiant, the intimacy of being near you in your pajamas when you were clearly in the middle of your nighttime routine not going unnoticed. He peers over the top of your head to notice your go bag on your bed, clothes and your personal laptop strewn all over the comforter, and the TV being tuned to what you’d call an “entertaining yet trashy show.”

“You’re still working even though you’re the one who suggested having an early night? It’s late.”

Hotch blinks at you because what else would he have done if not attempt to catch up on the seemingly never-ending pile of papers and reports? “You’re still up late too.”

You roll your eyes. “I was just about to go to bed before you knocked, so technically I have better work-life boundaries than you.”

“Do you want me to come back tomorrow?”

You study him—still wearing his suit sans the jacket, tie only slightly loosened and sleeves rolled up his forearms. He hadn’t even bothered to put his shoes back on, comfortable enough with the hotel’s reputation to be in his room and take the two steps across the carpeted hallway in his socks.

“As long as you make it fast.” And then you’re stepping aside and opening the door further, the sweetness of the vanilla nearly pulling Hotch in.

Except he’s somehow distracted by the dollop of cream still on your cheek, right underneath your eye. Witnessing first-hand the twinkling of your eyes as you glance up at him and the way your pink headband has your hair pushed back, baring the most of your face he’s ever seen, has him sidetracked.

“You have a little…” He motions to his own face, hoping that you will take the hint.

And you don’t, not exactly, because of course you don’t. You immediately swipe at your face but on the wrong cheek and stare down at your hand when you don’t catch anything. “What?”

Hotch is a problem-solver, meticulous, and always thinks things through. That’s his job, to always be two steps ahead of anyone and everyone. So he’s not sure how or why he’s suddenly reaching a hand out to swipe at the cream on your face with his thumb, his touch lingering on the warmth of your cheek.

Whatever Hotch was going to say dies in his throat at the very audible hitch of your breath, the way your eyes widen at his close proximity. Your skin is smooth, softer than anything he’s ever felt, and he ignores the way you’re staring into him as he pulls back and absentmindedly rubs the moisturizer in the palm of his other hand. If he tries hard enough, the cream on his own skin nearly replicates the feeling of yours.

He's about to clear his throat to apologize, maybe even mention something about how the report can technically wait until tomorrow and turn right on his heel back into his room to ignore the adamant weight pressing down on his chest, when your expression changes.

Something almost akin to smugness tugs at the corners of your lips, the shininess inexplicably different and more distracting than your usual lipstick. Your bright eyes dance with amusement before your arms fall from where they were crossed on your chest to your sides.

“You know, I’m wearing a lip mask right now if you want some of that too.”

“Excuse me?”

If possible, your grin widens, causing Hotch to internally deny that he was suddenly feeling breathless. “I use a lip mask every night. They just make them look so kissable, right?”

Something in Hotch snaps, because if that wasn’t a clear invitation, he doesn’t know what is.

When he finally steps into your room, closing the door behind him, you’re slowly backing up until you’re pressed up against the nearest wall with that infuriating grin on your face.

You’re playing with him, you’ve been playing with him, but he doesn’t care and can’t even think about that when you’re peering up at him with soft eyes.

When Hotch brings a hand up to cradle your cheek, he thinks his stomach nearly twists itself into a knot at the immediate way you lean into him and the way your eyes flutter shut.

When he finally kisses you, he can smell the sweetness of the raspberry lip mask before he tastes it, seamlessly blending in with your vanilla body wash and making him feel more drunk than he’s felt in a long time.

You place your hands on his chest, your warmth seeping through the fabric of his shirt, and something about touching him has you unconsciously parting your lips to deepen the kiss, causing the smell of raspberry to become stronger.

Hotch can immediately feel the stickiness of your mask on his mouth, and he’s tempted to pull away at the unfamiliarity of something on his lips, but then you’re sighing into him and his hands are suddenly on your waist where the bottom of your pajama top has barely lifted. The warmth of your skin was intoxicating.

You have to be the first one to break the kiss, and when Hotch opens his eyes, you’re staring at him, your smirk having morphed into a smile of disbelief. His eyes flit to the almost imperceptible smear of gloss at the corner of your mouth.

“You have a little…” You trail off, your eyes drifting to his own lips, your smile doing nothing to calm the erratic rhythm Hotch’s heart has taken.

Hotch wonders how much you had put on yourself because the amount that he can feel on his lips makes him immediately want to swipe at his mouth. But that would mean having to take his hands off of you and he doesn’t think he has the willpower for that.

Instead, he rubs his lips together in an effort to spread the tackiness equally over his lips before he says “I like it, but I don’t think I got enough.”

You huff a laugh at that, your fingers tightening from where they’re gripping the lapels of his dress shirt. “I think I can help you with that.”

five.

“Are you okay in there?”

“Just five more minutes, I promise!”

That’s what you had said ten minutes ago. It’s not like Hotch is impatient per se, just content that you had agreed to sleep over again after another late date night and there wasn’t a looming case coming up.

You had only slept over one other time when the team had gotten back from a case late and Hotch wasn’t going to let you drive yourself home when you could barely keep yourself standing. You had dozed off the entire car ride home, head leaning against the window which caused Hotch to adamantly avoid all the potholes and tight turns, and yet you still managed to do your skincare routine in his ensuite bathroom before coming to bed.

After that night in your hotel room, you’ve become bolder. You’re now sitting next to Hotch on the jet, you make your way up to his office when there were still plenty of people milling about in the bullpen, and the way you peer up at him through your eyelashes during case briefings has him itching for a cold shower.

Neither have you said anything to the rest of the team, but at this point, Hotch doesn’t think he has to with the way both Dave and Morgan have patted him on the back the day after you laughed at something Emily had said and leaned against him, leaving his shoulder thrumming from your warmth for the next hour.

Another five minutes pass and Hotch can still hear the clinking of your serums as you rummage through your cosmetics bag. He silently sets aside his phone to get up from his extremely comfortable spot in the bed to pad his way over to the bathroom.

The sight that greets him has Hotch’s stomach plummeting all over again.

You’re sporting that same headband with the pink bow again, however this time, you’re wearing one of his old academy shirts that had mysteriously gone missing from his dresser several weeks ago. You’re freshly showered and you’re holding onto some kind of strangely shaped metallic instrument that you’re scraping over your cheekbones and then down your neck. The way it drags over your skin has Hotch cringing sympathetically.

You immediately spot him, meeting his gaze through the mirror, and the way your eyes immediately light up has a small smile forming on Hotch’s face before he can help it. “Hey you.”

“Hey.” Hotch leans against the doorway, content to watch the clearly practiced movements of you rubbing your skin with this strange contraption. “It’s been over five minutes.”

You pout. “Sorry, I’ve been holding this off all week and I need to do it tonight.”

Hotch was sure that “need” was a strong word, but he doesn’t question it. He stopped questioning your thorough skincare routine months ago.

And then you turn to him, something mischievous tugging at your glossy lips. “Wanna try it?”

Apprehension thuds in his chest, but he takes a step forward into the glow of the bathroom anyway. “And what is it exactly?”

Detecting your hesitation a mile away, you give him a warm smile as you hold it up to him. “It’s called a gua sha. It’s supposed to help with blood flow and getting rid of toxins and all that.”

Hotch may not be a beauty or skincare expert, but he has doubts that this piece of metal can actually do all of those things. To be fair, he’s had quite a few doubts about most of the items you use and not so subtly make him try.

The delight painted clear on your face though has Hotch tucking those thoughts away. He’s sure he has no right to question one’s own method on how to relax.

“Okay.”

You immediately muffle a squeal and turn to grab some other serum you left out on the sink, a light gold swimming around in the bottle.

“I’ll only do half of your face, I promise.” You squeeze some of the mysterious liquid on your hands and reach up to pat the left side of his face.

It’s thicker than your usual products, most likely some kind of oil that smells like roses, but the heat from your hand and your close proximity has Hotch feeling inexplicably warm all over.

“Okay, now you just use this side to run up your cheekbone like this.” You demonstrate for him and he adamantly makes note of the light pressure you’re using. “And then you run it down your face and down your neck.”

When he attempts to copy your movements with the warm metal, he doesn’t notice any difference in how his skin feels or the blood flow in his face, but you’re studying him so closely that Hotch is tempted to say he does.

It’s a strange sensation, but honestly it doesn’t feel any different than if he used his own fingers to rub up against his cheekbone or jawline.

When he puts the piece of metal back in your open palm, you’re nearly teeming with excitement. “So, what do you think?”

He pauses. “I don’t think it’s for me, sweetheart.”

You pout but he can tell that you’re not offended. “Boo. Fine, I’ll meet you in bed, handsome.”

Hotch is about to turn back to go to bed before he remembers the thick oil covering half of his face, evenly dispersed but still uncomfortable and will surely stain his pillowcase. He attempts to discreetly wipe at it with his hand as best as he can before quickly rubbing it off on your arm and escaping.

The screech you let out echoes in his bathroom as you try to swat at him and narrowly miss, and the way he feels heat tinge at the tip of his ears is better than any metallic contraption’s claim to improve blood flow.

On his days off, Hotch much prefers spending as much time as he can at home, either with Jack, you, or, more recently, both. Even if Hotch technically sees you every day in the bullpen, you at work is much different than the you at home.

Or at least, he likes to think there’s a difference as you drag him to the grocery store during what was possibly the quietest afternoon he’s had in several months.

I just have to pick up a couple of things, you had said as you buckle your seatbelt in the passenger side. We’ll be back home in a jiffy.

Never mind the fact that the word home coming from your lips has Hotch’s mind reeling. You’ve been seeing each other for several months now and he’s almost sure that you haven’t stepped foot in your own apartment for at least a month. You’ve taken up half of his dresser, most of his closet space, and the entirety of the counter space in the bathroom with your multi-colored serums and skincare tools that don’t work no matter what you claim.

He follows you around the store, dutifully pushing the grocery cart, as you mentally go through your checklist on all the toiletries you’re almost out of. Which is why he finds himself in the cosmetics aisle when you exclaim “Oh, I forgot about tomatoes for taco Tuesday!” and scamper off before he could say there were plenty of tomatoes from last time in the fridge because Jack has suddenly decided he doesn’t like them anymore.

He's content to wait, maybe check his emails on his phone, when he spots the familiar label of his face wash out of the corner of his eye.

It’s a brand that Haley had recommended for him when they were in college and Hotch knew absolutely nothing about skincare then, so he just continued buying it. He’s gone through countless bottles over the years, having used it nearly every day, yet Hotch finds himself frowning as he stares at the bright orange bottle.

The large bold letters advertise the cleanser being able to effectively combat oiliness, but Hotch distinctly remembers you offhandedly mentioning how lucky he was to have dry skin and not a combination like you.

Honestly, he had no idea, but it would make sense with how you were constantly slathering him in lotions and creams any chance you got.

He browses through the available cleansers, keeping an eye out for those that treat dry skin, when you sidle up next to him with a bag of tomatoes that were undoubtedly not going to get eaten. He can hear the hesitation in your voice when you ask “What are you doing?”

“Looking for something different.”

“Oh yeah? I knew I was wearing you down, Hotchner. Soon, you’re going to be begging me to take you to Sephora.” You’re joking but Hotch can detect the underlying seriousness in your voice.

He continues as if he didn’t hear you. “I’ve been using the wrong face wash for my skin so I’m looking for a different one. I probably haven’t been doing my skin any favors all these years.”

A pause. And then, incredulously, you say “Who taught you that?”

Finding one that was a good size and affordable enough to try, Hotch grabs it and throws it into the cart. When he meets your eyes, you’re staring up at him with a disbelieving smile.

“You did.” And it’s true—Hotch would’ve never thought about the long-term benefits of having a humidifier in the bedroom or the importance of sunscreen everyday if it weren’t for you. Taking care of your appearance was clearly important to you, which meant it was now important to him.

You stare at him, lips parted as if you’re at a loss for words. Your skin is glowing even under the harsh fluorescent grocery store lighting. “You’re such a sweet talker, you know that?”

You toss the tomatoes in the cart, making him wince, and loop your arm through his to tug him along the aisle. You smell sugary sweet with maybe a hint of his cologne from where you had slept in one of his old shirts last night. Hotch remembers how he had felt lightheaded, fondness flooding his chest, when he woke to you laying on his chest this morning. He tugs you closer into his side.

“Does this mean that you’ll try that new light therapy mask that I bought?”

“One step at a time, honey.”

taglist <3 @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover @maeintree @pastelpinkflowerlife @storiesofsvu @actualdeemon

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader fluff #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #mine #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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shiyorin · 2 months ago

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Author's note: Come from my private au, has so many settings I am never said before but I think it is funny, must post.

Tumblr formatting sucks so I had to change it like this.

EXPOSED: 133 SPICY SECRETS THE IMPERIUM DOESN’T WANT YOU TO KNOW — WHAT THE PRIMARCHS REALLY DO AFTER DARK!

From kink collections to bedroom blunders - the juiciest, weirdest, and most heretical habits of the Emperor’s golden boys. You won’t believe #26… and #90? Absolutely illegal in 7 systems!

The Lion maintains absolute discipline even during climax, barely changes expression.

Has a secret passionate side that only emerges with you.

Silent hunter in the streets, vocal beast in the sheets.

Despite his serious demeanor, he makes cat noises when he comes. Not sexy growls, literal "meow" sounds.

Has never discussed his intimate life with anyone, total compartmentalization.

Possesses surprisingly detailed knowledge of ancient Terran tantric practices.

Watch you like prey before making a move, intense predatory stare.

Has a ritual of knightly "service" that leaves you breathless.

Fulgrim has tried literally every sexual practice in Imperial records.

Can delay his climax indefinitely through perfect muscular control.

His perfectionism extends to sexual performance, practices techniques alone.

Has a mirror positioned above his bed, claiming it's "for technique refinement."

Keeps a detailed journal rating every sexual encounter on multiple criteria.

Always smells like different exotic perfumes depending on his mood.

Perturabo pproaches pleasure like an engineering problem to be solved with precision.

Records biometric data during encounters to analyze optimal techniques.

His jealousy issues manifest as possessiveness in relationship.

He has body image issues despite being built like a Greek god. When you started calling his stretch marks "triumph lines" and his response was to short-circuit emotionally.

Surprisingly responsive to praise during intimate moments.

Despite his gruff exterior, he cries during his refractory period. Every time.

Has trust issues that translate to control dynamics in bed.

Jaghatai's speed isn't just for the battlefield, it can vibrate certain body parts.

Never stays in one position for long, constant motion and rhythm.

Has a thing for outdoor sex.

Braids his hair specially for intimate occasions, pulls it out after.

Makes a distinctive sound during climax that's become legendary.

Knows pleasure techniques from dozens of different cultures.

Sometimes recites war poems during particularly intense moments.

Leman's heightened sense of smell means he can detect arousal from across a room.

Growls during climax, not metaphorically, actually growls.

Has fucked in every environment imaginable, including in blizzards.

Gets rough during full moons without even realizing it.

His beard provides unexpected sensations that drive you wild.

His dirty talk is surprisingly poetic, often in ancient Fenrisian dialects.

Has a thing for biting, leaves marks that last for weeks.

Dorn approaches sex with the same directness as everything else, tells you exactly what he wants.

Has incredible endurance, can maintain the same position for hours without tiring.

He speaks exclusively in literal terms during sex. "I am now going to insert my penis into your vagina" is his idea of dirty talk. When you asked him to talk dirty, he told you about soil composition and drainage issues. Somehow, still hot.

He has never once lied, which made "how was it for you?" a terrifying question until you learned to be more specific.

Never exaggerates or falsifies his reactions, 100% authentic responses.

Has an unexpected thing for bondage, loves testing the strength of different restraints.

Always keeps his word on promised pleasures, reliability is his hallmark.

If you want to peg him, he will provide a detailed structural analysis of your technique, complete with suggestions for improved angle of entry.

Konrad can see your deepest desires through his precognitive abilities.

Only has sex in complete darkness, says the shadows "speak to him" then.

Has a thing for fear, gets aroused when you are slightly afraid.

Never makes a sound during sex, total silence except for breathing.

Sometimes whispers your future to you during climax, usually disturbing stuff.

He's a little spoon who needs to be the big spoon until he falls asleep, then immediately reverts to little.

He keeps a "justice journal" where he ranks everyone's crimes and appropriate punishments. Apparently, your crime is "excessive smugness" and your punishment is "thorough pleasure correction."

Sanguinius's wings are erogenous zones, extremely sensitive to touch.

His beauty isn't just physical, emits a pheromone that intensifies attraction.

Blood rushes to his wings during arousal, making them flush visibly.

His enhanced hearing means he can detect the slightest changes in heartbeat and breathing.

You can feel a euphoric blood rush in his presence, possibly psychic.

Has a tragic fear of hurting you, requires absolute trust.

He looks like an angel but fucks like a demon. The dichotomy is disorienting.

He apologizes after dirty talk. "You're a filthy cockslut-I'm sorry, that was disrespectful.”

Despite Ferrus's gruff exterior, whispers surprisingly tender things during intimate moments.

Temperature of his hands can be adjusted for different sensations.

Always checks in verbally throughout, consent is non-negotiable.

Can go for multiple rounds with zero recovery time.

Has a thing for hands, loves both giving and receiving hand pleasure.

Contrary to expectations, Angron is extremely controlled in bed, afraid of hurting you.

His rage translates to intense passion when properly channeled.

The Butcher's Nails make his pleasure/pain responses unpredictable.

Requires specialized reinforced beds, has broken dozens.

Gets emotional after particularly intense sessions, sometimes even cries.

Prefers if you aren’t intimidated by his size or reputation.

His heart rate during sex would kill a normal human.

Guilliman approaches sex with tactical precision, maps erogenous zones like campaign targets.

Keeps a detailed spreadsheet analyzing performance and your satisfaction.

Actually wrote a private codex on sexual techniques, 500 pages, fully illustrated.

Always showers immediately before and after.

Has a thing for authority figure, ironic given his own position.

Surprisingly imaginative once he trusts you enough to relax.

Asks for performance reviews afterward, genuinely wants to improve.

Despite his appearance, Mortarion is unexpectedly gentle and attentive.

Has a breathing kink, loves controlled breath play.

His body temperature runs cold, creating interesting sensations for you.

Surprisingly flexible.

Has never been naked in front of anyone, always keeps something on.

His scarred skin is extremely sensitive, especially along his back.

Silent during sex except for carefully controlled breathing.

Prefers total darkness, claims it "equalizes the experience."

Magnus can psychically enhance your pleasure, making you feel everything he feels.

His eye glows brighter during arousal.

Can maintain an erection for days through psychic control.

Know exactly what you want before you do, mind reading has its benefits.

Has invented several positions that would be physically impossible without telekinesis.

Sometimes accidentally projects his orgasms psychically, causing everyone nearby to feel it.

His extensive library includes the galaxy's largest collection of erotic literature.

Has had sex while simultaneously reading a book.

Horus has a thing for power dynamics, he loves when you challenge his authority before ultimately submitting to him.

His stamina is legendary, often going for hours without breaks.

Gets incredibly turned on when called "Warmaster" in bed.

Has a secret collection of handcuffs from every world he's conquered.

That scar on his body? Extremely sensitive to touch, instant arousal trigger.

Secretly recorded himself with you, keeps the videos in a hidden vault.

Has a thing for doing it in war rooms, especially on strategic tables.

Lorgar treats sex like a religious experience, complete with rituals and chanting.

Has written erotic poetry that would make experienced courtesans blush.

Takes his time, foreplay can last hours as he "worships" every inch.

His voice alone can bring you to the edge, has studied sonic stimulation.

Maintains eye contact throughout, intensely spiritual connection.

Has a thing for confession scenarios, wants to hear your darkest desires.

Always burns special incense that heightens sensitivity.

Has sacred words tattooed in places only you discover.

Vulkan's body temperature runs extremely hot, like making love to a furnace.

Gives the best post-sex cuddles in the Imperium, like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

Has a surprising affinity for sensual massage, can work out knots you didn't know you had.

Laughs during sex, finds joy in physical connection.

Always focuses on your pleasure before his own.

His heartbeat is audible and hypnotic during intimate moments.

Corax can literally turn into shadows during particularly intense moments.

Has a thing for heights, loves balconies, rooftops, and flying vehicles.

So quiet during sex you sometimes forget he's there until he touches you.

Can see perfectly in darkness, knows exactly where to touch.

Sometimes sprouts shadow-wings during climax, startling the unprepared.

His voice drops to hypnotic registers during dirty talk.

Enjoys watching from the shadows before joining in.

You're never sure which twin you're actually with, sometimes they switch mid-session.

Can perfectly mimic the sexual techniques of anyone they've observed.

Keep a network of informants reporting on the sexual preferences of your.

Have developed secret pleasure points unknown to standard anatomy.

Sometimes speak in unison during threesomes, eerily synchronized.

Have been known to disguise themselves as servants to spy on people's sexual habits.

One likes to be on top, one likes to be on bottom, but they never specify which is which.

The Emperor's psychic presence intensifies pleasure to godlike levels.

Can appear differently to different, manifests as your ideal lover.

Time seems to stretch in his presence, moments of pleasure can feel like eternities.

His golden aura becomes blinding during moments of passion.

The Primarchs' various quirks are genetic echoes of the Emperor's own preferences, each inherited different aspects.

*******

You stared at the crumpled list in your hands, blinking rapidly as you processed what you were reading. The paper had been slipped under your door sometime during the night, the handwriting alternating between several different styles as if multiple people had contributed to it.

"What the fuck," you whispered, scanning the detailed, disturbingly detailed, descriptions of the Primarchs' supposed sexual habits.

This had to be retaliation for your artwork. Ever since you'd been caught sketching that sexual piece featuring Horus and Sanguinius in a rather compromising position, things had escalated into a bizarre war of increasingly sexual content between you and the Emperor's sons.

Your data-slate pinged with an incoming message. Seventeen new commission requests from seventeen different encrypted sources, all requesting artwork based on items from the list. Each offering payment that would make an Imperial Governor blush.

"Oh, it's fucking on," You cracking your knuckles as you reached for your stylus.

********

The first anatomical "reference session" was scheduled for that afternoon. Magnus had requested a private meeting in the Librarium after hours, claiming he needed to discuss "important tactical matters" with the remembrance.

When you arrived, you found the crimson Primarch sitting rigidly at a massive wooden table, surrounded by ancient tomes and scrolls that definitely weren't tactical in nature.

"I received your list," you said without preamble, dropping the crumpled paper onto the table between them.

"What list?" Magnus asked, his single eye widening with what appeared to be genuine confusion.

"The 133 sexual facts about you and your brothers," you clarified, watching his face carefully. "Rather detailed information about your... preferences."

Magnus's crimson skin darkened further as he snatched up the paper and scanned it rapidly. "This is...I didn't-" he sputtered, then paused, his eye narrowing. "Number Eighty-eight is accurate, though."

"Which one was-" you started to ask before catching yourself. "Not the point. Did you and your brothers create this as some kind of joke? Retaliation for my artwork?"

"I assure you, I had nothing to do with this," Magnus said, still reading the list with increasing distress. "Though I suspect Fulgrim or perhaps the twins..." His voice trailed off as he reached the section about himself. "That's... uncomfortably specific."

"So these are accurate?" you couldn't help asking, professional curiosity getting the better of you.

"I neither confirm nor deny," Magnus replied automatically, though his continued deepening complexion suggested otherwise.

"Right," you nodded, retrieving the list and tucking it away. "Well, regardless of its origin, I've received seventeen commission requests based on it. Including yours about psychic pleasure enhancement."

Magnus choked on nothing. "I didn't-"

"The request came from '[email protected],'" you interrupted dryly. "Very subtle."

"That could be anyone," Magnus protested weakly.

"It was written in Prosperine hieroglyphics," you countered. "With annotations in a language that doesn't technically exist yet."

Magnus slumped in defeat. "Fine. I may have sent a... hypothetical inquiry."

"About whether I could accurately depict psychic pleasure transference in artistic form," you completed. "For which you'd need to demonstrate the technique. For accuracy."

"Precisely," Magnus nodded, scholarly demeanor returning. "It's a complex psychic phenomenon that requires direct observation to properly capture."

"Uh-huh," you said skeptically. "And this has nothing to do with item ninety-one on the list about you accidentally broadcasting your orgasms psychically?"

Magnus's eye darted away. "A preposterous exaggeration."

"So that didn't happen during the Ullanor campaign? Because I heard an entire regiment of Imperial Army suddenly collapsed in ecstasy during your private meditation time."

"A coincidence," Magnus insisted. "Mass hysteria."

"Right," you grinned. "So about this commission..."

********

The next morning found you in the training cages, ostensibly observing combat techniques for "assassinorum purposes" but actually gathering reference material for the flood of commissions that had arrived overnight.

Jaghatai and Leman were sparring, stripped to the waist, their compression leggings leaving little to the imagination as they grappled and threw each other around the cage. A small crowd had gathered to watch the Primarchs train, but you had managed to secure a front-row position with your sketchbook.

"Enjoying the view?" Torgaddon asked, sliding up beside you.

"Research," you replied without looking up from your rapid sketching. "Anatomical references for commission work."

"Uh-huh," Torgaddon nodded skeptically. "And the fact that you're focusing on their glutes and crotches is purely professional."

"The gluteal muscles are key to understanding proper movement dynamics," you explained with mock seriousness. "Also, item twenty-three indicates Jaghatai 'never stays in one position for long, constant motion and rhythm.' I need to capture that accurately."

"You actually believe that list?" Torgaddon asked incredulously.

"I'm verifying it empirically," you corrected. "Scientific method and all that."

Just then, Jaghatai executed a particularly impressive takedown that left Leman pinned beneath him, both Primarchs breathing heavily and glistening with sweat. They held the position a beat too long, eyes darting to where you sat sketching, before Leman growled something and they separated.

"They're showing off for you," Torgaddon observed.

"Of course they are," you agreed, adding detailing to your sketch. "And I'm getting excellent reference material because of it. Win-win."

"This is going to end badly," Torgaddon predicted.

"This is going to end profitably," you corrected. "I've made more money in the past week than in my last three assassination missions combined."

"Speaking of which," Torgaddon lowered your voice, "there's a rumor that the Emperor himself has commissioned you for something."

Your stylus paused momentarily. "Where did you hear that?"

"So it's true!" Torgaddon’s eyes widened.

"Neither confirm nor deny," you muttered, returning to your sketching. "Client confidentiality."

"By the Throne," Torgaddon breathed. "What did he ask for?"

"If, and I stress if, such a commission existed," you said carefully, "it would be for a classical portrait. Nothing more."

"Classical as in...?"

"Classical as in Ancient Terran style. Renaissance era."

"Nude?" Torgaddon pressed.

"Artistically draped," you corrected primly.

"The Emperor wants you to draw him like one of your Terran girls," Torgaddon marveled. "The actual Emperor of Mankind."

"This conversation isn't happening," you insisted, focusing intently on your sketching as Ferrus Manus entered the training cage, also stripped to the waist, his metal arms gleaming under the lights.

"Your pupils just dilated," Torgaddon noted.

"Lighting change," you dismissed, though your increased sketching speed suggested otherwise.

"Right," Torgaddon drawled. "Well, while you're conducting your 'research,' you might want to know that father is looking for you. Something about providing 'detailed references' for his triple-self commission."

"Already scheduled," you replied without looking up. "After the war council. He's bringing reference materials."

"What kind of reference materials could father possibly-" Torgaddon started to ask, then shook his head. "Actually, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"Wise decision," you agreed, flipping to a new page as Ferrus began demonstrating a series of strikes that showcased his impressive torso musculature. "Very wise indeed."

********

The Emperor's private gallery was unlike anything you had ever seen, a vast chamber filled with artwork spanning human history, from primitive cave paintings to hololithic masterpieces that seemed to shift and move as you walked past them.

And here you were, presenting your completed commission to the Master of Mankind himself.

"The brushwork is exquisite," the Emperor commented, examining the large canvas you had delivered. "You've captured the classical style perfectly."

"Thank you," you replied, trying to maintain your professional demeanor despite standing before the most powerful being in the galaxy, discussing what was essentially an erotic portrait.

"The musculature is anatomically precise," he continued, "yet idealized in the classical tradition. Your understanding of chiaroscuro is impressive."

"I studied the ancient masters extensively," you explained, which was true, you'd spent three days in the Imperial archives researching Renaissance techniques for this commission.

"And the draped fabric creates just the right balance between revelation and mystery," the Emperor noted, his golden eyes studying the painting with the intensity of a sun. "Excellent work."

The painting depicted the Emperor in a classical pose reminiscent of ancient Terran deity portrayals, strategically draped fabric preserving modesty while suggesting the perfection beneath. It was tasteful yet undeniably sensual, exactly what he had requested.

"I'm pleased it meets your expectations," you said, feeling oddly nervous despite your training.

"More than meets them," the Emperor assured you. "I shall add it to my private collection immediately." He gestured to a section of the gallery that appeared to be accessible only through a psychically locked doorway. "Your compensation has been transferred to your accounts, with a substantial bonus."

"You're too generous," you began, but the Emperor raised a hand.

"I reward excellence appropriately," he stated simply. "And I understand you've been providing similar services to my sons."

You froze, unsure how to respond. "I-"

"No need for concern," the Emperor assured you, his perfect lips curving into a slight smile. "Creative expression takes many forms. And frankly, they've been more focused on their duties since your commissions began. Less... tension among them."

"I'm... glad to hear that," you managed, processing the fact that the Emperor of Mankind was essentially approving your pornographic side business.

"I would, however, suggest discretion regarding the list that has been circulating," the Emperor added, his golden eyes twinkling with amusement. "Some of those items hit rather close to home."

"You've seen the list?" you blurted before you could stop yourself.

"I see everything eventually," the Emperor replied enigmatically. "Though I suspect Malcador had a hand in its creation. He always did have a peculiar sense of humor."

Before you could process this revelation, the Emperor gestured toward the exit. "I look forward to seeing your future work, Remembrance. Perhaps we might discuss another commission at a later date."

Taking the dismissal for what it was, you bowed slightly and turned to leave. As you reached the doorway, the Emperor's voice stopped you.

"Oh, also? Item One-hundred-and-thirty-two is entirely accurate."

Your mind raced to recall the item in question, something about his golden aura becoming blinding during passion. By the time you turned back to respond, the Emperor had vanished, leaving you alone in the gallery with the distinct impression you'd just been teased by the Master of Mankind himself.

"What even is my life right now?" You muttered, making your way back to your quarters where seventeen more commissions awaited your attention.

#shiyorin's writer #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #reader insert #romantic stuff in 40k #wh40crack #lol

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oatmealwrites · 4 months ago

Text

Catch Kira, NOT Feelings! Ch. 8

Ch. 7 | Ch. 9

Series Masterlist Here | Regular Masterlist Here

Synopsis: You pick up where you and Ryuzaki left off... and things get steamy. Right after a peak moment of climax, you're interrupted by an apologetic Matsuda who leaves behind a very interesting set of documents. The next day on campus, you run into Light's new....girlfriend?!

Tags: Hickies, french kissing, men yearning, ORAL(m receiving, mentions of f receiving), L is a virgin, caught in the act [almost], L is a YEARNER, he's down horrendous for u, some fluff moments, Light is a manipulator, mentions of death, Misa appearance, makeout once again, NSFW, 18+

a/n: at the end!

WC: 9.4k

~~~~~~~~~~

If you had to guess the exact tempo, you would put his heart rate at a speeding 170 bpm as it pulsates beneath your lips. For a man of relatively few words, the sound of his voice fills the room as you bite and suck on the flesh of his throat and grind down on his hips. Gruff sighs and moans spill from his mouth as his head tilts further back to urge you even closer to his neck.

You hollow your cheeks and increase the suction on the sensitive part of skin while your nose tickles the area under the gonial angle of his jaw. One hand is flat on his chest to keep him relatively still while the other is pushing away long strands of dark hair that fall in thick tufts around his nape. While your torsos are relatively stable, L’s hips are twitching and squirming as you sit on his pelvis angled over him.

“Nnghh.. Ahh!-- t-that’s…!”

He bucks his hardening erection up into your fully clothed cunt and furrows his eyebrows; eyes squinted shut as his mind seemingly melts from the new sensations flowing through him.

After a few more moments, you run your tongue flat over the bruised skin in a silent apology for the abuse and pull back from his neck to admire the work. The radio is still playing idly in the background, but the pants from Ryuzaki’s lips are the real music to your ears.

As quickly as you pull away, his eyes are shooting open and pouring into yours; black pupils dialated to dissolve the gray irises, he searches your face for reasoning of the pause.

“You.. finished?” he asks, hands keeping you firmly planted on top of him as his voice shows obvious signs of disappointment.

You shrug and smile to yourself, tracing the outline of the blossoming dark purple and red bruise that glows against his pale skin. “Mmmm, I can leave a few more if you want.”

Ryuzaki blinks once and immediately nods before peeling his eyes down to where his hands dig into the plush curve of your hips. Swallowing, he leans his head back down and stretches it back a bit more to open up the entirety of his throat to whatever you have in mind.

The protrusion of his Adam’s apple bobs once in anticipation as you swing back down and run a flurry of small kisses around the other side of his neck. Lips moving and pecking every square inch, Ryuzaki lets out a mixture of nearly giggles and gasps as you tickle him with the action and shifts in his laid out position.

“Gonna be hard to leave another mark if you keep moving around.” You murmur against his throat before sinking your teeth into a chunk of flesh and sucking on it.

Fingers dig into your waist from the sudden action and Ryuzaki shudders with his head back as you continue the assault on his neck. “C-Can’t necessarily.. haaa help it– …. This position isn’t optimal for… ngh critical thinking… “

Ah yes, his explanation for the strange sitting positions was to help him optimally think– to cut off circulation to his limbs to prioritize blood flow to the brain [so he claims.]

You run your tongue against the chunk of flesh in your mouth and move to another spot on his throat before grinding down slightly.

“Ahh-!”

So now that he’s all sprawled out beneath you…that means the blood is finally running to the other parts of his body. The raging hard on in his jeans jerking up into the crotch of your sweatpants is more than enough evidence.

Pulling your lips from his neck and sitting upright once more, Ryuzaki lays beneath you panting as if he had just run a marathon. Cheeks flushed pink and chest heaving as he attempts to ground himself, he only peels his eyes open once the radio cuts to a run of advertisements.

“You ok there?” You tease lightly, enjoying the way he seems to melt beneath you.

L swallows and drags his blown out eyes over the bummy outfit adorning your body as if it were the most sexual arousing pieces of fabric he’s ever seen. Hands that lingered on your waist tug to the kangaroo pouch of your hoodie before pinching the lower hem of the article.

“It’s my turn, right?”

Your coy smirk falters slightly as Ryuzaki pushes himself up onto his elbows and slowly grinds his boner against your cunt as the angle of the position changes.

You blink slightly, taken aback. “Huh? O-oh..”

He sits up all the way and leans against the armrest to keep himself upright before leaning his torso to essentially hug you. Still sitting on his lap, his face is eye-level with your breasts as he tilts his head up to stare into your eyes; his chin and part of his cheek are essentially squished into your right tit.

“Yea…you can leave some on me now.”

Sharp canines poke from his lips as Ryuzaki smiles up at you with eyes glazed over before he turns his attention back to the oversized fabric that keeps him from your flesh. Slender fingers tug the hem once more. “So…can I take this off then?”

You suck in a breath and admire the image of him so patiently sitting beneath you; the dull sound of the radio and the food on the table long forgotten as Ryuzaki looks up with his neck littered with a variety of markings you left on him.

“Of course, L.”

Ryuzaki pauses slightly but swallows it before you can notice the small shift in his demeanor. The fabric of the oversized hoodie bundles together as he pushes it up and you take the folds to pull it over your head completely.

Your bummy ‘at home outfit’ isn’t risqué by any means, now sitting on his lap with uni sweatpants and a tank top, but the exposure of flesh makes you shiver as he takes it all in. To be fair, it’s the most exposed version of you he’s ever seen.

Dark eyes trail from the band of your sweatpants up to the soft skin of your biceps, to the dip of your collarbone that pokes up from your basic tank top. You squirm slightly in your position, feeling so vulnerable despite the layers of clothing you both still wear; the shift of your hips grinds against his erection once more.

As if snapping back to the task at hand, Ryuzaki sits further upright to shift you lower in his lap to point where his head is back at the same level as yours. Slender hands raise to push a few strands away from your face before tilting his head forward to mold his lips into yours.

The objective is to mark up your neck, instead he rocks his head in a waving motion to keep his lips attached to yours. Ryuzaki pulls back once to tilt the opposite direction and reconnect your mouths over and over again as if he needed it to live. Nearly every kiss you share feels ‘different’, as if more emotion is being poured into the action from the last.

He kisses you like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do– as if the stress and worry of the task force doesn’t exist; as if you were simply two twenty-something year olds with nothing else to do but enjoy each other’s presence.

Ryuzaki pulls back first but keeps his eyes shut as his lips trail to the soft perfumed flesh of your neck. He breathes deeply through his nose, the light air gust making you giggle at the sensation, before he latches onto the same pulse point you had marked on him.

The sensation is one you haven’t felt in a while, and you can’t help but lean into desire for more. Tangling your hands in his dark hair, sighing when he pinches his teeth around the skin, and rocking your pelvis against his erection with craving.

“I thought you said we weren’t supposed to move” He teases before trailing his lips to another spot and running his tongue along it.

You chuckle and let out a slight groan when he begins to suck another large bruise on your jugular. “Ahh– would you rather me stop?”

The moment you pause to dry hump against his crotch, Ryuzaki bites the skin a little harder and groans into it. Reverberations making you shiver, L slides a hand from your waist to the under plush of your thigh to pull you back into the rocking motion on his lap.

“N-Never said…” he murmurs along your neck, placing far more hickies on you than you got to on him. “Never said to stop…”

Ryuzaki continues biting and twitching his hips up into you until he’s effectively left an exponential amount of bruises against your flesh. From just under your jaw, to the ridges of your collarbone, to the very seam of your neckline above your breasts is covered in bite marks and hickies.

The raw feeling makes you shudder, pulling his hair slightly to tug his mouth away from its current position on your shoulder.

“I think you’ve done enough, no?”

Ryuzaki’s hooded eyes barely look into yours, instead he finds more focus on all the other parts of your body that seem to call his name– waiting to be signed with his mouth.

He pouts his lip when you keep his head a safe few inches away. “Mmmm, but there’s a few more areas not covered yet…”

It’s a strange sensation to see such a renowned detective effectively pouting at being denied biting your shoulder, but there’s bigger issues at hand.

You run a hand to push his hair away from his face and smile to yourself at the way it messily refalls to cover his eyes, before pushing a hand flat on his chest to lay down flat once more. With a short sigh, you stand on your knees to kneel between his splayed on the couch, watching the way he tilts his head in careful attentiveness to the action.

Ghosting a finger over the swell in his jeans of his throbbing erection, any hesitation you’ve been harboring over the past few days is thrown out the window. You need this.. And with a stressful lifestyle of solving the world’s most difficult cases, you’re more than certain he probably needs this too.

Pinching the hem of his baggy white crewneck, you look up at L and silently tug it; he blinks once and places his hands on top of yours for a moment before nodding and guiding the fabric up and off.

The material hits the throw rug of your living room floor in a silent fall as you take your time to admire the open canvas of his torso. He’s pale. Like.. REALLY pale. His skin is fair enough that the blue and purple veins that tangle inside his body can be traced rather easily with your fingertips.

Ryuzaki stares at your face, trying his hardest to read your mind as you drink in the physique he always keeps hidden from the sun and everyone else’s gaze. Years of sitting inside in front of screens and paper documents have left him with a nimble build with a low body fat percentage, but not necessarily boney.

It’s obvious he’s athletic of sorts, hearing a few stories of his tennis match against Light before you joined the task force, but he’s not sporting muscles like a gym bro. There’s a softness to his belly when he breathes deeply, and touching the faint outline of his abs makes him tense to reveal the beginning of an Adonis Belt.

L squirms slightly as you silently trace the swell of his pecs before finally trailing down his navel to the very obvious beginning of a happy trail that disappears into his jeans. His erection throbs in ache the moment your fingertips even ghost the copper button of the denim restricting it.

“Is it… ok for you?” He whispers.

You blink once and turn back to him with a reassuring smile on your lips. “Oh, yes! Yes… its– you’re perfect.”

Ryuzaki lays as still as a cadaver, unable to move as your praise for his physique renders his mind completely blank for the first time in a long while. Though he doesn’t dislike the feeling of being out of control. If it means his physical senses get to be at 100% performance then he’d gladly lay beneath you whenever you call for it.

You smile down at him and lean to place a slow kiss to his lips as Ryuzaki regains the ability to move and places his hands gently on your shoulder blades– unsure of exactly where to put them at a time like now.

Dragging your lips away from his mouth, you graze further south from his neck, leaving nips and kisses to his erect nipples, the upper swell of his pecs, until you reach the soft flesh of his stomach. Hovering and crawling down lower and lower, your lips plant small pecks to the light ridges of a V-line while your chest is flush against his clothed cock.

“Oh…” a low grumble escapes L’s lips as his head tilts back into the armrest and digs his hands into your hair out of primal instinct of wanting you to go even further. “Ngh..that’s good…feels good..”

You blush at the praise and continue until the pubes that litter his lower navel tickle your nose and your breath is ghosting the most sensitive area of his body.

It’s hot. Everything is hot.

The mature resolve of a genius has melted into the pathetically yearning man beneath you. The way your thighs stick together as your arousal soaks through your painties in a pathetic need. How, despite all the stupid pretenses you both use as an excuse to see each other, your bodies both know how genuine the desire is.

Tracing the belt loop of his jeans, your gaze falls on his erection once more before his hands are tugging your head up and away from his cock.

“W-Wait.”

Immediately you pause and sit upright, cursing yourself for letting your stupid hormones get in the way and moving too fast for his comfort.

Rocking back, he winces slightly when you tug your hands away and raise them in apology. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to pressure you at all… we can stop–”

“No–!” L swallows his rushed answer and sheepishly looks down at his discarded shirt. “I mean… trust me I want to keep going…”

He pauses to make a gesture to his very obvious arousal with his chin before tracing the elastic waistband of your sweatpants absentmindedly– as if not touching you would be the cause of his death.

“I don’t want this or anything further to happen under the explanation that you’re doing it to ‘show me what you did with your ex’ or ‘because it’s part of the job’.” He states, slowly working out the sentence as it processes in his mind.

You wet your lips and look at him, all of him, beneath you as he continues. “I know the little stunts we’ve pulled in the past were for protection, and I still stand by their usefulness. But… I don’t think I can lay here and spend time with you and be fine with pretending it’s all part of an act when I think there’s something more going on.”

“I agree.”

It’s the only words you can find in this very sexually tense moment to describe the mutual understanding he’s just put on the table. Is it a proclamation of love and a devoted long term relationship? No. Well.. if it is, then you aren’t really able to gauge that level of commitment without something a bit more clear.

But it’s an acknowledgement that whatever tension you were feeling, he was too. A shared agreement of exclusivity which opens the door for a face-to-face chat of a real label. For now though, it’s enough to feel comfortable moving forward.

Ryuzaki places his hands back on yours and places them idly at his navel once more. “You agree?”

“Yea...” You run a soft graze along his knuckles before looking up at the half naked man on your sofa. “I want this because it’s with you. Not just because of the case, but because I like this– I like us.”

Ryuzaki half undressed with a raging hard on isnt’ the ideal scenario to sit and have a proper conversation on something more official, but this mutual understanding is more than enough to calm both of your anxieties it seems.

L smiles gently and blinks a few times to himself, no doubt processing not only a new wave of physical simulations he may have never previously felt– but also experiencing the feelings of something more than friends for the time ever in his life. He seems to be taking it well, drinking in the information before swallowing thickly and releasing his grasp on your hands letting you continue taking the lead.

You let out a small chuckle of air, as the erotic scene is acknowledged by you both, before you lean down to pepper a few more kisses to his torso. The light sighs and twitches that escape the man beneath you are more relaxed and natural as his body loosens up to the pleasure coursing through him.

Peeking at him one more time, you turn your attention to his jeans and release the button and fly before shimmying them down. Ryuzaki raises his hips on your command to tug the material to his mid thigh before groaning loudly when your hands ghost over the very large saturated stain on the front of his boxers.

It looks nearly painful. Light gray boxers host a sopping puddle at the peak of the tent as his cock throbs and twitches at being one step closer to freedom. You trace the outline of his swollen tip once, then twice– enjoying the way he squirms in anticipation for more, before moving to grasp the flimsy elastic of the material.

“Ngh.. t-that’s nice..”

A smile adorns your lips as you trace the length one more time before tugging the fly of the boxers open just an inch to let his cock slip partially through. The change in temperature makes him suck in a shallow breath as you admire the scene in front of you.

Though not totally freed from the fabric, you can tell he’s decently long with an average weight; his tip is a warm pale blush color [#d1a19b] that shines with pearls of precum dripping from the slit. Smearing the drippings with your thumb down to his frenulum and rubbing slightly, Ryuzaki throws his head back as his hands clench the sofa cushions below.

“You ok?” You soothe, releasing the slight pinch on his tip to rub a bit more of his own lubrication down the throbbing vein that sits underneath his shaft.

“Y-Yea, of course.”

If it weren’t for the way his mouth hung partially open and his voice was wavering with sensitivity, it would almost look like Ryuzaki was in pain. His eyes are wired shut and his knuckles are pure white from their grip on the cushion– though the way he profusely leaks and twitches makes you wonder if he’s so hard that it actually does hurt.

You hum once and remove your hand, to which he immediately cracks an eye open, until he feels you shimmy his boxers down to join his jeans. Now fully freed, you can take a better moment to enjoy the complete sight.

7, maybe 7.5 inches, throb against his navel as a thick and untamed patch of pubic hair covers his base and most of his balls. His cock is thrumming in an eager desire while his balls hang heavy, most likely undrained from days without the time to jack off.

How often does a guy like him even masturbate? It’s not like he sleeps often either… so when's the last time he could take a moment to himself?

You shake out the meaningless thoughts and can feel your nipples hardening against your bra and your panties becoming uncomfortably sticky. L can feel you’re taking an extra moment, but before he can question himself again, you lean forward and let a long string of saliva drip from your lips and land on his cock.

Smearing it with his precum, you give Ryuzaki a few testing pumps and gauge his reaction before leaning down to place a few licks to his tip. By the time your lips wrap around him fully and begin to suck, the man is gone.

“Haaaa oh my– ngh…!”

There’s not a thought in his head as you inch down lower and lower until your nose is tickled by the long strands that litter his pelvis. His hips twitch beneath you, edging up into your mouth until you gag slightly at the pressure of his tip rutting against your throat.

“Ah s-sorry, just ngh feels…. Haaa”

The lack of a coherent thought process is made up for with physical sensitivity as his hands leave the sofa cushions and tangle in your hair. His cock throbs against the flat of your tongue as you take turns between hollowing your cheeks and sucking, and spitting against his length and jacking him off when your jaw begins to ache.

Ryuzaki’s jaw is slack and open wide as moans shamelessly fall from his lips as his head is tilted over the armrest and hanging idly. It fuels your ego at seeing him unravel so quickly under your control, and a hand leaves your hair to shakily cover his mouth as the sounds increase in volume.

It’s as if you were sucking the soul out of this man– you’re not even sure it’s your best performance given the angle and your own pent up desires, but Ryuzaki squirms and sighs beneath you as if he’s viewing heaven’s gate.

This is what he’s been missing his whole life.

At this point his pubes are saturated in a mixture of saliva and precum, essentially matted to the flesh of his base and balls. It’s an erotic mess of moans and bodily fluids as Ryuzaki’s twitches get more and more impatient and his cock throbs within your mouth. Heavy balls pulse in anticipation as your hands move to massage them and your tongue ruts against his frenulum a few more times.

Babbles and incoherent phrases leave his lips in a volume louder than his normal speaking level as saliva dribbles from your lips, down your chin, and drips onto his thighs.

There’s a mix between a sharp inhale and a choked moan before Ryuzaki’s hips jerk forward and he’s cumming. Hard.

“Oh my– AH–”

One hand is still tangled in your hair, ensuring his length keeps pouring hot seed down your throat, while the other is between his teeth as he bites down to muffle his own sounds. It’s barely been 3 and a half minutes and L has already come completely undone, panting as if he’s just run a marathon.

You swallow what you can– it’s obvious he hasn’t cum in the last day or two given the amount of ropes pouring from his cock– and a few drops escape your mouth and trickle down the sides of your lips. The viscosity is a bit thinner than honey and the taste is relatively neutral with a twinge of sweetness to it considering the amount of sugar that must be coursing through his body.

Ryuzaki seems lost in his own world before you cough slightly at the lack of airflow and he immediately removes his hand to allow you to slide off his length.

“O-Oh sorry! I didn’t… haaaa… didn’t mean to cum so early… would’ve given you a better warning..”

You wipe the few drops from your chin and rock back onto your heels, swallowing the rest of the thick viscosity in your throat and shoot him a reassuring smile.

“No it’s alright… actually kinda fuels my ego a little.��

Ryuzaki nods once but keeps his gaze on the ceiling as he takes several deep breaths. His erection slowly softening, a mixture of cum and saliva dripping from his tip down to his balls, and sweat beads forming on his forehead.

You rub a reassuring hand on his thigh as L comes down from his high, leaning down to plant a soft kiss to his chest right above his heart, before getting up to grab a glass of water. You take a few gulps before refilling it and padding back to let him rehydrate; he chugs nearly half the contents before looking up to you and tugging your hand.

It’s a silent plea that you answer, tilting at the hips to plant a slow and soft kiss against his lips; the remaining taste of his own seed tingling on his tongue as he molds his mouth against yours.

“Thank you…” He mumbles quietly.

You smile and unconsciously clench your thighs together, wondering if reciprocation was in the cards, before sliding back next to him and watching the way he tugs himself back into his boxers.

“How are you feeling?”

L sits upright, still shimmying his jeans, “Well, I think it goes without saying but–”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Hey! Are you home?”

….

You’re silent. The slight smile on Ryuzaki lips dies immediately as the metal front door to your apartment rattles against the hinges.

You glance down at L with a worried expression which he returns with a questionable look. “Are you expecting someone..?” He barely whispers.

Before you can answer there’s another set of knocks at the door as whoever is on the other side is obviously getting impatient. Staring down at Ryuzaki for another moment, you slink off the couch and take a few quiet steps over to the kitchen; L stands up and follows suit with a shrug and obvious confusion.

You pause beside him and usher him to the door which he responds with a head tilt. It’s a semi-silent whisper/telepathic argument for him to check the peephole. He may be half-naked and covered in hickies, but he's the guy, so you usher him forward to the shoe rack by the front door.

Ryuzaki gets maybe another 4 steps away from the peephole before the metal rings out again with another series of knocks.

“Come on, I know you’re in there! Watari told me L already stopped by to drop a few things off–” the voice rings out. Matsuda’s voice.

Immediately you both scramble to swap the positions as quickly as possible; sliding on the wooden floorboards in your socks as you rush back to the living room to throw on your hoodie and scoop up the clothing articles of Ryuzaki.

Erection still deflating in his boxers, you bundle up his crew neck and shove it into his arms as you coerce him into the coat closet next to the entrance. Fluffing your hair and throwing the hood up to cover the sides of your neck, you rush over to the door and swing it open to reveal Matsuda’s hand raised in preparation to knock once more.

“WOA– Ah!” Matsuda startles back slightly. “Geeez, give me a heart attack while you're at it! What took you so long to answer?”

You awkwardly step back and swing the door open wider to invite him inside, taking note of the small bag in his hand as you try to calm the pounding in your chest.

“Ohh, just uh.. Took a shower!”

He watches you shut the door and raises an eyebrow at your very dry hair.

“It was a rinse! Hahah.. Just took a run and rinsed off…”

Matsuda shrugs but doesn’t bother it any further before sliding off his shoes and noticing the obvious other pair of men’s shoes sitting at the entrance. This, he has to comment on.

“Is there someone else here…? Ryuzaki–”

“Just a spare pair of his!”

He pauses at the entrance to your kitchen, just briefly passing by the coat closet, completely unaware of the hidden presence of his boss in your apartment. It’s clear Matsuda is a bit confused by your behavior, but he doesn’t have the motivation to pry much further.

“Right, well I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” He shuffles to the kitchen counter and places his messenger bag on the surface before turning back to you with the small paper bag in his hands. “It’s nothing big, I just wanted to apologize.”

You peel your eyes away from their cautious glance at Ryuzaki’s hiding spot and blink once at Matsuda. “Huh? Apologize for what?”

He places the bag in your hands, and peering down you can briefly make out what seems like a small pastry box. “I know that it took a lot of courage to be open with the group about you and L… and I also know that you both probably don’t appreciate that your relationship becomes the but of a lot of jokes– so I wanted to apologize.”

Ah! He’s so sweet you could probably cry.

Sure, a lot of the off-handed comments are annoying, but that’s all they are at the end of the day. Especially since the remarks are about a relationship that barely fits the definition of an ‘official’ one anyways.

You smile at Matsuda nonetheless and thank him for the goodies regardless. “Was there anything else that you needed?”

He exhales slightly and shifts his attention back to the messenger bag he usually carries with him, taking a moment of silence to stare at the contents before deciding to turn and face you once more. It doesn’t take a trained detective to catch on to the nerves eating away under his skin.

“Well there is one more thing… but it’s not exactly my position to explain it entirely.”

You raise an eyebrow and reach forward to grab the manila folder in his hand, scanning the documents with a frown. Each page seems to be a list of contacts, addresses, and connections to a variety of police organizations scattered across the globe.

Matsuda awkwardly rocks on his feet and organizes the rest of his belongings in an eager desire to leave.

“What…. Is all of this?”

You flip through a few more until a heavy feeling forms in your chest. Emergency contact papers. Though they aren’t for Matsuda– instead it’s a variety of the world’s next best detectives and agencies that can be contacted for assistance if a crisis were to happen.

“It’s from the NPA. Just… a few traditional outlets for help if–” Matsuda looks at the corner of the kitchen and hunches over slightly in a forlorn expression. “If things don’t quite work out under L...”

“Huh?!”

You don’t mean to get mad at him, he’s just the messenger after all, but the tension in the room is palpable.

“So what does this mean? They don’t trust Ryuzaki or us enough to let us make our own decisions?”

Matsuda winces and rubs a hand against the back of his neck. “I’m not sure to be honest, and you had the same reaction as Aizawa. He thinks the NPA is just trying to save face after the death of the FBI agents– if something goes wrong, they want to have jurisdiction again.”

“They were the ones that cut off task force funding in the first place. And besides, what do they even mean if something goes wron–”

You pause and look back down at the names and a heavy silence falls back into the room. Matsuda slings the bag back over his shoulder and inches forward, unsure if he should give you space or offer a reassuring pat on the back.

“It’s unlikely to happen, ok? The only way the NPA can weasel back in is if L lets them.”

If it weren’t for the pair of shoes peeking in the corner of your vision, you would’ve completely forgotten that Ryuzaki was still in the coat closet listening to every word. Matsuda holds your gaze in a mutual understanding that ‘L letting them take control over the investigation’ was synonymous with ‘if L were to die’.

It’s an uncomfortable topic, especially considering your position, and you pity the short straw Matsuda drew to be the one to deliver this information. The list of contacts has a variety of names redacted and edited for everyone’s safety, but a location southwest of London catches your eye. The entirety of the name is blacked out with the only information being the town. There's nothing significant about even the lack of phone number, but your attention lingers on it for a moment regardless.

For a fleeting second you almost feel the same way you did the first night you joined the task force; a feeling of uncertainty on who L really is. Sure the man at the hotel introduced himself to you all as him, a mutual trust formed, but who’s to say that’s really ‘him’. Or if L is an idea, a group, or another person and the man in your closet is merely a vessel or placeholder for that.

Matsuda shifts side to side in an awkward anxiousness and adjusts the straps of his bag. “Well that’s all I’ve got for now. Do you already know where you’re posted for tonight?”

You take a breath and place the folder on your counter before tightening the strings of your hood. “Mmm I’m on PR duty for Misa’s manager– drafting up documents for arrest charges for assumed drug possession. Not like I really know when we’ll be detaining her though…”

“Ah lucky, I’m supposed to be with Ryuzaki reviewing her most recent marketing campaigns for anything that could link her in a better timeline to Light.”

You stifle a laugh and he raises an eyebrow while sliding on his shoes. “Maybe you’ll wind up liking her content.”

He rolls his eyes at you and replies sarcastically. “Ha. Ha. Veeeery funny. Mogi and Aizawa are on call for the transportation of her arrest while I’m stuck in a room with L watching dumb advertisements.” He pauses for a moment. “Ah, that reminds me, I should probably give Ryuzaki a call and let him know I’ll be at our observation spot a bit early.”

You refrain from egging him on even more, knowing full well that the said ‘dreaded activities’ would be taking place with company currently hidden, and push his cellphone back into his chest. “Maybe wait a bit; he messaged me earlier about having to make a few international calls and won’t be available until early evening.”

Matsuda doesn’t question the information and instead heads out the door with a grateful smile. “Thanks for the heads up! Would’ve been awkward if I interrupted something haha.”

You offer a shrug and wave him a ‘goodbye’ before shutting the door and placing a soft knock against the coat closet.

Ryuzaki slides it open a crack before peering at the front door and then looking up at you expectantly. “Is reviewing her materials that much of a dreaded task? I thought it would’ve been rather relaxing for him.”

His shirt is on backwards given the darkness of the closet but his boxers and jeans are back to their usual low position on his hips. Ryuzaki’s neck is still covered in bruises, but the fact that this night’s meeting will be split positions means you won’t have anyone giving you grievances.

“Mmm well consider this his payment for actually interrupting.”

Ryuzaki scoffs in a partial laugh and swings his crew neck around to face the correct position and pads over to skim the documents that Matsuda delivered. “I don’t take this as hostility, but their sudden interest is inconvenient. This isn’t just a list of emergency contacts in case of my absence, but could essentially serve as a hit list for Light.”

You watch him skim through them and shrug. “I doubt it’s information he doesn’t already know considering he probably has access to all the files his dad has. It’s also not like there’s names or photos listed.”

Ryuzaki keeps his gaze on the papers a moment longer before his phone pings with a message from Watari for their agreed pick-up time.

L wanders back over the shoe rack and awkwardly shoves his feet in his own sneakers but doesn’t make an effort to leave. You walk to the edge of the kitchen floor, his baseball hat and sunglass disguise in tow, and hover slightly behind, the list of addresses still fresh in your mind. “You wanna talk about England? I don’t know of any investigation groups near Winchester.”

The man blinks and stands back up, his back against the wall and his shoulder slightly angled away. “At a later time perhaps. Though I was surprised you caught it considering the many notable agencies listed.”

It’s the answer you expect, a dodge with a small compliment thrown in there to appease your curiosity enough to stop prying. You purse your lips indifferently, already aware you weren’t going to get a straightforward answer. “It just stood out to me is all…. Not like I know what half of those contacts actually are.”

Ryuzaki hums to himself with a faraway look in his eyes and gnaws on the corner of his lips, as if making a mental to-do list and organizing them in order of priority. He waits an extra moment until satisfied and turns his full attention back to you. “I’m sorry to leave suddenly, I was hoping we’d have more time.”

A pink dusts your cheeks and you shrug as casually as you can, as if your panties weren’t plastered to your cunt in arousal from the shared moment only minutes ago. “It’s fine… you can just pay me back next time?”

“Huh? Oh, yes! Yes, I would like to return the sentiment if that’s alright.” He snaps the elastic of your sweatpants against your hips once.

You laugh at his phrasing and nod in approval as he slightly beams in excitement. He moves to slip on the disguise and take the door handle but pauses to give you another glance; Ryuzaki is silent but peers at you through the corner of his eye like a dog.

Despite him not wanting to say it, the look is written all over his face that he’s clearly waiting for ‘ahem’ something. Shaking your head and sighing lightly, you step down to the genkan and lean in to plant a small kiss to his lips.

The exhale he releases through his nose tickles your cheeks and when you finally pull back, he chases forward to plant just oneee more peck and spin back around to the door. “Alright, now I’ll be off!”

*****

The evening meeting is split up with varying tasks, members fulfilling a variety of different positions for the upcoming arrest. Matsuda is with Ryuzaki reviewing Misa’s content to ensure the timeline of her and Light match, Mogi and Aizawa are solidifying the transportation method given the threat of apprehending a Second Kira, and Mr. Yagami and Light are at the monthly NPA meeting to give updates on the investigation– of course to also ensure Light’s uninvolvement with Misa’s arrest.

It’s hard to concentrate, though the task at hand doesn’t require much brain capacity anyways. Filling out legal forms, ensuring police warrants are in line, and filing an array of suspected evidence for when lawyers eventually come calling isn’t the most entertaining job, though it’s relatively straightforward.

You almost feel guilty everytime your mind wanders back to how little you really know about the man who reciprocates your interest. For every lingering touch, breathless kiss, and moment alone with him, there seems to be an equal force shrouding him in more mystery.

Part of you doesn’t care at this point, not bothering to get hung up on trivial matters when the connection between you both is so solidified. Who cares if his identity is a mystery that literally only… one[?] person knows the truth of? You enjoy spending time with him and he feels the same… so why should it matter?

You fill out the next line of signatures on paperwork and flip the page, gnawing at your lip and sighing. Of all the times to have what seems like the beginnings of an actual relationship, of course it happens during an investigation for a world-wanted serial killer and with your communicationally void boss.

Whatever, you can settle down officially later…once you catch Kira….graduate…get a job, and a good income… the list is impossible. Maybe you’re doomed to rot away in your apartment alone for the rest of your days.

The evening is relatively dull, with occasional updates from the members before you finish the task and begin to wind down. To you it doesn’t matter who Ryuzaki is, just having him around, alive, is enough to satisfy.

*****

Summer classes are a scam.

Even if you get an additional set of credits that are ‘supposed to put a competitive edge on your resume’, the amount of brain power it requires is not worth it. Most of your friends are enjoying the warm weather on vacation, tanning at the beach, picnicking in parks, and getting some well needed rest after a grueling academic year; you are standing in the cold-ass lobby of the criminology building shivering in a sweatshirt.

The AC is on waaay too strong for the relatively mild weather outside and you're torn between ditching your desire for a diet cola to get a hot coffee when the automatic doors swing open. Too focused on the string of vending machines, you barely register another person on a relatively desolate summer campus until a hand is waving in the corner of your eye.

“Sorry! I was wondering if you could help me–”

You blink and turn to face the voice, immediately dropping your hand from its position at tapping the buttons of ‘A6’ for a compromise of an iced coffee container. Long blonde hair is pulled into partial ponytails while intense evening makeup adorns her features despite the time only being half-past 2pm. Her eyes seemingly flick upwards to a space above your head before her voice pauses in surprise with the same shocked expression you both wear.

Not realizing the two of you indirectly know each other, neither of you make a move until Misa blinks in remembering her request for help in the first place.

“Ah sorry miss, you just look familiar is all haha! I was wondering if you could help me out?”

Her eyes dip to the tattoo of bruises on your neck with an intense scowl, eyes nearly turning red, before she swallows it and continues. “I’m looking for the criminology building.”

You adjust the floppy collar of the hoodie and sheepishly point to the ground. “Oh, this is the criminology building.”

SHIT.

Shit. Shit. Shit. This is exactly what you DIDN’T want to happen.

Misa blinks in embarrassment and turns to face the large floor to ceiling windows of the lobby that open to the courtyard of the eastern part of campus. There’s not too many people walking around, especially during summer classes, aside from a few tour groups guiding potential students around. A certain figure…s.. catch your attention though.

A young man walking casually towards the building with a woman right beside him; the two pause for an extra moment to talk and Misa takes a sharp inhale and begins to sputter an excuse to leave. She barely gets two steps away from your position as the woman who was just speaking with Light waves him goodbye and a man sitting on a nearby bench waves him over instead. A man with terrible posture and tacky looking sunglasses on.

Ok, was there some sort of meeting you were unaware about?

“Light?” “Light?”

You say it at the same time and sheepishly smile at each other before Misa runs out of the criminology building and you scurry after her.

This is bad. REALLY bad. If she’s the Second Kira and gets a glimpse at L’s face… the only thing she’ll need to kill him is a name.

The drink falls to the retrieval area but you’re already out the door and running across the courtyard to bother mourning the wasted beverage. Misa arrives there a second before you, though you bypass her to step directly in front of Ryuzaki and shimmy off your sweatshirt to throw at him.

Both men, partially stunned at the encounter of both of their girlfriends, exchange a look before glancing at the company. You stand with your back to Light and Misa, focused on trying your best to cover his appearance as quickly as possible.

“Ah, you left your hoodie at my apartment!! Better take it now or else I’m keeping it!!”

L lets out a half chuckle but doesn’t protest your attempts at dressing him in your own clothing nonetheless; he lets his head be guided through the hood and tugs the oversized fabric to fit a bit more comfortably. His eyes lighten at your appearance as his gaze traces the bruises that are now on full display from the t-shirt neckline that leaves them exposed.

“Thank you, I was beginning to wonder if you were holding it for ransom as a reason for me to come over.”

Misa, who was previously gushing over seeing her boyfriend, spins around at your conversation and relaxes slightly. L’s gaze is still locked on you, even when you side step to remain in front of him and away from the other woman’s stare.

“Perhaps it’s time for introductions?” Light offers through grit teeth, a hollow smile and empty eyes crinkle at the forced civility.

Ryuzaki leans from over your shoulder, his breath tickling your ear, “A wonderful idea Light! I would love to meet your girlfriend.”

A happy pink flushes Misa’s cheeks at the ‘g-word’ and she steps forward with her hand outstretched. “I’m Misa! Light’s girlfriend.”

There’s an awkward tension between everyone else at that phrase, but no one feels like addressing it. L side steps past you, despite your intentions to keep him hidden, and meets her hand. “I’m Ryuzaki, and this is my girlfriend.”

Misa pauses with a confused expression, her eyes once again glancing upward before laughing slightly. She smiles at the reason for the hickies littering your skin not being because of Light while the aforementioned man scowls deeply at L. You take Misa’s hand next and offer your name and brief working relationship with Light and his father while the campus gets more and more crowded.

A hand now casually holding your waist, Ryuzaki has an uncanny grin plastered on his lips while Light’s brows are furrowed. Before you can shove an elbow in L’s ribs at what his genius plan to get out of this situation is, he tugs you tightly behind himself and protects you instead.

“You know I’m actually a fan of yours, Miss Amane.”

Light steps forward slightly but Misa cuts him off and beams at him. “Really?!”

“Mhmm, my girlfriend here follows your social media. She showed me your movies and the little cafe spots you recommend.”

Despite the response being for her, Light knows the entire meaning is directed for him– a not-so subtle way of letting him know how close an eye he’s been keeping. If Light wants to stalk your ex-boyfriends, why not dig up dirt on his ‘current ‘relationships’?

Misa expectedly turns to you. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Oh! I just didn’t want to make a scene…”

A scene that was very much happening right now.

Despite there not being ample reason for a crowd, a small circle of students and visitors begin crowding around the four of you and whispering.

“Isn’t that Misa Misa? What’s she doing here?!”

“Woa and with the most popular guy on campus…?”

“And there’s Ryuga… that guy barely shows up to classes at all so what’s he doing?”

“Kyahh~ that emo guy is totally my type!”

“You need better standards…”

“The two smartest guys on campus each have a baddie?! Maybe I should start studying…”

Misa doesn’t seem to mind the crowd, instead she flourishes within it and takes the time to offer selfies and promotional content for her big movie or tv show or whatever magazine she’s going to be appearing in. However, the more she entertains the crowd, the busier it gets.

As the group becomes more and more squished together as the onlookers crowd in closer, the grasp on your waist is replaced with a quick squeeze to your hand. Ryuzaki steps slightly to the side and is immediately lost in the sea of people fawning over Misa, with calls for autographs and photos drowning out your voice.

You stumble through the crowd slightly, grabbing onto Light’s forearm for balance when you bump into him; there’s a mixture of excitement in his eyes but a frown plastered on his face when his gaze drags over your neck.

“I should grab Misa and get out of here” he offers with an energetic smile.

Despite the idea of having peace and quiet sounding more appealing than anything, the change in his tone leaves you nervous. Before you can offer a response, a shriek rings out through the crowd and several people back away when Misa screeches out.

“Hey! Someone just grabbed my ass?!”

She looks over to Light with a pout, recognizing his far distance from her meant it wasn’t her boyfriend getting frisky, but instead a pervy onlooker. Several men raise their hands in defense, but when the circle around her clears slightly, there’s a very conveniently placed Ryuzaki standing too close for comfort.

Misa stomps the ground and throws her hands onto her hips while he sheepishly smiles and slowly backs up. “Uhh… I’ll get to the bottom of this! I won’t rest until the culprit has been found and dealt with!”

He slinks further backwards and you frown as the crowd squeezes him out to regain their proximity to the celebrity.

Ok, it’s obvious he has a plan. … right? Not like you’re mad or anything….

…. But why the fuck did he need to touch her in the first place anyways??

Before you can let the anger fester, Light tugs you away from the crowd once he sees a very angry management team pushing through people to reign Misa back in. Ryuzaki waits by a bench idly, stepping forward when he sees you and reclaiming the spot beside you as Light scoffs at the business of the campus.

There’s a bit of a scuffle as Misa’s manager essentially drags her away from the crowd of fans and berrates her about an intense schedule she’s threatening to ruin. Misa doesn’t pout much, she offers a small apology and waves frantically to you all in an eager attempt to offer a future ‘double date’ when she’s not busy.

The crowd slowly filters out and when Ryuzaki makes an effort to grab your hand, you pinch the flesh on his knuckles and shoot him a sideways glance. A pout forming on his lips, he stays silent and takes your pinky finger between his index and thumb to soothe any tension; Light sighs as he watches her disappear, though there’s a faint smile on his lips.

“Well, sorry about the commotion, everyone. Especially you, Ryuzaki, I know how much you hate crowds.” Light’s voice is void of genuine sincerity.

Ryuzaki shrugs. “Not at all. Her surprise appearance is certainly interesting, but I’m glad to have met her regardless.”

There’s an unspoken tension between you three, and before Light can open his mouth again, you cut between them. “I’m going back to class. Walk me there, L?”

His gaze lifts from Light and instantly relaxes when you finally take his full hand in your own; fingers intertwining and tugging him back towards the criminology building. You both give a slight wave off to Light, but before you can question Ryuzaki, a cute ringtone pours out from the front pocket of his jeans.

L shoots you a small smirk and flips it open. “Heellloooo?”

…

You pause. And apparently down the pathway, so has Light; he stands motionless with his phone pressed to his ear.

“What are you doing, Ryuzaki?”

“Oh wow! I guess in the middle of the chaos she must’ve dropped her phone! That’s rather unfortunate.”

The exaggerated voice from his lips makes you think back to the time he called you, when you were on a lunch ‘date’ with Light. It’s coy and way too energetic to be natural; you drop your hand from his to cover the laugh escaping your lips and Ryuzaki looks up with the same pout as when you refused his hand earlier.

Light has stopped responding at this point, and L leans into the phone repeating ‘hello?’ and wondering if the service dropped until there’s a tap on his shoulder.

Pissed off doesn’t begin to describe the emotion dripping off of Light, but Ryuzaki doesn’t seem phased in the slightest. Instead, he shuts the cellphone and slides it into the other man’s hand with a petty smirk. “Ah Light you’re still here! Maybe it would be best to give that back to Misa since you’re in close contact.”

“Right. I’ll do just that.” Each word is spit out and Light doesn’t bother waving goodbye to either one of you before turning west towards the main quad.

Before you can watch him walk off or look around to see if anyone suspicious might be lingering, Ryuzaki reclaims your hand and tugs you into the lobby of the criminology building once more. He walks over to the large windows and flips the blinds down one by one while you pad over the vending machines to see if your iced coffee might still be sitting at the bottom.

It’s not.

Pushing the air out of your lungs, you reach around in your pockets to search for your coin purse until Ryuzaki grabs your arm to steady it.

“I only did it to grab her phone.”

You don’t need a definition of it to know he’s referring to grabbing Misa’s cellphone. “I know.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but settles on silence instead; he looks at the wall clock and tugs the hood of the sweatshirt off.

“Wait, what if Misa isn’t the Second Kira? And maybe there’s someone waiting nearby to get a glimpse of you–mpfh”

Soft lips cut you off as L rocks his head against yours and wraps his hands around the curve of your waist. The shut window blinds make the lobby dark as the LEDs overhead haven’t been turned on yet given the early time of day; the irises of his eyes are darker than usual.

You pull away when there’s the sound of commotion and people yelling echoing across the courtyard, but Ryuzaki takes your chin and kisses you again. Everytime you try to break it to speak, he molds his mouth back to yours and slips in his tongue to play with your molars and silence you.

After the fourth attempt at prying him back, you raise an eyebrow and turn your attention to the windows; his hands are still firmly on your waist to keep you pressed into him. He doesn’t let you move, instead he pivots to shelter your face entirely from view of the windows with his back to them and your head in his chest.

“Ryuzaki– what’s going on?”

“Do I still need an excuse to kiss you..? I can think of one quickly if you give me a moment.”

Before you can roll your eyes, he tugs you back to his lips and groans slightly when his cock begins to stiffen in his jeans and grind against your pelvis. Parting for air, he takes a hand from your hip to trace the hickies that litter your neck and frowns when one or two of them seem to be already half-faded. When he doesn’t answer, you pinch his bicep and peer up.

L’s gaze remains on the open spaces of your neck for an extra moment before thinking. “Well… it’s nearly 3pm? It should be nearly finished.”

You pause and look up at the clock with an intense expression. Outside the windows there’s a few more muffled shouts and the sound of police sirens gets louder as a new crowd forms to witness the arrest of Misa Amane.

a/n time: OMGGG

it's getting SMUTTY YIPPEE

it's gonna get to sum p in v later [probably next chapter or so -> i just had to eassseee into it] ALSO sorry this one took so long pookies, i had some school work but i hope it lived up to ur expectation hehe

I wanna post like a small head canon to go with this series this week as well...

-> hex code: [#d1a19b]

-> ch.9 will most likely be a full blown porn with some plot SORRY [no im not]

-> im still debating on the ending of this series, but i'll most likely break the canon and have L live

likes/reblogs/comments all appreciated!

LUV U POOKIES

-oatmeal <3

taglist: @lechatparle24 @irissfoot @iheteeaifs @automaticpatroltragedy @greenapplesaucepi @thesimpnovao @leiiilaaaa @duckydee-0 @dija200 @cherry-san @hanakokunzz @maribellaaaaa @love-of-less @bakugouswaif @kakamixoxo

#l x reader #ryuzaki x reader #lawliet x reader #l x reader smut #lawliet smut #lawliet x reader smut #ryuzaki x reader smut #ryuzaki smut #L smut #L death note #light yagami #death note #oatmealwordslawliet #oatmealwrites #death note smut #death note x reader

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alotofpockets · 3 months ago

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What if this is the end? | Alexia Putellas x Reader

Part 2 of 'What if this is the end?'

5k celebration prompt: "If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back."

Warnings: breakup, car crash, injuries

Woso masterlist | Words: 2.5k

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As soon as you watched Alexia leave the room, you wanted to sit up to be more comfortable, but you quickly realised you shouldn't. A sharp pain shot through your torso. Tears pricked in your eyes at the sudden feeling.

You took a closer look at yourself. A bandaged arm, and you felt bandages on your stomach as well. After lifting up your blanket, you saw your leg was in a cast. And you had already felt that your face was a little sore.

Memories of the accident filled your mind. Your heart racing as you relived the horrible moments that got you into the hospital bed. It had all happened out of nowhere. You were just driving to get groceries, and then a car crashed into you at full speed. After that everything went blank.

Just as your tears started rolling down your cheeks, Alexia walked back in with a nurse. They were talking full of optimism about you being awake, but then Alexia saw your tears, and heard the monitor beeping faster than before.

She was by your side instantly, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” She reached out her hand, but slowly pulled it back again, not wanting to overstep. You noticed her pulling her hand away, and quickly reached out and took her hand in your.

Alexia squeezed your hand gently, a silent way of saying she was there for you. Your heart rate started to slow down a bit again once she was by your side. So, the nurse who had been checking your monitors in the meantime, spoke up.

She told you about your injuries and did a couple of tests. The information was all a lot, but when you looked over you saw Alexia listening intensely and nodding along with everything the nurse said, so you knew that you were okay to not catch all of it.

Once the tests were done, you asked if you were allowed to have something to eat since you were quite hungry. The nurse said you were free to have whatever you wanted, and told Alexia where the cafeteria was. Alexia had different plans though, she pulled out her phone and told you to pick what you wanted her to order.

She briefly left to grab the food from the delivery driver downstairs, and quickly made her way back to your room. Together you ate the food in silence. Until Alexia’s phone buzzed. It was your mom letting her know that they had just landed in Barcelona.

“Do you mind if I step out real quick to pick up your parents from the airport?” You nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Alexia stepped towards the table where she had put down all her stuff to grab her keys and wallet. “Alright, I will be right back.”

She was about to step out of the room when you called her back. “Ale, wait!” Alexia stopped in her tracks and turned back around. “My parents don’t know about the, ehm, well our situation.”

“You didn’t tell them?” You shake your head, “I was hoping we would be able to fix things and I didn’t want our fight to stand in the way of how my parents saw you if we were able to, I guess.” Alexia’s heart started beating a little faster, and she was glad she wasn’t hooked up to the monitors herself, because it would have clearly shown. “Alright, good to know.” She said with a small smile before stepping out again.

On the way back over to the hospital your parents asked every question they could think of. Alexia answered them to the best of her ability, but didn’t know the answer to all the questions. Still her parents were grateful for the quick call, and all the information their future daughter in law was giving them.

The ride was quick, and they were in your room in no time. Finally being able to see you. Your mom rushed in first, “Oh sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re okay.” She kissed your forehead and took your hand in hers. “You had us worried, kiddo.” Your dad says from the other side of your bed.

Alexia stood back as your parents were all over you, suddenly she seemed nervous. Your eyes were on her, and your dad followed your line of sight. He looked Alexia over now in a different light that he knew his daughter was okay. “You’re still in your kit. Did you come straight from training?”

She looked down, just now realising she was still in her full training kit. Complete with her grass stained shorts, and socks rolled down to her ankles. “Eh right, I just got back from training when I got the call. Came straight over, but I should probably go back and take a shower now that you’re both here.” She was suddenly aware of how she looked right now.

“Can you stay?” You said before your dad could answer. Alexia was about to nod when your dad said, “Don’t be silly, darling. Let the girl go home and take a shower. She can come back after.” You felt defeated, what if she wouldn’t come back again? Your parents were here now, they could take over being there for you and caring for you.

Your mind was spiraling, you wanted her to stay. The urge to ask her to stay was confusing you, because you’ve been needing space from her the past month. But having her by your side made you feel safer and more at ease in the hospital. You didn’t want to leave that comfort and the fact that Alexia was there when you needed her.

Alexia seemed to notice your mind being on something and stepped closer. “Do you guys mind if I have a moment with her before I head out?” She asked your parents. Your mom nodded and put her hand on Alexia’s shoulder. “Of course, dear, we’ll go find the nurse and ask her about the care plan.”

The moment they closed the door behind them, you turned to Alexia. “I get it if you want to stay away.” Alexia shook her head immediately, “I don’t want that. I just felt super gross after training, and completely forgot about it because I was so worried about you. I’ll be back after my shower, I promise.”

She was leaning with her elbows on your bed, her necklace with your ring dangling from her neck once more. You reach out and let it move between your fingers. “Thank you for being here, it means a lot hearing you came right over.”

Alexia nods slowly, “Of course, no need to thank me.” You let the ring go gently, “We should talk, you know when I’m not laying in a hospital bed.” She chuckled lightly at your joke. “Yeah we should, but it can wait until you’re out of here. I promise that I will be here in the meantime.”

“Quick question.” Alexia said as she sat up again. “I know you didn’t tell your parents about what happened, but they are now here and usually stay at our place when they visit.” She didn’t even have to finish her question for you to understand what she was aiming for.

“If you’re okay with it too, I’d like to come home when I get discharged. I know we have to talk and work on stuff, but I’d rather do that from the comfort of my own home.” Alexia let the corners of her lips curl up slightly, “I’m okay with that.”

“Alright, well that’s settled then.” You smile a little yourself. “Oh can you maybe pick up my stuff from Nat’s place while you go home? Only if it’s not too much to ask of course.” Alexia was quick to agree, saying it was no trouble at all.

Your parents staying at your place ended up being good for you and Alexia. Since the two of you didn’t want to give anything away to them, you slept in your shared bedroom together. At first you thought maybe it would be a little awkward with not everything being resolved yet, but quickly you had realised those evenings of laying in bed together were moments where you could have deep conversations and really talk about your situation.

After your second surgery two weeks after the injury, they switched you from a full cast to a leg brace. While still annoying, it got a lot easier to move around, and for that you were grateful.

With more of your mobility back, and you constantly telling them it was okay, your parents flew back home. Alexia promised to take good care of you, and update them on your recovery whenever there was something to update on.

Now it was just the two of you back home. You had really been working on your problems since the moment you got back home from the hospital. Speaking about the things that went wrong, both your feelings that led to it, and of course how you could work on fixing those things.

“Hey, I’m off to training. Text me if you need anything?” Alexia said with her head around the doorframe of the bedroom. You look up from your book and smile, “I will, thank you. Good luck at training.”

After finishing a couple more chapters, you decide that you should get up and work on the exercises the physio gave you. Only to look in your closet and realise none of the workout clothes you owned were going to work with your brace.

You let your eyes wander over to Alexia’s section of the closet, to no one’s surprise, she had plenty of different workout clothes to choose from that would work. An old pair of Barca shorts is what you settle on.

The exercises were going surprisingly well. Of course it was a bit of a struggle at first, but once you got the hang of it, you were able to do continuous reps of the prescribed exercises. You were in a great flow of them, when your phone rang.

The screen lit up with your boss’s number, and you rolled your eyes. He had been calling a lot, asking when you’d be back in. Not a single ounce of compassion since the moment you had called to tell him what happened, and that you would be out for a bit.

You pick up the phone, and sure enough, he’s calling to ask if you’re coming back to work. Once again you told him it might take a bit, but he brushes off your injury like it’s nothing. Meanwhile you’re sitting on the ground, out of breath from the simple exercises you were doing.

Finally you had enough of his rude behaviour, it’s not like you had been loving the job before your injury, so you finally spoke your thoughts out loud. “If that’s how you’re going to be, I quit.” You didn’t even wait for a response, you just hung up the phone.

It felt good for a moment, but then reality set in. You were an adult with bills to pay, quitting your job wasn’t the best idea with no back up plan in mind.

When Alexia came back home, you were a crying mess, laying on the floor. Alexia rushed to your side, thinking you hurt yourself. “Oh god, are you alright? I should’ve just stayed home so you wouldn’t be home alone. I’ll take time off football, I don’t want you to not have anyone around when something happens.”

You shake your head and wipe away your tears. “I’m okay, I didn’t fall or anything.” Alexia breathes a sigh of relief, but then her brows furrowed. “What happened then?” You pick up your phone and show her the screen filled with missed calls from your boss.

“I might have kind of quit just now, and I was freaking out because I don’t have a back-up plan. I just couldn’t take his ignorance anymore.” Alexia nods, she knew how stupid he had been since the accident. Not once had he given a nice phone call, it was always about needing you back in the office asap.

“What if you did have a back-up plan?” You look at her confused, “That would be very nice but I don’t have one.”

“Just hear me out.” Alexia said, offering you a hand to help you onto the cough. ”I’ve been thinking a lot about how you said you don’t want me to stop all my projects because you know what they mean to me, but you also felt like because of them we were seeing less of each other.”

While not yet sure what she was getting at, you nodded along. “What if you worked on the projects with me? It would totally be up to you of course, if you’d be interested or not. But if you want it, I would love for you to join me at Eleven. I know how you’ve had your annoyances with your added job tasks that you never asked for, here we could fully make the role into something that you would enjoy.”

“You want me to work for you?” You say after letting the idea sink in for a moment. “Not for me, but with me.”

You’re quiet for another moment, thinking about her offer. Alexia gives you all the time you need, not even expecting an answer from you right away. It was simply an offer, she didn’t even know if you would be into something like that.

Then you say, “Yes.”

“Yes?” Alexia isn’t sure if this is you already saying yes to the offer, or something entirely different.

“Yes, I would love to work on Eleven with you. I know how passionate you are about it, and I think with the right job description it would be something I could really enjoy as well.” You add to expand your answer.

“Alright then, whenever you feel up for it, we can talk about all the things you would want to do and we’ll figure everything out. No need to worry about any of that right now though.”

A smile creeps up your face, when thinking of this new opportunity. It might be exactly what your relationship needed.

“I like your shorts.” She says when her eyes fall on them. You blush lightly, “They were the easiest for my exercises, I hope you don’t mind.” Alexia shakes her head, “Not at all. I still stand by the what's mine is yours deal, cariño.”

Now it was Alexia’s turn to blush, the nickname had come out so naturally. You just chuckle at her reaction and lean into her side. “I missed hearing that.”

-----

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#pockets 5k celebration #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #barca x reader #barca femini x reader #barca women x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #barca femeni #barca women #fcbfemeni #fcb femení #espwnt #espwnt imagine #espwnt x reader

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glitteredrry · 6 months ago

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sugar honey kisses

summary: harry’s next tour is joined by a special guest that has taken over his life and the world.

warning: brief mention of infertility/ miscarriage & fluff

wc: 3k+

a.n. i’ve been in a writing slump, and i just thought of this. i kind of went overboard (sorry). please excuse any spelling errors. i hope you enjoy these little blurbs. i was missing our harry, and i’m secretly manifesting another tour for us. byeee see y’all soon. 🤍

1. breaking news

Harry sat in the studio stuck on a verse on the last song to his album. He was gearing up to the release of his 4th studio album, and tour. Love on tour was going to be hard to top, but he looked forward to how this tour was going to be. He felt that he was in a better era of his life, all he hoped was that his growth would reflect on this new album. Fans were begging him to come back, and soon their prayers would be answered. His management was going to be releasing the album release date at 9 P.M. tonight. As he thoughtfully bite on the arm of his glasses, in walked in his wife YN. Harry’s eyes shot up looking at her happy to finally see her for the first time today, he had an early studio time today and only was able to give her a kiss to her head as she slept. Harry’s happiness quickly turned to nervousness as he saw a disheveled YN walking closer to him. “Doll, what’s wrong?” As she came in arm’s width from him, he grabbed onto her, and guided her to sit in his lap. Taking the tips of his fingers, he moved her hair out of her face as he watched her eyes tear up. Which only caused him to be more worried, “Harry, I wish I would've waited to tell you but I can’t.” YN reached down in her purse to grab something, and once it was shown to Harry he felt as if his heart rate had tripled in a split second.

“We’re pregnant.” She whispered to him with a smile. Harry was speechless as he stared at the test, he couldn't believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. “You’re serious,” YN nodded, touching his face for some solace. “I’m absolutely serious, we have half of us here.” She grabbed his hand holding him to her stomach. Harry’s tears came crashing down as he laid on her chest still accepting that they were with child. Joy rang through Harry’s body as he felt his wife’s comforting touch all over him. Harry reelected on their journey of building their family, going into everything they thought it would be so easy to add a baby; Yet that was the furthest thing than what it was.

After the loss of two children you never got to meet, Harry had been grief ridden for his wife. YN had the optimism Harry couldn’t bear to have during that time. She tried her best to keep him determined that they would one day have a child. They had tried for two years straight, and as of 10 months ago they stopped deliberately trying, and just left it to divine timing. There were doctor appointments to see if something was off with either of them and everything came back clear. The couple tried IVF, and that also wasn’t for them. Harry couldn’t believe that YN was sitting here pregnant after all this time. Harry quickly remembered his album and tour that was supposed to happen, and panic rushed through him. “I-I need to push back the album. I'll call Jeff, and tell him to postpone the tour.” “Absolutely not, you’re not pushing anything back, H. You’re releasing the album, and you’re going on tour. This baby will have to fit into our lives, we’re going to have a tour baby.” Harry smiled at his wife hugging her tightly, he didn’t know how this was going to happen. All he knew is that he loved and trusted his wife. If he had her he could get through anything.

2. trending topic

The world was preparing for the release of the album “Saturn Return”. He had given it that title because he believed he was in his life's peak. Harry was elated as he did his press tour. He felt reconnected to his fans in a way where he had missed them. As Harry was in the green room preparing for his last appearance before the album dropped, Harry’s manager, Jeff walked into the room with his phone in hand. “We have a slight situation going on. Pictures of YN leaving her gym class were released today. She looks visibly pregnant in them. I could release a statement to the press to calm the media, or we can ignore it.”

Harry was furious because he knew that where YN was pictured was an alley. She tried her best to be as inconspicuous as she could. YN was bent over, tying her shoe, and her shirt came up, revealing her growing belly. “I’m sure she’s going to be upset at herself,” Harry kissed his teeth, hating that he would have to break the news of this to his wife. As he continued scrolling online, he saw how fans defended their beloved YN, and Harry appreciated the support at this time. Harry looked at the time and would have to be out there in five minutes. So, he quickly dialed YN. When she answered the phone, Harry explained what had just happened, and the couple decided that the media wouldn’t push them to say anything. This was for them to reveal when they wanted to. Harry rushed to the stage as Jeff followed him, “I want you to make sure there are no questions about what is out right now, no family questions in general. Understood?” He said to Jeff sternly.

As not only a husband but now a father it was his duty to protect his unborn child. Jeff nodded and spread the message. Not commenting on this assumption from the press didn’t make it die down. It only brought more media attention to the couple. On the night of the album release, Harry decided to have a private dinner in New York to celebrate his achievement. YN wore a dress that took attention away from her bump, but as the couple approached the restaurant, paparazzi attacked the couple, asking questions, and someone hit YN, making her nearly fall to the ground. “Move back. Get the fuck away from her,” he created a barrier around YN, making sure she was on her feet. “You okay, doll?” “I’m fine. That just scared me.” Harry held her hand, pressing a brief kiss to her hand as they walked through the door. The media only got worse as time went on. He knew that they wouldn’t stop until they had an answer. So, YN thought of a way to announce the tour that Harry couldn’t resist. Harry’s hand hovered over the “share” button on Instagram as he looked at his wife. “You sure?” “Yes, press it, Harry. It’s now or never.” Harry hit the button and shut off his phone. Within ten minutes of the post being out, the couple was trending on Twitter with one simple post.

Laugh On Tour. Coming 2025. +1.

3. not your average gender reveal

YN had just become accustomed to tour life, and she would soon be leaving to prepare to give birth. Harry pampered her throughout the tour, ensuring she had her own dressing room to cater to all her needs. YN was sad to say she would leave the tour, but soon, her baby would be here. Harry took it seriously that he wouldn’t have YN flying for the last two months of her pregnancy. In the four months, YN had been on tour with Harry, fans loved pregnant YN content. She was considered a style icon with her looks not only during their time off but at shows. YN would sometimes be recorded more at his shows than him, as fans would see her on the side of the stage dancing with her pregnant belly. Harry often joked with fans and asked them about his dad's jokes and if he needed to improve them. Fans would boo or cheer, and it became a fun section of the show. “How about that one, honey?” Harry asked YN on the mic, putting her on blast. As the fans turned their attention to YN, her reaction would be what the audience followed with. YN shook her head and threw out a thumbs down. Then, the crowd followed with booing. “I love constructive criticism. I’ll work on a better one. I’m trying to make my baby laugh when they get here. I would rather get booed here than with my baby.” He shot YN a wink and continued to the next song.

The moment between the couple went viral, and people wondered what the child's gender was. As the couple sat in the bath together after a show, YN thought of something that had been in her head for two weeks since fans had been asking about the gender of their child. Harry rubbed on her growing bump and hummed as he felt himself destressing. “Harry, we should do a gender reveal for my last show with you. Well, the last one for my time on tour, what do you think?” “This tour has felt like a special one. I can’t describe it, but it feels more personal than past ones. I think that would be a great idea.” Harry’s team got ready for the big day and decided that the best idea for this last-minute gender reveal would be to do it right before the closing song, “Kiwi.” YN would be joining him on stage for the first time since they’ve been together, which would also be a massive moment for the couple. Harry took a sip of water after finishing up a song, and he couldn’t help but smile at himself, knowing that the crowd was about to go crazy. “Now, I hate to say that we are coming to an end. But we are. Soon, you will be stuck in traffic, and I will be thinking of you all and the laughter we have shared. Before you go, though, I want to invite a special guest. To all you people trying to sneak off, I see you, so sit down. You won't want to miss this. Please welcome my wife, YN Styles, to the stage.”

YN comes from stage left with a big black balloon, making the crowd scream so loud her ears begin to hurt. “Everyone calm down. My baby is sleeping. Shhh.” Harry said to the crowd as he embraced YN. “Many of you don’t know, but, today is my wife’s last show with me.” The crowd began to say “no” collectively, sounding upset she was making a departure. “It will only be a short break, but when she returns, our baby will be here. So, today, we will be celebrating our baby before their arrival. YN, will you give us the honor of sharing the gender of our baby?” Harry said as if it was nothing, and it was at that exact moment all phones in the room were up, ready to capture the iconic moment happening before them. “Wait, before you pop it, let's add some suspense, right?” Harry looked toward the band as they teased the crowd with music. There was anxious screaming across Wembley Stadium. At each sound of the music, you heard and felt the tension. Harry gave YN the cue to pop the balloon, and as she did, pink confetti flew out, causing the crowd to squeal, cry, and shout, saying how they knew it was a girl. The instrumental to Kiwi started. YN and Harry shared a sweet kiss as YN exited the stage. At the show's end, pink fireworks ended the best night of Harry’s career.

4. tour baby

Everything has been perfect for Harry and YN for the past three months. They couldn’t be happier with their baby girl Genevieve, or Vivi as Harry called her. YN left the tour five months ago, and now she had their three-month-old daughter in her hands, staring back at her. Harry decided to go on break during the middle of his tour to spend three months with his family without worrying about it. YN gave birth in December of 2025, and now, in April, Harry would be heading back for tour, and YN would be joining him again. Harry had been so consumed by their bubble that he almost dreaded coming back for a tour. YN would be lying if she said she wouldn’t miss his attention, and his time. It was the sad side of touring that she was familiar with. YN always knew his family was his number one priority. Now, going back on tour, the fact of the matter is that they aren’t his only priority. Naturally, with Harry touring, it could weigh down on him. He became tired easily or just lacked being attentive in other areas. It wasn’t necessarily his fault.

The tour just consumes his life. Harry had promised her that he wouldn’t let that happen this time around. YN was going through postpartum depression, and expressed to Harry her feelings. Harry took that into account and constantly tried to pour love into YN. Sometimes, his sugar honey kisses got her through the day. YN felt wholly supported as she transitioned to becoming a mother. Harry was the perfect spouse during this time; as Harry prepared to return to tour, there had to be many accommodations for Vivi and YN. Harry wanted to ensure they had everything and more that they needed. Harry was nervous about his baby girl coming to tour, he knew the media would wish to have the first look at his child. His only priority was to protect his family. Over the break, Harry and YN had many talks about the transition that would be taking place. Nannies were in place for the rest of the tour, and there was a schedule the couple would try their best to follow.

On the first day back from tour, the crew fell in love with Vivi. Harry made sure to have a long talk with everyone about the boundary with his most precious gift the world gave him, and he made sure to have NDAs signed for anyone who would be working on the tour. If news were to leak about Vi, he doesn’t know how he would react. Truly he would feel betrayed. As Harry was on stage, he saw signs all around the stadium asking about his baby girl. “She’s happy, we’re happy,” Harry said to a fan sign. Towards the middle of the concert, fans across the Camp Nou stadium got a notification while Harry was dancing across the stage, which caused all of them to scream.

Laugh On Tour. Barcelona I. April, 2026.

5. bittersweet first birthday

Vivi was the star of the tour, and as her first birthday approached, she knew this. As she gained consciousness, she joined Harry for soundcheck and even joined him in singing (which was just her screaming). Harry was overjoyed that it seemed like his baby girl was enjoying this side of his life. He had many fears that she would be scared of the loud music, but instead, she embraced it. As Vi got older, YN thought it would be good to start showing her to attend concerts.

Typically, during shows, Vivi would be backstage with a nanny. During Vivi's 6 months on tour, she finally sat in a suite with YN, watching her father perform on stage, and it seemed that she enjoyed it. At nine months old, even though she had protective earphones, YN often caught her hanging on to the songs she once knew in the womb. It looked as if she was relearning them as the months flew by. Now, one day away from her first birthday, Harry and YN both share tears about this bittersweet birthday. Of course, the couple was happy that their child was turning one year old while Harry was on tour, but the tour would end a month after Vi’s birthday, and it felt like an era of all of their lives would be ending. Vi was conceived right before this era of their lives, and Harry had reached heights of his career that he had never reached before. He had to credit this to his wife and child for all attributes.

Harry felt a sense of motivation and drive that he never had before. Vi was the inspiration for everything in his life, and he knew that shortly after this tour ended, he would be working on an album dedicated to his daughter. Watching her grow had caused him to jot down small notes about what he would write about for the next album. Vi was the inspiration of his life. Harry wanted to share his daughter with fans because they patiently waited and never invaded his space in public when they saw his daughter was with him. Harry kept Vi’s identity under wraps, although some articles would pull different things together about what they thought his daughter looked like. Sharing the most private thing in Harry’s life made him anxious; he was exposing Vi to the public eye's scrutiny. Harry knew how difficult it would be to keep her hidden as she grew into a toddler.

As she got older, Vi would attempt to snatch the blankets off that kept her hidden, or she would try to peek out from her stroller as the flashing noises from cameras were on her. Harry knew he wouldn’t show her often, so he wanted the first time to be a special occasion. Once he brought up the idea of singing “Happy Birthday” to her on stage to YN, it was something YN had to agree to. As Harry performed to a crowd of 78,000 people, he knew it was time for his surprise before he took a brief intermission. His fans didn’t necessarily know the date of Vi’s birthday, so this would be something else that was personal to him. “If you all would join me, it’s a very special someone’s first birthday.” The crowd cheered loudly as Harry laughed briefly at the reaction, opening his eyes in shock at the loud cheering. “That’s the best you can do?” He said sarcastically as the crowd screamed louder. “I think we should bring our guest out on stage…what do you say?” As the crowd continued to cheer, it dawned on them that this would be the first look at his daughter. “Don’t scare her too bad; she’s new to show business. Welcome my pride and joy to the stage, Vivi. Come here.” YN sat Vi down and YN instructed her to walk to Harry. Vivi walked out on stage to her father with stumbling legs as if the stage and crowd were second nature to her. As Vi walked into Harry’s opening arms, the crowd loudly aww’ed as Vi laid her head on Harry’s shoulder. “Now, don’t make my baby cry. Let’s have a nice hushed happy birthday to my Vi.” The crowd listened to Harry and joined him in singing to Vivi. Which seemed to surprise her as the crowd said her name to her, “Happy birthday, Vivi,” Harry said, then he pressed a kiss to the side of her head feeling more emotional than he thought he would.

Vi clung to his body as Harry walked off stage to an emotional YN. When the show ended, the crew decided to do something special for Vivi, which had Harry and YN thanking everyone for hours afterward. That night in the hotel, Genevive was sleeping in between the couple after her sugar crash from eating too much cake. Harry and YN watched the online outpour of love and admiration for their baby.

NEW DADRRY CONTENT

Happy birthday to the laugh on tour baby

Aww she has his eyes

Harry and YN reacted to different comments, which also led to playful arguments about who she looked more like. YN was happy with her decision that Harry continued to go on tour, creating memories for a lifetime as a family. Everything fell into the right place for the couple, and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. As weeks passed, Harry was on cloud nine when his tour ended, and he couldn’t wait until the next tour to see how much more involved Vi would be. He thought of including her throughout his next album, too. He just wanted something to capture her at this age, his personal time capsule. His family slept upstairs in their London home, and before he joined his wife for bed, he posted one last picture to conclude the end of this era.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. This is goodbye for now, but not forever. I love you always. - H & V

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine

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aceofshitposts · 5 months ago

Text

Contrary to popular belief Tim is actually well aware of the importance of sleep. Tim knows that the body needs sleep to function optimally, that he needs to get more of it and imbibe less caffeine. That would all be well and good, if his body would let him.

Tim's no stranger to insomnia. Has suffered sleepless nights staring at the inside of his eyelids over and over until... Well, if he wasn't going to get any sleep anyway he might as well do something else. Tailing Batman and Robin when he was younger then working on cases, tinkering with gadgets in the early morning hours in the Batcave; anything to maybe force his body past the point of no return so he could actually sleep.

While it's gotten better, Tim still spends more time awake then he does asleep. It might be easier, some nights, but not always.

"I'm heading in early." It's a thankfully quiet night but Tim can feel the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. By his estimation he's gotten a scattered total of ten hours of sleep the last couple days and none of it was particularly restful.

"Alright," comes Oracle's computerized voice, "you okay?"

"Fine. Just feeling a little under the weather." It's true enough and Tim manages to be in bed in his apartment a little after 12:30am.

He just has to close his eyes. Close his eyes, stop thinking...

Two hours pass and Tim still. Can't. Sleep.

Fine then. There's WE reports to review anyway. If he passes out while working on the couch then so be it.

The sun is beginning to rise, Tim's living room cast in a deep orange light when there's a noise at the balcony. Even as tired as he is Tim manages to fish a batarang out from the underside of the coffee table and brandish it at the intruder.

"The hell are you doing awake?"

Who turns out to be the Red Hood in all his armoured glory, a plastic takeout bag dangling from one hand.

Tim drops back onto the couch in a huff, rubbing one hand down his face.

"Honestly couldn't tell you. What're you doing here?"

"Blondie told me you were sick," Jason says simply, placing the plastic bag on the coffee table with a thunk. The helmet follows soon after. "Thought I'd drop off some food as thanks for helping me out the other day, especially if you were doing it while getting sick."

Huh. That's awful... thoughtful of Jason. Unfortunately, Tim wasn't any more sick than he was normally, Stephanie had probably exaggerated the problem just through hearsay.

Jason is looking at him. Scrutinizing him in a way only a bat can.

Tim's never exactly told anyone about his troubles with insomnia, content to let everyone just assume it was by choice. Which was probably an entirely different problem in and of itself.

"Alright, come on," Jason says. Commands, really. He's gone from the other side of the coffee table to grabbing Tim by the bicep and hauling him to his feet in the span of a blink. Or maybe Tim's perception of time has completely deteriorated. One of the two.

"What?" Tim asks belatedly in the middle of being dragged from the livingroom to the bedroom. Jason doesn't answer, instead drawing the blackout curtains to block out the rising sun and... it's not quite a shove, but it's definitely not a suggestion either that Tim lie down.

He disappears out the door leaving Tim to wonder if he actually hallucinated all that. There's noise in the apartment- the fridge door opening, the rustling of a plastic bag, the fridge door closing. Tim expects Jason to leave, sighing into his comforter as he tries to get comfortable. If he's lucky he'll fall asleep in a few hours at this rate.

And then he hears the bedroom door close. Footsteps and a weight on the bed. Warm, strong arms pull Tim in until he's pressed flush against Jason's solid body.

Tim starts to wonder if he did fall asleep on the couch and is currently just. Halluci-dreaming. Or something.

Jason's chest expands, his breath ruffling Tim's hair.

"Stop thinking, babybird," he rumbles, squeezing Tim a little tighter.

Tim closes his eyes and falls asleep in record time.

#astrix writes #things i do when i myself can't sleep #finish wips from 2 years ago #clunkily but finished lmao #jaytim

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evangelical04 · 1 year ago

Text

A Single Daffodil || 5

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, slight smut in this chapter but not really

Author's Note: hi everyone! sorry it took so long to get this out, but I literally (finally) got my car back yesterday and wrote almost this entire thing today lol. thank you guys so much for being so patient with me, I really appreciate it. I'm hoping to get the next part out super soon but I hope this is good for you guys for now!! as always, please let me know what you guys think, I love to hear your feedback

TAGLIST CLOSED

@yoongisducky @kam9404 @sumzysworld @tarahardcore @viankiss @babystarcandylovejk @ktownshizzle @futuristicenemychaos @igot7fairlyoddparents @baechugff @pb89nv @peachytokki @ratherbfangirling @themwordsblog @daises-and-dandelionpuffs @kimmalik @honeyypages @captainchrisstan @khaimahfe @yoongibaybee @kooklovee @whoa-jo @familiarlikemymirror3 @blueberriesm @llallaaa @weareatthebadlands @purpleheartsandarock1 @lillmeomeowsblog @this-most-assuredly-counts @kayleefriedchicken @ur-grandmum @praetae @sylviamuela @notarshia @minghaosimp @wobblewobble822 @ilikekpop-c @maynina @rinkud @jesshujk @kimsaerom @suker4angst @mar-627 @maynina @pitchblack0309

previous / masterlist / next

The night had given your frustration towards Yoongi some time to deflate, but you still felt it bubbling deep inside your consciousness. You weren’t one to hold a grudge necessarily, not outright at least, but you would never forget either. Joohee said that made you even more dangerous, but you liked to think it made you amicable. The next morning brought you to a lazy Sunday where you had initially wanted to bum around in your bed but the small items scattered around your floor reminded you of the tasks you had yet to finish.

Your morning was spent tinkering with your console and Blu-Ray player to get them to connect properly with your TV and the wifi, and while you struggled, you refused to ask Yoongi for help. It was a bad habit of yours, avoiding those you were mad at or were mad at you. It certainly hadn’t worked with your mother, but then again, she’d barely been home to avoid in the first place.

Thoughts of Yoongi swirled around in your head as you finished cleaning up your room and organizing everything. His behavior last night still stumped you. Logically, the only explanation was that he was jealous. Whether it was of Namjoon or you, you weren’t sure. You were too scared to entertain the thought that he might be jealous of Namjoon, the way your heart sped up was dangerous. Even if it was the correct explanation, could you even allow yourself to hope like that?

You fell backward onto your bed in a huff, it was safer to think he was just angry at you and Namjoon for getting close because it was “mixing personal lives”. Any other reasoning was going to send you down a spiral of confusion, want, and optimism. Just as you resigned yourself to a well-deserved midday nap, your phone buzzed on the bedside table next to you. Groaning out, you reached around for your phone, eventually finding it and seeing Hoseok’s contact blaring on the screen.

You swiped to answer the call, throwing the phone down next to you on speaker, “What?”

“Geez, don’t you sound grumpy.”

“It’s because I am.”

“Well, okay then, live your life, I guess. Anyway, guess what happened,” Hoseok responded excitedly.

“What?”

“The guy my old boss recommended said yes! We’re gonna start looking at studio spaces together, I’m opening up a dance school!”

You sat up, taking the phone off speaker and bringing it to your ear, “Hobi, that’s great! I can’t believe that, I’m so excited for you!”

“I can’t believe this is finally happening! It feels like this has been in the making since college,” Hoseok exclaimed, you could hear him pacing around in his room through the phone.

“You deserve it so much, Hobi, I’m so happy for you,” you smiled, and you did mean it. You knew how hard Hoseok had worked through college, surviving on a scholarship and battling down criticisms for choosing a dance major. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he would succeed and you were happy to watch him do just that.

“Do you want to meet him? We’re having dinner together tomorrow and I wanted you and Joohee to be there.”

“Of course I will, I’ll need to see you guys to prep for going back to work next week anyway. Just text me the details and I’ll be there,” you responded, picking at the seams of your comforter at the mention of you resuming your job.

“Will do,” Hoseok responded excitedly and hung up after a quick goodbye.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like your work, far from it in fact, but it was the questions that would inevitably come with your return that you dreaded. The glittering ring on your finger would fuel the rumor mill and lead to empty celebrations and congratulations, not to mention questions surrounding your mysterious husband.

Song Ha would probably be the only one not asking much about the wedding, but only because she attended. You hadn’t been able to talk with her during the reception, too overwhelmed and swept up in the flurry of high-profile guests. You certainly felt guilty for not having been able to see her but you knew she would understand, she was sweet that way.

No, Song Ha was dangerous in the fact that she had seen Yoongi, and she would be ready with a list of questions to ask you when you stepped into the office the following week. Once Song Ha started the questions about Yoongi, the others would only join in, adding to the pressure you felt to appear like a normal, happy bride.

Abruptly, you stood up. Now wasn’t the time for sulking and self-pity. Determined, you stomped towards the door, ready to fling it open and face Yoongi with your head held high. But as you reached the handle, your fingers curling around the edge, ready to rip it open, you hesitated.

Facing Yoongi sounded even more draining right now, the idea of his upturned frown staring down at you was less than appealing. His hot and cold attitude was taxing and you were tired of trying to understand his actions.

Coming up with explanations for his bizarre attitude and trying to make sense of his lingering gazes was less than appealing to your exhausted mind. But, you reminded yourself, this was technically your space too and you couldn’t just stay in your room the whole time. Besides, you wanted a snack and why should Yoongi stop you?

Shaking your head, you steeled your resolve and opened your door. You couldn’t hear anything coming from the living room or kitchen so you continued your venture down the stairs. Yoongi was nowhere in sight and you silently celebrated, at least you wouldn’t have to worry about him right now.

You reached the kitchen, rifling around for some chips before settling on a small packet you found tucked away in the cupboard. As you began making your way back to your room to enjoy your snack, the front door opened and Yoongi entered, running a hand through messy black hair.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re awake,” he said, stopping at the couch once he saw you.

You nodded curtly, “Yes, good afternoon.” You had been so close to going without dealing with him but it seemed like the universe had different plans in mind for you. It felt a little mean to be so blunt with him but seeing his stupid, perfectly shaped face ignited the remaining rage you had left in you from the previous night. Even though it was a new day, all you could think about was how he’d treated you like some child that needed to be looked after. It made your fist clench around the chips bag, the crinkling noise sounding much louder in the quiet living room.

When you continued your trek toward the stairs, Yoongi called out for you.

“Y/N,” he said, slightly louder than his normal volume, “Can we talk for a second, please?”

You turned to face him, silently waiting for him to continue. What could he possibly have to say?

“I’m sorry about last night,” he started, surprising you, “I was thinking about it when we got home and the way I’ve been acting has been unacceptable and I’m sorry that I treated you unfairly.”

You felt your eyes widen at his apology and you stuttered a response, “O-oh, it’s fine, really.” A habit of yours, to dismiss any apology that comes your way, to pretend like you were unbothered.

Yoongi shook his head, “It’s not. I was getting confused and treating this,” he gestured between you, “Like something it’s not, I’m sure that was annoying at the least for you. I’ll be sure to maintain a proper distance from hereon out, I don’t want to meddle in your life.”

You blinked back, confused by his statement, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I was acting like a husband when we’d agreed to keep ourselves separate from each other. I had no right to get upset with you or to treat you like a kid, and I’m sorry.”

“Um, okay,” you stammered, “I’m just going to go up then.”

Yoongi nodded, turning away and walking into his office. You walked up the stairs in an almost trance-like state, you had no idea what to make of that conversation.

You should be happy that he apologized but why did it seem like the outcome wasn’t what you wanted? He said he’d maintain some distance between you two from now on, that isn’t what you wanted. Or wasn’t it?

Throwing the bag of chips on your bedside table, you collapsed onto your duvet, you didn’t know what you wanted! You knew you wanted Yoongi to apologize but you didn’t want him to push you further away. You wanted him to explain why he got upset, if you were reading into things too much, if he was starting to feel something for you. You wanted him to be clear, and that conversation was anything but.

I was getting confused and treating this like something it’s not.

What did that mean? What did he mean he was getting confused? You were supposed to be the confused one.

Chips now long forgotten, you flipped over in your bed and reached for your phone, opting to occupy your brain with mindless scrolling rather than try to make sense of Yoongi’s words.

Despite how much you tried to distract yourself, the conversation with Yoongi still swirled around in your mind like a rampant tornado, hitting the corners of your brain and disrupting your every thought. You hadn’t managed to figure anything else out, you’d only been able to work yourself into a frenzy and feel even more confused.

Glancing at your watch, you noted that only a few hours had passed and it was around time for dinner, but you didn’t want to risk seeing Yoongi and spiraling once more, not that you had clawed your away out of your current spiral either.

Instead, you opted to skip dinner for tonight, not feeling particularly hungry anyway, and tried to pass the time until you felt drowsiness kick in. Your method of choice was just playing a relaxing game in your bed until your eyelids felt heavy and you drifted off in a rather uncomfortable position for your neck. You didn’t even notice yourself falling asleep, much less find the energy to fix your position to avoid a sore neck.

That night you dreamt of yourself in a dark room with no visible walls and it almost felt cold but the sensation didn’t seem like it was coming from your surroundings, it felt like it was underneath your skin.

You looked around frantically, for anything, and your eyes caught on a sliver of shiny black hair with slightly pale skin underneath. The figure reached out a hand for you and you tried to run toward it but found yourself unable to move. No matter how hard you pushed your legs, flailed, and grasped for the outstretched hand, it felt like there was an invisible wall preventing you from moving forward. In your struggle, you failed to notice the hand slowly retract and only realized once the figure started to move further and further away. You felt yourself shout after it but no sound escaped your throat.

Finally, you managed to break free from the invisible barrier and began running after the figure. Your limbs felt like lead and your lungs were struggling to take in air, but you persisted, chasing after the retreating figure and uselessly shouting for it to stop. Once it seemed like you were finally closing in on it, the ground beneath you disappeared and you fell into the dark chasm below, seeing the figure watching from the edge.

It did not try to reach out a hand to grab you.

The next morning had you feeling more grateful than ever that you still had another week off from work, although it was your last. You had awoken feeling drained and anxious, unable to remember your dream from the night prior. The only thing you did recall was falling, only because it made you wake with a start in bed at around three in the morning. You were tucked in nicely into your duvet then but it had become messy once your alarm went off later. You had set your alarm for later in the day than you usually did for work since you hadn’t wanted to get up early but also not sleep in too late.

The clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen indicated Mrs. Lim’s presence and you sleepily got dressed and walked downstairs to greet her and get some tea. She neglected to comment on your haphazard appearance and instead presented you with an already-brewed cup of tea. Smiling gratefully at her, you took a seat at the counter and made quiet conversation.

“Would you like anything in particular for dinner tonight,” Mrs. Lim asked.

“No, thank you, I’ll be meeting some friends for dinner.”

“Oh, how lovely. You should really invite them here, Mr. Min wouldn’t mind,” Mrs. Lim added cheerfully.

You held back a scoff, “Yes, well, I guess I’m still getting comfortable.”

Mrs. Lim smiled kindly, “Of course, dear, I’m sure all of this is difficult to get used to.”

You weren’t sure if she was just talking about Yoongi’s apartment, but you nodded in agreement nonetheless.

“Oh, Mrs. Lim, could you actually prepare some samgyeopsal for dinner tonight? I think Yoongi is in desperate need of it,” you mentioned, recalling how tired he’d looked last night.

Mrs. Lim only smiled knowingly, nodding gently before resuming her tasks.

Your phone buzzed on the countertop, drawing your attention.

To: Milf Club (est. 2014)

Joo-nie:

what’s the dress code for the restaurant tonight

do i have to break out my razor

Hoebi:

Uhhh the restaurant is kinda fancy so maybe?

Idrk tbh this dude said the place was good but it looked fancy lmao

You:

i’ll wear a dress joo, so you can too

Joo-nie:

ty queen

wear the little black one makes you look hot

Hoebi:

What should I wear to look hot

Joo-nie:

don’t show up

Hoebi:

Owie

You:

i’ll send a pic later when i get dressed

BUT it’s still minimal makeup

you guys are gonna have to see my massive eyebags

Hoebi:

They’re your most charming quality <3

You:

damn that’s a low bar

Hoebi:

See you guys tonight!! Be there at 6, don’t be late!

That was aimed at you, Joo

Joo-nie:

rude

You smiled fondly at your friends’ messages before setting your phone down and turning your attention back to Mrs. Lim, asking how her weekend went.

The rest of the day passed fairly quickly and Mrs. Lim soon went home after her responsibilities were completed. She had ended up shooing you out of her sight after you’d insisted on helping her out with the cleaning, citing boredom as the reason, but she was having none of it. You’d spent the rest of the afternoon lazing in your bed and feeling unproductive.

It was difficult to relax properly while not working because you felt as though you should be doing something else, but you didn’t have anything to do. Part of you was excited to get back to work to occupy yourself but another part of you was concerned over how easily you fell into a depressive mood. It was just another reason to start looking into therapy.

With nothing to entertain your mind with, your thoughts continuously shifted to Yoongi. You hadn’t seen him since that odd conversation where he promised to keep more distance between you, leaving you confused and lost. You still were.

He felt impossible to read. Every time you thought you were about to figure it out, he threw a curveball at you and made you stumble on your path to a logical conclusion. The more you thought about his actions leading up to and at the gala, the more they seemed to point to jealousy. The problem was, you couldn’t figure out a plausible reason he would have to be jealous. Obviously, the overarching reason would be that he has feelings for you, but he didn’t have a reason to. The man hadn’t tried to get to know you at all, you’d barely had five conversations since the wedding. How could he possibly have feelings for you?

And Yoongi didn’t seem like the type to show possessiveness over someone he had shallow feelings for, nor did Yoongi seem like the type to develop shallow feelings. In your mind, he oscillated between someone who didn’t like commitment in any form to someone who wholly devoted himself to getting to know someone before developing feelings for them. However, it was impossible for you to come to a conclusion. Just like in your own reasoning for Yoongi’s feelings, you barely knew him and there was no way for you to make these judgments.

What you would give to understand what’s going through his mind.

By the time your alarm went off at five, you were still lost in your thoughts, mindlessly playing a farming sim, mainly because your wife in there was much easier to understand than Yoongi. The alarm startled you out of your stupor and jolted you into action, scrambling things together to get ready for Hoseok’s dinner. You had showered in the morning so your hair would be dry by the time the dinner came, and you were happy you’d had the forethought.

Rifling through your closet, you pulled out the black dress that Joohee had mentioned, a form-fitting cocktail dress you’d picked up on a shopping trip with her. The square neckline complimented your decolletage and the fabric seemed to hug your curves just right, only slightly puckering around your hips. Your hair didn’t need much styling, opting to leave it natural, and your makeup was minimal, not feeling the energy to put in more effort.

You made your finishing touches, surveying your appearance in your mirror, and were satisfied. A glance at your watch told you that you were right on time, but that you didn’t have a minute to lose, so you hastened your pace to the door to head downstairs. Before you made it past your bedroom door, your eyes caught on your wedding ring, sitting on your vanity. You bit the inside of your cheek, considering whether you should put it on.

Whatever, you fumed internally, snatching it and sliding it onto your finger. It’s not like it mattered anyway but you’d grown to enjoy the feeling of the cool metal against your skin and fiddling with it when nervous.

You were somewhat surprised to see Yoongi sitting on the couch enjoying a glass of whiskey, not having expected him back from work this early. He had already changed out of his suit and into a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, looking like the epitome of comfort with his messy hair, likely from pulling the shirt over his head. You hated how attractive he looked and the way it made your stomach turn and your heartbeat speed up. He noticed your presence hovering at the end of the living room before looking you over, his feline eyes watching you from above the rim of his glass. His gaze made heat bloom all over your body and you could only pray that he couldn’t tell how flustered you felt.

You were supposed to be mad at him, damn it.

Although, were you allowed to now that he’d apologized? But that apology wasn’t what you’d wanted, not that you knew what you wanted.

Sighing internally, you decided to remain cold with him. He’d wanted to reemphasize the distance between you two, so he’d get that.

Settling for a curt nod, you walked past him into the foyer to slip on some simple, block heels, bending down to secure the straps. Yoongi cleared his throat behind you, causing you to turn back to face him.

“Going out?”

“Yes,” you answered, pausing for a moment, pondering if you should tell him who you were meeting, considering his reaction to Hoseok last time. Maybe it was petty of you, but part of you wanted to push his buttons as much as he was pushing yours, wanted to make him annoyed and angry, just as much as you were at him.

“I’m meeting Hobi for dinner,” you finished, confidently staring him down. His eyebrow twitched and you saw his gaze narrow, but he didn’t show much of a reaction outside of that.

“Alright, have fun,” he said curtly, turning his attention back to his phone and whiskey. You almost scoffed at his standoffish attitude, but ultimately shrugged. You didn’t have the energy in you to be bothered by him.

You did a final check of your belongings before opening the door and heading downstairs to catch a cab to the restaurant, you had a feeling you’d be drinking at some point tonight. In your haste, you missed the way Yoongi’s eyes followed your form, watching you leave without a glance in his direction.

The restaurant certainly seemed fancy, it looked like Hoseok’s business partner had quite the expensive taste. You exited the cab as gracefully as you could in a cocktail dress and entered, immediately spotting Hoseok’s bright smile and energetic wave signaling you over. The hostess smiled, letting you pass to sit at the table he was at. He stood as you approached, enveloping you in a tight hug before releasing you and letting you sit across from him. As you settled in, you took the opportunity to observe his business partner, who was sitting beside him.

He was quite pretty, with a round, angelic face and plump lips, and his hair was a soft grey, tousled atop his head. He smiled at you, eyes crinkling, making them look closed, which only made you smile widely in response.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Park Jimin,” he introduced, bowing slightly.

“Nice to meet you as well, I’m Seo Y/N,” you responded, returning the bow, “Hobi has been telling me how excited he is to be opening up a studio with you.”

Jimin’s face lit up, smiling even wider, “Yes! I’m so excited, it’s the whole reason I did my MBA. I’m just hoping we can find a good studio space.”

You nodded along to his words, noticing that he tended to become quite excited when he talked, similar to the man sitting next to him.

“By the way, I love your dress,” Jimin exclaimed, startling you with the sudden compliment.

“Oh, thank you,” you stumbled, “I love your hair and eye makeup.”

Jimin smiled, which he seemed to do quite often, also similar to Hoseok, “Thanks! I wanted to try out a fancy look since I was meeting Hoseok’s friends.”

“They’re not worth the effort,” Hoseok teased, making you gasp in fake indignation, “Where’s Joo, by the way, it’s already fifteen past.”

“She’ll probably be late,” you said, trying to soothe the worry lines appearing on Hoseok’s face, “You know how she is.”

“That’s what worries me,” he responded, only making you laugh.

“I’m here! I made it,” Joohee stumbled in, speedwalking to your table before ruffling Hoseok’s hair in greeting, “It’s nice to finally meet you!”

She slides in beside you, bowing a greeting to Jimin, “Hobi’s told us so much, he’s been really excited to work with you.”

“Thanks,” Jimin laughed, “I’m excited to work with him too. Opening up a studio has always been my dream, and Hoseok feels like the perfect partner.”

You both smile at Jimin’s words before starting to fuss over the menu and throwing question after question at Jimin to try and get him to open up. Over the course of the dinner, you learn he’s fairly high-maintenance, hence the restaurant choice, but he tends to back it up himself, which he proved when he offered to pay the tab. He tells you about his time in Hoseok’s old dance studio and how he was unsatisfied, so he decided to pursue his MBA in Seoul to eventually open up his own school.

“It was a huge decision to make, I mean, Busan was my home. But I knew opening up my own studio was what I had to do, and I left everything behind to do it, my family, my boyfriend, and my job. It was hard,” he detailed, a glass and a half of wine into the dinner, “But it’ll be worth it, I just know it.”

You smiled at him, “It definitely will be. Whatever you and Hobi do, I just know it’ll take off.”

“And don’t be afraid to let me or Y/N know if you need investors,” Joohee jumped in, “I know plenty of old men with fat pockets.”

Chuckling, you all took a sip of your drinks before Hoseok surprised you with a new line of questioning, “How’s the newly married life so far?”

“Oh, did you just get married,” Jimin asked excitedly, gesturing at the ring encasing your finger, “That’s so exciting, congratulations!”

“Thanks,” you smiled awkwardly, “I did, about a week ago. It’s been good so far, it’s nice.”

You couldn’t get into the specifics with Jimin there, someone whom you’d just met, it’d make things too awkward. Thankfully, Joohee came to your rescue.

“I meant to ask, how’s the studio space hunting going? Hobi’s been touring for that and his own apartment, he must’ve seen half of Seoul by now,” she joked, relieving some of the tension Hoseok’s question incited in you. The dinner conversation continued on pleasantly, but you felt yourself pulling away from your surroundings, your thoughts drifting to your husband.

His behavior was confounding, to say the least, and it had occupied the back of your mind for the past few months, even before you got married. It felt like a constant static itching the corner of your brain, his voice humming in a soundtrack to your thoughts.

The sound of Joohee gathering her things beside you pulled you back into the conversation and noticing they were getting ready to leave. You focused in to hear what they were talking about and learned that it was the terrible housing market in Seoul, leaving you to nod in agreement. You were lucky to score the apartment that you did, which was one of the reasons you were so reluctant to leave it, knowing that you wouldn’t have a place to go if you needed to leave Yoongi’s apartment.

You jumped in with your comments here and there as your group walked to the exit, finally feeling present again, and stopped just outside the restaurant.

“It was really great meeting you both,” Jimin said cheerfully, hugging you and Joohee, “I hope we can meet up again soon!”

“Same here,” you grinned, “We’ll make Hobi create a group chat.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes before calling a cab, “Here, Jimin, let me get one for you. Text me when you’re in your apartment.”

Jimin saluted, grinning, before entering the taxi that had stopped at the curb. He waved until he was out of your line of sight, leaving you to sigh and turn to face your two friends. They stood behind you, arms crossed, and looking at you quite sympathetically.

“What? Is this an intervention,” you joked, but they quickly shook their heads, reigniting your nerves.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear your answer earlier,” Joohee stated, “You clearly need to talk about Yoongi.” Hoseok only nodded in agreement.

You exhaled slowly, clearly, nothing was getting past your friends’ watchful eyes, “Alright, want to go back to my apartment? Hobi’s headed there anyway.”

Hobi only smiled, squeezing your shoulder before signaling for another cab.

“He’s just so confusing, I don’t know what I’m supposed to think,” you sighed frustratedly.

“I agree, I think he’s playing games with you,” Joohee said, swirling her glass before taking a sip of her wine, “He’s being all hot and cold. What is he, fifteen?”

You chuckled, “It feels like I’m fifteen sometimes, the way he makes me feel.”

“I don’t know, maybe he’s just as confused as you are,” Hoseok interjects, causing you to shift your head to look at him. He was sprawled across your loveseat in a ratty t-shirt and sweats, munching on some chips.

Joohee sat up, adjusting in her seat to face him as well, “What do you mean? He’s the one being confusing.” You nodded in agreement.

“Well, guys can be different,” Hoseok started, “Maybe he just doesn’t really understand what’s going on, this situation is new for both of you.”

You leaned back on your couch once more, considering Hoseok’s words while staring at your ceiling.

“Maybe he’s just using the distance excuse as a defense mechanism because he’s confused about how he feels about you,” he continued, “I saw the way he looked at you, Y/N. He definitely cares to some degree.”

You frowned, finding his statement hard to believe, but you tried to put yourself in Yoongi’s shoes nonetheless. Was he really developing feelings for you? Is that why he put more distance between you two, because he was scared? It felt difficult to conceptualize after the months of telling yourself there was no way Yoongi would ever harbor romantic feelings toward you.

“But still,” Joohee interrupted your thoughts, “Even if that is the reason he’s acting this way, wouldn’t that still make him immature? He should have more emotional intelligence than to send mixed signals because he’s confused about his own feelings. Either way, he needs to grow up.”

Hoseok only hummed, tossing another chip in his mouth, but Joohee’s words struck you, making you sit up from your horizontal posture.

“I mean, to be fair, are any of us really grown up,” you verbalized, making Joohee look at you questioningly, “All of us are immature in some way, and he doesn’t have any experience in this kind of situation like Hobi said. He probably went into this thinking that it was going to be more like a business partnership than anything and it hasn’t exactly been like that.”

You sighed, staring into your empty wine glass, “I feel like it’s unfair to hold him accountable for everything as if he’s some kind of villain. He still apologized and he’s been respectful. Whether he has feelings for me or not, he’s still navigating a new dynamic just like me. He’s allowed to make a few mistakes along the way, right?”

Joohee shook her head and smiled at you, “Yes, he is, but he’s still clearly hurting you. I think you guys need to talk this out. Clearly, you’re not on the same page. And even if he is just figuring out new feelings for you or not, you’re not obligated to wait around and find out. You can live your life how you want in the meantime.”

You returned her smile, “Yeah, you’re right, but I kind of feel like I already am. I don’t really have anything that I want to do that I’m not already doing. Honestly, not much has changed for me other than gaining a new, handsome roommate.”

She laughed in response before poking you, “How about going out and meeting someone? You can always take them back here. Yoongi said that he was fine with it, so you should go get laid. I know it’s been a while and you deserve the fun with someone who’s clear about their intents.”

You shrugged, “I know he said he was fine with it, but it still feels like cheating to me. I don’t know, it just makes me feel icky. I’m just not interested, really, just like before I got married.”

Joohee nodded, “Well, nothing wrong with that. I just hope that you’re not doing it because you feel like it’s unfair to Yoongi, he’s been more than clear about his consent.”

You shook your head, “It’s not that. I’d feel this way with anyone, you know how much I hate cheating. I can honestly say that even if Yoongi set me up with someone and went off with someone else, I still wouldn’t. It’s just not appealing to me right now. Maybe that’ll change, who knows?”

“That’s fair,” Joohee hummed, “You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to. I’m glad you seem good with that at least.”

You nodded, tracing the rim of your glass, “What happened to Hobi? He’s been strangely quiet.”

The both of you turned to look at the loveseat only to see Hoseok’s head hanging off the edge of the cushioned arm, mouth open letting out quiet snores.

You and Joohee giggled before standing to try and transport him to his temporary bed in your guest room. The two of you got ready for bed and soon curled up under your comforter with Joohee whispering, “I hope you get to talk to him. I want things to work out for you.”

“Thanks, Joo,” you whispered back, “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Joohee only smiled and mumbled a quick, “I’m lucky to have you too. Goodnight, Y/N-ie.”

You laughed quietly, “Goodnight, Joo.”

When you awoke the next morning, Joohee had already left, having to go back to her apartment to get ready for work. She left a sweet note saying goodbye on your nightstand, making you smile.

You left Hoseok to sleep in, figuring he’d wake up when he wanted. As compensation for his stay in your guest room, you snagged another one of his large shirts since most of your comfy shirts were at Yoongi’s apartment. Rushing through a simple morning routine, you quickly gathered your things to head back to Yoongi’s apartment. You hadn’t intended to stay out during the night, and even though you had a right to, you still felt the same panic you’d felt in your childhood having to face your mom after spending time with your friends.

You scribbled out a note to Hoseok and left it out on the kitchen counter and rushed out the door, making your way to the bus station near your apartment building. It was a fairly long ride over to Yoongi’s apartment, so you settled in with some music and tried to relax your heart. You had no reason to be nervous, Yoongi likely wouldn’t have even noticed. He’d probably be at work by now, not even realizing that you hadn’t come back last night. You watched the people of Seoul through the bus window, walking to their jobs and checking their phones, likening them to what Yoongi probably looked like in the morning on his commute to work. Your fantasy was interrupted by the notion that Yoongi was probably driven to work in a sleek car and rode the elevator to the top floor.

Blinking out of your daze, you noticed only two stops were left until yours and began getting ready to get up. Once you reached, you exited swiftly, making your way inside the building and nodding at the security guard.

After taking the elevator up, you opened the front door as quietly as you could before entering and carefully closing it. You sighed as the silent house, it seemed like Mrs. Lim wasn’t here yet. Breathing a sigh of relief, you turned around to walk upstairs and were immediately startled by Yoongi sitting on the couch, calmly watching your movements.

“Oh! Yoongi-ssi, I didn’t realize you’d be home,” you breathed, practically clutching at your chest, “Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” he hummed, setting his phone down to look at you, observing your frazzled state, “Late night?”

“Um, yeah, kind of,” you stuttered, “Hobi, Joohee, and I were drinking a bit.”

He only nodded, raising his eyebrow slightly, leaving you standing silently and awkwardly. You let out an awkward laugh before scooting around the couch and climbing up the stairs and to the safety of your room. Entering and closing the door behind you had you exhaling loudly and practically collapsing on your bed.

How were you supposed to talk about your relationship with him when you could barely get through a thirty-second exchange?

The rest of the week passed by peacefully with you barely interacting with Yoongi. You were almost relieved if it didn’t only put you more on edge for the weekend. You were dreading having to navigate around him being in the house for the whole day, but you were looking forward to going back to work the following week. You had had enough of lazing around and feeling unproductive, especially when all your friends were still busy so you couldn’t hang out with them. Joohee was working, of course, but Hoseok had finally settled on an apartment and was preparing to move in, leaving you quite lonely in your room.

Friday meant that Yoongi would likely be home late, if at all, because he tended to spend it with his friends as Namjoon had informed you. It left you by your lonesome in the large apartment, where you ended up lying in bed for most of it. The lack of work was really starting to take a toll on you and made you recall when Yoongi’s mother had implied that you should quit when you got married.

The idea made you laugh. If the last two weeks were anything to go by, leaving you with nothing to do during the day would only result in an extended depressive episode. A glance at the clock on your side table let you know that it had gotten late enough in the evening to grab some dinner, which you opted to order in, feeling lazy.

You ate in your room glumly watching some video or other and not really paying attention. You wondered if this weekend would be the one where you had your conversation with Yoongi. How would you even start that? What if he refused to talk to you or got defensive? If the conversation did work out, what would it mean for your relationship with Yoongi? Could you become friends?

The thoughts continued to swirl around in your brain as you gathered your dishes to deposit in the dishwasher and walked to your door. As you reached it, you noted some quiet voices on the ground floor, making your eyebrows raise. Maybe Yoongi’s friends had come?

Shrugging, you opened your door and walked downstairs, turning into the living room and almost dropping your plate in shock.

On the couch, Yoongi was on top of someone else with his hands on their face and supporting him on the couch, notably missing his ring, and kissing whoever was underneath. The sight was startling and troubling, immediately making tears fill your eyes.

You should’ve expected this so why were you so upset?

You didn’t take time to dwell on it and opted to run back to your room instead, but as you hastily turned back towards the stairs, the dishes in your hands slid against each other, making a loud noise.

The noise alerted Yoongi and whoever was underneath him to your presence, making you flinch hard.

“Y/N?”

You faced him with warm cheeks and wet eyes before steeling your expression. He didn’t need to know that you were affected, you refused to let him see you weak because of his actions. His face looked slightly shocked but his messy hair, unbuttoned dress shirt, and swollen lips made your heart hurt. The person underneath him sat up, facing you, mouth falling open in shock.

“Y/N-ssi?”

Your own eyes widened, mirroring Jimin’s equally horror-stricken expression. He scrambled off the couch, attempting to fix his rumpled top, before stumbling over to you.

“Y/N-ssi, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize, I mean, I didn’t know-” he stuttered, grabbing your hands in a pleading manner, “I’m so sorry.”

You smiled as kindly as you could in that moment, he was just as much a victim in this as you were, “It’s okay, Jimin-ssi. Seriously. It’s complicated.”

His brows furrowed at your answer, but you could see the relief flood his face at your forgiveness, “Okay, but I’m still sorry. I’ll talk to you about it later though, it looks like you have some stuff to work out. I’ll text you, I promise.”

You nodded, mustering your best smile, and waved him off, finding yourself unable to speak much more. He quickly grabbed his phone off the table and whispered acidly to Yoongi before leaving quickly.

His exit left you staring at the floor while Yoongi still stood by the couch. He took a few steps forward but stopped once you flinched back against the stair banister.

“Y/N, I,” he started, but you cut him off.

“It’s fine, we agreed about this. It’s fine,” you stated, before nodding curtly and turning to head up the stairs.

You heard Yoongi call after you but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. You could feel your eyes welling up and your lip trembling, something you couldn’t let Yoongi see. Setting your eyes forward, you stiffly walked to your room, ignoring Yoongi’s call of your name.

After retreating, you shut the door behind you, immediately crumpling to the ground in quiet cries. You should’ve known this would happen, you had even mentioned it to a degree with Joohee, so why did it hurt so much?

Maybe you had let your hopes rise after what Hoseok had said the other night and let your head fill with the idea of you and Yoongi sharing feelings for each other. Clearly, that was not the case. Whatever it was, it made your chest hurt and tears roll down your cheeks as you suppressed choked sobs.

This felt like an overreaction. What right did you have to feel upset? This was the deal from the start. He had made it clear since the beginning that you were both allowed to take partners and you had prepared yourself. So why did it still hurt so much?

Feeling your sobs subside into wet hiccups, you slowly stood, tossing your dishes onto your desk and collapsing on your bed. You felt exhausted and dehydrated, and there was a headache almost certainly in your future.

The sight of Yoongi with bitten lips above Jimin was still clear in your mind and only made you want to curl up into a ball. This wasn’t feasible.

Your mind drifted to what Joohee had said before. What was really stopping you from going out and sleeping with someone too? Nothing was, and in your hurt and angry stupor, you vowed to make good on that.

Reaching for your phone, you dug through your contacts before selecting the one you were looking for.

To Lee Jaehyun:

You:

Hey, it’s been a while. Are you still in Seoul? I’d like to catch up.

With that, you sighed, shutting off your phone and closing your eyes. Exhaustion quickly overtook you, leaving you dozing quietly in only a few minutes.

The next morning had you waking with a pounding headache and a dread of leaving your room. The idea that you might face Yoongi outside was more than unappealing so you opted for staying in your room. Was it the coward’s way out? Maybe, but you felt that you deserved to be a coward for a bit.

Yoongi hadn’t attempted to talk to you since your stunted conversation, there were no new calls or knocks on your door. You supposed he didn’t have a reason to, but some part of you wanted to hear him beg for your forgiveness.

However, there was one new message on your phone, part of a conversation that you barely remembered starting and had to read through bleary eyes.

Lee Jaehyun:

Hey, Y/N! It has been a while, it’s good to hear from you. I heard through the grapevine that you got married, congrats!

I’m still in Seoul, I’m actually free tonight for dinner if you’re down to talk. We can do something casual at our usual spot.

Despite the mindset you’d been in when you sent Jaehyun a message, hearing from him still brought a smile to your face. He was always sweet when you were dating and stayed that way after you’d broken up. You knew he understood the nature of your marriage and that it was likely what you were messaging him about, which it technically was.

He had always been so understanding, you could only hope that he’d understand what you wanted to do and be willing to follow through on it with you. You quickly typed out a response before glancing at the time. You still had a while to hide in your room until you could leave to meet Jaehyun.

To Lee Jaehyun:

You:

Sounds good, I can’t wait to see you. Does 6 sound good?

Only a few minutes later, a text from Jaehyun came in confirming the time was fine. It left you to only wait until it was close enough to six to start getting ready. You occupied yourself with anything you could, trying your best not to think about Yoongi and instead, hyping yourself up for your night with Jaehyun.

You could do this.

You made sure to shower and shave properly and donned a casual, ruched dress that you knew Jaehyun loved on you. Taking the time to style your hair and put on some flattering natural makeup, you started to feel somewhat better about this. Who says you had you stop your sex life because of this? Even though it was already on hiatus long before your engagement, but that was neither here nor there.

Touching up some last few details with your look, making sure to add a necklace that dipped into your cleavage, and double checking that you were wearing the right lingerie, you felt ready. One last look in the mirror had you feeling like a woman on a mission, and you essentially were, though not a noble one.

The thought made you cringe but you tried to wipe away any guilt you felt. Clearly, Yoongi hadn’t felt any when he’d brought Jimin home. Jimin had texted you again last night but you hadn’t found the energy to text him back yet. You’d worry about that after fucking Jaehyun.

With your look finished, you exited your room, making sure to be as quiet as possible so as to not alert Yoongi. You made it out the door successfully and breathed a sigh of relief.

You quickly hailed a cab to take you to a ramen bar that you and Jaehyun frequented while you were still dating. As you reached, the memories of your relationship flooded your mind, triggered by the warm lighting on your skin and the spiced aroma filling the restaurant. You quickly spotted Jaehyun in the usual booth you’d sat in, somehow always empty for you two even on busy nights. He stood to greet you, hugging you loosely, before gesturing for you to sit.

You noticed his eyebrow raise at your attire. You knew he knew you well enough that your appearance would tip him off somewhat to your intentions, you were slightly dreading having to explain to him your stupid idea.

“Special occasion,” he questioned, nodding at your dress, eyes narrowing in on your necklace.

You smiled, “Seeing you is a special occasion, right?”

At that he stopped, his eyes meeting yours once more, “Y/N, what are you up to?”

Your smile turned sheepish, shrugging slightly, “Nothing, nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

“In that dress?”

“Would be believe me if I said yes,” you joked.

He laughed, making your heart warm. His laugh was always bright and contagious, it was one of your favorite things about him.

“I’d think you have ulterior motives, Y/N. You know how I feel about that dress,” he chuckled, taking a sip of the beer next to him.

You flagged down a waiter, ordering one for yourself, before facing him once more, “I do.”

Both of Jaehyun’s eyebrows raised at that, eyes narrowing at your figure, “You know the effect you have on me, Y/N, but you’re still married.”

You held back a sigh, not looking forward to explaining your dilemma, “I am, but the rules are…loose. And you’re the only one I was interested in.”

“Y/N,” Jaehyn started, suddenly much firmer, “Are you okay? This isn’t like you.”

The sudden concern made you melt, remembering why you’d loved him so much before, even though you’d dated for a relatively short amount of time. Your beer arrived next to you and you took a large sip to gain some courage.

“I’m fine, promise. This is what I want.” That probably sounded believable enough.

Jaehyun hummed, taking another sip from his own glass, “Okay, then. Let’s see where this goes.”

Jaehyun’s apartment looked almost identical to the last time you’d been there, save for some new small pieces of decor. You didn’t have much time to observe it though, from the way Jaehyun was feverishly kissing you, pressing your body up against the door.

He felt familiar and safe and the way his hands traveled down your body to slip past the hem of your dress was a nostalgic sensation. His mouth was attached to yours, kissing you without leaving you room to breathe, resulting in you gasping in breaths in the rare reprieves he did give you. He hiked up your leg against his waist before trailing his mouth down your neck, sucking a mark onto your collarbone.

Your grip on his shirt tightened as his fingers approached your underwear, tantalizing your first foreign touch in a while. Your breaths were short and quick, letting yourself swim in the sensation of Jaehyun’s breath ghosting the neckline of your dress. Your head fell back against the door, your mouth slightly open, and your chest heaving at his close proximity. The cold feeling of your necklace against your chest slowly lifted, causing you to glance down to see Jaehyun catching the pendant in his teeth and dragging it up your cleavage, shooting you a lopsided grin.

“Fuck,” you breathed, grabbing the side of his face and bringing him in for another kiss, this time more sloppy as the pendant slipped from his mouth.

“Let me take you to the bed,” he whispered, tapping your thigh, and making you jump into his arms. He carried you into his bedroom, which you distantly noted hadn’t changed much either, and laid you down on his soft sheets, resuming kissing you while reaching for the zipper in the back of your dress.

You felt his fingers travel along with the zipper down your back, erecting goosebumps in their wake, and the fabric slowly fell from your body. He lifted the dress off you leaving you in the purple lingerie you knew he enjoyed decorating your skin in sheer lace.

He grinned down at you, “Fuck, you know just what to do to me.”

He dove into the valley between your breasts and kissed down your navel, dragging his teeth along your skin. As you looked down at him, the sight of his black hair similar to another’s against your stomach suddenly made you feel slightly sick, and his veined hand and long fingers encircling your nipple had a striking resemblance to another pair of hands you appreciated.

As Jaehyun’s mouth traveled towards your center, the sickly feeling grew and you couldn’t help but feel immense guilt not only toward Yoongi but Jaehyun as well.

What were you doing?

Why were you doing this? Just to prove a point? That you can also fuck other people?

The questions made your head spin and you sat up suddenly, startling Jaehyun. Burying your head in your hands, you mumbled out apologies to Jaehyun, and maybe Yoongi too.

“Hey, what’s wrong,” Jaehyun asked, settling himself in beside you, putting his arm around your shoulder, “Are you okay?”

“No,” you choked out, “I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can do this.”

“That’s okay, we don’t have to do anything,” Jaehyun soothed, rubbing circles into your shoulder, “Want to talk about it?”

“I’m so sorry, it just feels so unfair to you,” you opted to not mention the guilt you felt toward Yoongi as well, “I shouldn’t be doing this, it’s stupid.”

“Why is that,” Jaehyun prompted.

“We decided early on that our marriage would be open,” you managed to say in between quick breaths and wet heaves, “Well, he decided that. I didn’t want that, I actually like him.”

This felt pathetic.

“But I caught him yesterday, with someone else. Fuck, it shouldn’t even bother me, but it does,” you muttered angrily, “And I decided I’d sleep with someone else too, just because of that. I’m so sorry, you don’t deserve this.”

“Hey,” Jaehyun turned your chin toward him, making you face him, “I’m an adult, I agreed to this. I did this because I wanted to, I wasn’t expecting us to start dating again. It’s okay that you tried this, and that you clearly aren’t comfortable with it. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“It’s so immature though, so petty,” you cried.

“So what? You can still be immature sometimes, you’re not perfect. Just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you can’t make mistakes. I’m glad you stopped before you did anything you would’ve regretted,” Jaehyun smiled kindly, wiping your tears.

His words made you pause, echoing what you’d said about Yoongi to Joohee earlier that week. Your sobs dried up into short breaths and a cough, making Jaehyun get up to get you water. You sat on his bed feeling rather small and your damp underwear felt uncomfortable.

Jaehyun’s comforting still didn’t get rid of the guilt you felt but his gentle smile upon returning with a glass of water eased it slightly. You sipped it, feeling yourself calm down, watching Jaehyun ruffle through his closet before pulling out a large shirt you’d often stolen from him during your relationship.

“Here,” he said, handing you the shirt, “Wear that, you can sleep here, I don’t want you out in this state. I’ll take the couch.”

“No, I couldn’t let you do that in your own home,” you protested, “Let me take the couch.”

Jaehyun raised his hand, silencing you, “I’m not hearing it. Please, just sleep here and let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay,” you nodded, lowering your gaze to the water in your lap.

“And, Y/N,” he called, making you look up at him again, “I’m glad you reached out. We can always talk, I’m always here for you.”

You smiled, feeling emotional for a new reason now, his kindness washing over you in a soothing wave, “Thanks, Jaehyun. I’m here for you too, whenever you need it.”

He grinned before whispering a quick goodnight and shutting the door behind him.

Finally alone, you sighed. What a night. You still felt guilty, though you knew it wouldn’t do much good now, and you were honestly happy that you’d stopped things before it went too far. You were doing this for the wrong reasons, and even before you’d gotten engaged, you’d had no interest in sleeping with people. What transpired tonight was clearly just an attempt to get back at Yoongi, which was unfair to all parties involved, but especially Jaehyun.

You felt a little disgusted with yourself for using him that way when he’d been nothing but sweet to you. What had you become?

Finishing your water, you stood and peeled the lingerie off of your body and slipped on Jaehyun’s giant college t-shirt. It felt a little weird to not be wearing anything but the shirt to bed, but you didn’t have much choice with your lingerie being disgusting at this point. You quickly gathered your soiled clothing and stuffed it into a plastic bag you’d found, planning to bring it home as discreetly as possible the next morning. That left you lying in Jaehyun’s bed, head still swimming with the events of the past 48 hours.

In a way, you were glad this had happened, it had given you the confirmation that whoever your partner was, no matter the openness of the relationship, you weren’t interested in dating outside of your marriage. Even if you didn’t have any feelings for Yoongi, you still would’ve felt disgusted. You could hear Joohee chastizing you in your head about how you had a right to get even and that you deserved to have fun, but this wasn’t fun to you. It wasn’t appealing in the slightest.

Despite the nightmarish evening, you felt content with where you were in your own sexuality. Maybe at some point, you would become comfortable enough to actually sleep with other people, but that wasn’t something you wanted to worry about right now.

Right now, you weren’t near ready for that. What you needed was to have that conversation with Yoongi, and, with newfound courage, you resolved to have it by the end of the day tomorrow.

With your new mission in mind, you felt yourself drift to sleep in the distantly familiar feeling of Jaehyun’s mattress and scent.

The next morning had you feeling more embarrassed than guilty at the previous night’s events, and you quietly exited Jaehyun’s room, hoping not to wake him on the couch before leaving. Just your luck though that his door creaked loudly, making him sit up from his position on the couch.

His bleary stare and messy hair made you smile as you waved a shy hello. He waved lazily with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other, taking in the sight of you in just his shirt, your lingerie and dress sitting in the plastic bag hanging from your hand.

“Damn, I really wish you weren’t married,” he slurred, likely still quite sleepy.

You laughed, walking over to him, “If I get divorced, you’ll be my first call.”

He smiled loosely, still quite tired, “Yes, do that. Anyway, you can take one of my shorts, but please let me drive you back. I’m nervous about you going out like that.”

You nodded, “Okay, thanks. For everything, seriously.” You wanted to say more, but you weren’t sure how to phrase it. The unconditional kindness he displayed to you left you speechless and only more upset that he wasn’t the one you got to marry.

The ride back to Yoongi’s apartment was fairly quiet, with Jaehyun still quite tired, as he was never a morning person. He stopped in front of Yoongi’s building, whistling at the height of the tower. You smiled and thanked him again, squeezing his hand, before opening the door to leave.

“Hey, seriously, Y/N. Call me if you ever need anything, I’m always here to listen,” he said, watching you exit his car.

“Thanks, Jaehyun. I really can’t thank you enough,” you responded, smiling at his waving off of your answer. You shut the door before steeling your resolve for what awaited you in Yoongi’s apartment.

This was going to have to happen sooner or later, but it was time to have an honest conversation with Yoongi.

And you were going to be okay, no matter the outcome.

Probably.

Yoongi was tipsy. He hadn’t seen you since last night when you’d come downstairs in the middle of him making out with some guy he’d found at the club with Taehyung and Seokjin. You seemed to know the guy, Jimin he remembers, and that made him feel odd.

He wasn’t upset, no, he felt sick in his gut that you apparently knew the person he’d chosen to sleep with outside of your marriage.

He wasn’t sure why it was so upsetting to him, you’d both decided early on to leave your relationship open. Theoretically, there was nothing wrong with what he did. But it didn’t stop the guilt that swirled in his stomach, making him reach for more whiskey.

Something about your expression, just as you’d turned around after he’d noticed you. Your eyes were teary and you were biting your lip. Your eyebrows were knotted together and he could see the tight grip you had on the plate in your hands.

Your expression made his heart clench.

It was the most emotion he’d seen on your face, and you seemed unbelievably upset. And he had done that to you.

What was worse was the way your face returned to its usual cold exterior only moments later, the epitome of calm and collected. Was Yoongi not worth becoming emotional over for you?

No, Yoongi wasn’t upset about that. No, he was upset that you felt the need to control yourself like that. Yoongi had grown up being taught to control his every emotion, his every expression, and any aspect of his body language, and it molded him into an emotionally stunted adult with only a few close friends with whom he could loosen up with.

He had done that to you.

Yoongi resisted the urge to slam his glass down on his desk. He was a piece of shit, he felt disgusting.

You hadn’t come out of your room since last night and he wasn’t sure what to do. Did you even want to see him for him to apologize? He didn’t want to message you, the fear of being ignored was too great.

Suddenly, he heard the front door open and close, and silence afterward. So you’d gone out. Fair enough, Yoongi couldn’t blame you. He wouldn’t want to be around himself if he were you either.

He didn’t want to be around himself as it was.

Fuck.

He was getting in over his head. He remembered the feel of Jimin’s plush lips against his own and his skin under the rough pads of Yoongi’s fingertips, but he didn’t feel anything. It felt like he was forcing himself, going through the motions, desperate to find an answer to the confusion he’d felt since he’d married you.

In a way, he’d found an answer. Yoongi was undeniably attracted to you, and only you. Jimin was a last-ditch effort to prove to himself that he wasn’t developing feelings for you, and that had failed. Catastrophically.

This, however, brought a new dilemma for Yoongi, what was he supposed to do about it? It wasn’t fair to you for Yoongi to push these new feelings onto you after being caught with someone else. Yoongi knew that much. It’d only serve to be confusing and upsetting to you. So what was he supposed to do?

Yoongi bit his lip, hard. When was the last time he’d had feelings for someone? Taehyung? That would’ve been years ago, when they’d first met, and Taehyung had had a girlfriend at the time. So Yoongi had pushed his feelings down and repressed them until they were no longer there and Taehyung was nothing but a good friend.

But this was different. Yoongi was married to you, he had the opportunity to pursue his feelings. But what of the consequences? What if you didn’t want that? What if you were disgusted with him, now? Rightfully so, he mused.

A sigh escaped his mouth as he refilled his whiskey glass, his head was starting to hurt. New whiskey was poured into his glass but he did not drink it.

Despite the fact that he’d finally come to terms with his budding affection for you, he’d never felt more lost and confused.

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3657aman · 1 year ago

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New Post ‹ Site Title — WordPress.com

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sunflowersandsapphires · 5 months ago

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A moment of peace

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Matt has finally found someone who makes bad days easier.

warnings: None? I don't even think there's cursing tbh...this is tooth-rotting fluff with a hint of mopey Matt.

a/n: This is technically set in the "In All The World" verse, but you don't have to read that to read this. I hope you all enjoy! I wanted to write something that was void of angst because there's enough of that going on at the moment. Please let me know what you think! (And feel free to submit a request!!!)

w/c: 1.9k

In the handful of years Matt had been…operating outside the law, he’d encountered more than his fair share of injuries. Bruises, scrapes, split lips and brows, concussions, broken bones, and a pierced organ or two–he’d taken it all in stride and kept on swinging. Any night when blood remained inside his veins, and the wounds he incurred were superficial, was a massive success. Tonight he’d been lucky enough to remain relatively unharmed, yet his movements were sluggish and limp as he wobbled his way back to you.

Each step sapped more of his energy, his brain solely focused on maneuvering his leaden limbs as he clambered up your fire escape. Oxygen slipped in and out of his lungs rapidly, the harsh pants bringing his aching chest no relief. Clammy hands clinging to the rusted guard rail, he hauled himself up another flight of rickety steps, nearly cracking his head open when the toe of his shoe caught the jagged edge of a stair.

“Fuck..” He hissed, wincing at the clatter around him as he slapped his hands down on the fire escape, barely managing to steady himself. Frustration clawed at the walls of his throat, threatening to choke him. C’mon Murdock, this is pathetic.

Releasing a stifled growl, he dragged himself forward, ambling onto your balcony with the grace of a three legged dog. Sprawled out on the narrow slab of concrete, his eyes fluttered shut, his senses locking onto the noise within your apartment. Exhaustion fanned the metaphorical flames of his radar sense, sending his focus in countless directions as he tried to find you.

Your heartbeat trickled through the walls, blanketing his chest with a familiar warmth. Louder still, from somewhere in your living room, a muffled speaker spit out a tune he didn’t recognize, though you clearly did; you were humming along to the music, your sweet enjoyment punctuated by the scratching of pen on paper.

A pang of guilt welled in his stomach at the realization that it was a weekday. Of course you’d be swamped with grading and lesson planning, the semester was in full swing. And he’d almost interrupted your productivity in a moment of weakness.

Forcing his plodding body into a seated position, he clamped his jaw shut around a sigh. Another minute beyond your walls wouldn’t cause any harm, would it? A moment to rest before venturing home? And if he happened to overhear you skillfully humming a tune, well, God would have to forgive him for indulging in an incidental pleasure.

As he settled against the building’s crumbling brick exterior, you shifted, whisking around your living room in a haphazard waltz. Matt’s lips quirked up subconsciously, affection flickering between his ribs. You always had that effect on him, heating his cheeks and stealing words from his tongue with your mere existence. Between your endless compassion and your effortless optimism, the Devil had willingly wrapped around your finger, eager to heed your every command.

Completely entranced by your quiet song, he stupidly allowed his guard to fall, his consciousness ebbing as you lulled him to sleep. Almost.

“Cheese and crackers!” Your squeak of surprise startled him in turn, his weight lurching sideways as he hurried to regain his bearings. While he‘d unintentionally been drifting off, you’d meandered to the window at his back, your pristine hands throwing it open after a brief spike in your heart rate. “What are you doing out here, love? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Matt scrambled to stand, apologizing profusely as you slid through the frame to meet him. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking. I–”

“Are you hurt? What’s wrong?” Your hands hovered over his biceps, as if you expected him to topple forward. Hair swishing around your face, you frantically scanned him for injuries, absentmindedly grasping his hand when he reached for you.

“Not hurt, promise.” He huffed out, mindlessly leaning into you as you gathered him in your arms. “I should’ve called. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Intrude on what, darling? The dinner party I’m throwing for my stack of 7th grade music theory quizzes?” You joked brightly, cupping his jaw with one hand as he bowed his head, ashamed. “I haven’t seen you all week, love. I was about to unlock the window for you when a mysterious masked figure jumped out at me.”

“Sweetheart we talked about this,” Matt groaned, sidestepping your attempt to make him smile. “You can’t leave your window open all night, it’s not safe.”

He could practically hear your eyes roll as you deflected his half-hearted chastising. “My point is: you’re not intruding. You never could, love. You’re always welcome to visit.”

The pad of your thumb rippled over his facial hair as you gently stroked his cheek. “What’s going on, Matt? Did something happen?”

Shaking his head, Matt spit out an answer without a second thought, trying to stave off the inevitable confession. “I’m fi–”

“Horseshit.” You shot back, your callousness taking him by surprise. “What’s wrong?”

Your earnesty was tangible, prodding him relentlessly as he searched for another excuse. At a loss, he exhaled shakily. “I..I don’t know.”

Abruptly dropping your hand from his face, Matt braced himself for a complete loss of contact as your certain disappointment caused a rift between you. Instead, your arm snaked around his waist as you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Why don’t you come in and we can talk about it.” Your suggestion lingered in the air for a moment before Matt dropped against you with a weary nod.

Ushering him through the open window, you encouraged him to perch on the corner of your mattress while you shut and locked the makeshift entrance behind you. Dramatically brushing your hands together, you blew out a breath.

“Secure enough for you counsellor?” You asked in jest, heart skipping when he scoffed in response.

“I suppose.” He tried for a scowl, his forced moodiness immediately thwarted when your skilled fingers lifted his helmet from its resting place so you could scratch at his scalp. Groaning under his breath, Matt arched into your touch.

“Long night?” It was less of a question and more of an observation, but he tried to soothe your worry nonetheless.

“Not too bad, why?” Your nails raked through his hair, tracing the barest touch over his forehead.

“You seem tired, is all,” The steady pound of your heart jumped in his ears as one of your hands crept away from his crown, a knuckle brushing softly over the dark circles bordering his eyes.

He forced a weak chuckle, instinctively wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “That obvious?”

“How long’s it been since you slept?” Ignoring his joke, the question wasn’t more than a murmur. An invisible string wrapped around his stomach, drawing taught as he answered honestly.

“I slept last night–”

“For more than three hours.” You amended quickly, the stern tone you used poorly concealing your building concern. When Matt failed to respond, you tutted in disapproval. “Oh Matty..”

“I’m sorry, angel,�� He murmured, chin dipping towards his lap as you stood up.

Two of your fingers tapped the underside of his jaw, tenderly guiding his attention away from the floor. “No need to apologize, handsome. It’s not your fault.”

“Not sure anyone else could really be to blame,” A wave of discomfort rolled in his belly as you withdrew from his loose grasp, padding towards the cupboard-sized bathroom in the corner. He held his breath while he waited for you to agree, to scold him, to scream at him for being reckless and self-sacrificial and for burdening you in the process.

But the expected fight never came.

Instead, you returned dutifully to his side, armed with a soaped up washcloth and your perpetually thoughtful demeanor.

“Sometimes we don’t need to blame anyone. Sometimes things just happen.” Carefully dabbing at his forehead with the damp cloth, you swiped away a smear of dried blood surrounding the cut above his left eye. “Let me bandage this and we can get in bed.”

Momentarily stunned by your forgiveness, Matt blinked at you. “That’s it?”

Tongue sliding over your teeth as you stifled a giggle, the sound wavered as you shrugged nonchalantly. “I mean, I can call Claire if you want, but I’m pretty sure I can handle sticking a bandaid on your face.”

“No, that’s not,” A rumbling noise of frustration escaped him as he clenched his fists, brain swinging wildly as he tried to find the words to explain himself.

“I know, handsome.” Urging him further onto the mattress, you settled into his lap carefully–giving him the opportunity to reject the motion if needed, and beaming at him when he greedily yanked you down. “I’m not angry with you, Matt. You can ask me as many times as you need to, but the answer won’t change.”

His breath stuttered over your earnesty, coasting over your satiny skin as you leaned in to brush your noses together. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, love. I haven’t told you the bad news.” You snorted, fingers crinkling the wrapper of a small bandage as you slipped it from your pocket. “The only band-aids I could find are for children. Apparently, I forgot to restock my grown-up first aid supplies.”

Barking out a laugh, Matt slid a hand over the base of your skull, drawing you into a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You giggled, gently poking a finger into his side. “Now hold still.”

The subtle vibration emanating from your pocket froze you in place, the pen in your hand dangling limply as you fished out the device. Tossing the utensil aside, it skittered to a stop on the pile of assignments on your desk. Good enough. With a swipe of your thumb, you greeted the caller.

“Hi, love! Everything alright?”

“I have a bone to pick with you, sweetheart.” Matt’s annoyed grumble brought a smile to your face, his supposed anger lacking any real heat.

“Oh boy, what did I do now?” You asked, faking exasperation to humor him.

“You could’ve warned me about the cartoon ponies on my face! Foggy has been calling me ‘Rainbow Dash’ all damn day,” Clapping a hand over your mouth, you smothered a laugh. You hadn’t yet sent Foggy the photo of Matt’s sleeping face mashed into your pillow with pastel horses galloping over his eyebrow, but this was a lovely reminder.

Unamused, Matt continued on petulantly. “It’s not funny. I should sue for emotional distress.” You could imagine the impressive pout gracing his face about now.

“I’ll be sure to pick up some more manly designs next time.” You promised, snickering when he groaned at you through the speaker. “Let me make it up to you, Matty. Dinner at my place this weekend?”

“I don’t know, my ego is pretty bruised, sweetheart. Not sure if I can forgive you for this.” He muttered disdainfully, the hint of a smile slinking through his words.

“Good thing you’re not the grudge holding type, my dear.” You assured him, absentmindedly glancing at your calendar. “How’s Sunday? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better.” Matt scoffed, his pretend aggravation dissolving entirely when you laughed. “I’ll see you then. Do I need to bring anything?”

“I don’t think so!” You chirped, already brainstorming meal ideas. “I’ll let you know if anything comes to mind.”

“Sounds good, angel. I’ll see you–” A muffled voice cut Matt’s goodbye short, his attention only drifting for a minute. “You sent them WHAT–”

“Love you too! Gotta go, bye!” You rushed out, erupting into giggles as you returned to the stack of work before you.

General Matt Murdock taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002 @blue-devil-of-the-lord @pigeonmama @daisy-arien0 @yarrystyleeza @silas-aeiou @harleycao @for-hearthand-home

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gav-san · 1 month ago

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A Vintage Bouquet Masterlist

Masterlist Here

One Piece Masterlist

Word Count: 5k+

Dracule Mihawk x Reader

Rating: 16+

Themes: Slowburn, slow burn, long fic, long distance relationship turned found friends to love, strangers to lovers, hurt, gendered terms used, swearing, adult language. Mihawk x f!reader, platonic!Shanks x f!reader.

Notes:

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1

Mihawk stops on his journey home to an island famous for its women, and more importantly to him, its wine. The legacy of your mother's good name can be tasted in every bottle of wine you create. You aren't going to let the monastery take that and sell that- and you- without vengeance. You unknowingly bribe the man into helping, unaware of his reputation.

Chapter 2

Mihawk spares your life not out of mercy but due to bureaucratic sabotage, good wine, and vague convenience. Out of spite, he places you in his cursed, crumbling castle upon the island of Kuraigana. You are given a cold servants' room, no promises, and one sarcastic note.

Chapter 3

After Mihawk leaves without warning—his only parting words a backhanded note to the mandrills not to eat you—you’re left to survive alone in a haunted, crumbling castle with nothing but vinegar, rotting furniture, and a deeply bruised sense of pride. So you begin rebuilding your life out of sheer spite.

Chapter 4

Rot, Vine, and Vengeance — the story of what happens when you're abandoned in a haunted castle and decide, out of sheer spite, to become the most terrifying vintner the Grand Line has ever seen. There’s soil. There’s screaming. There’s a very aggressive carrot-based alliance with jungle cryptids.

Chapter 5

It all begins with a mandrill trying to warn you, and you, armed with a ladle and blind optimism, misreading the situation entirely. Enter: Shanks. Loud. Red-haired. Uninvited.

Chapter 6

Mihawk returns to Kuraigana Island expecting chaos, but finds it’s been transformed into a bizarre, domestic paradise run by you. After a series of increasingly ridiculous interactions, Mihawk comes to the shocking realization that he's no longer the apex predator on the island—he’s just another resident in a bizarre household.

Chapter 7

Mihawk keeps showing up just in time for dinner, rearranging your vineyard, critiquing your compost like it insulted his honor, and absolutely not catching feelings. That would be ridiculous. You respond with passive-aggressive seasoning, weaponized bread, and a mandrill-led resistance movement. Somewhere between pruning shears, sword training, and suspiciously domestic silence, things get… complicated. And then misunderstandings abound.

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

#mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader

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niqhtlord01 · 6 months ago

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Humans are weird: Human Optimism

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“I will be direct with you; I was against your coming here.”

Yafin had not expected such a direct response from the head doctor and was momentarily silenced as they continued.

“When I first read your request to interview one of our oldest patients I saw it for what it really was; a puff piece meant to make a name for yourself with no regard for the patient.”

“Now that’s not-“ Yafin began before the head doctor cut him off.

“But you wouldn’t take no for an answer and decided to go over my head to the hospital board and pitch it which is the only reason you are sitting here today.”

“Dr. Timlock, I want to assure you your fears are unfounded.” Yafin began but he saw from Timlock’s expression he would make no headway there. “Yet as you mentioned the board liked my story pitch and so regardless of what you may feel this interview is ongoing.”

“Furthermore,” he added for extra spite, “your patient even agreed to the interview and so your say in the matter has lost relevancy.”

The room was silent as the doctor fixed him with the coldest glare he had ever seen. A chill ran up his spine and he felt the room suddenly become ten degrees colder as the doctor stood up from behind her desk and walked around to him.

“Listen here you little sha’rav,” Timlock spoke through gritted fangs, “you may have gotten this sham of an interview but I am still the head doctor of this facility. If I see your questions making the patient uncomfortable or their heart rate jump even by the slightest of margins I will end it right there and then and have your legs broken.”

“That wouldn’t kill me.” Yafin chuckled.

“I know,” the doctor countered with a devilish grin, “just enough to put you into the hospital. MY, hospital; where I will make sure you don’t leave for a long, long time. Do you understand me?”

Yafin’s amused expression quickly fell away as he nodded in silence.

“Good.” She finished and began walking to the door. “Let’s go meet your subject.” ------------------

Wayfare Station was the most advanced medical facility this side of the quadrant. It operated as a massive two tier medical institution. The first tier comprised of nearly a hundred levels capable of caring for over three hundred different species and the specific environments of their homeworlds to maximize treatment and care, while the second tier comprised of an equal number of levels dedicated to the most advanced form of medical research and testing facilities for cutting edge treatments.

Dr. Timlock was the head doctor and as such maintained a constant stream of data being sent from both tiers of her hospital. Any other doctor would have been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information but Dr. Timlock was a Vikarian which meant her advanced neural pathways were more than capable of consuming the information and responding in short order. Everything from material request forms to latest emergency admissions she was kept apprised of.

Yafin strode after the doctor as she led them to the research tier of the facility where his interview subject was being kept for observation. It was easy to tell the transition between the two as the hallways slowly began to thin out in crowds of patients only to be replaced by an ever increasing amount of security checkpoints.

“Is this level of security necessary?” Yafin asked as they cleared the sixth checkpoint in the last thirty minutes.

Dr. Timlock let out a snort of amusement but didn’t bother to turn and address him directly as they continued walking.

“What we do here is ground breaking medical research for the betterment of the universe,” she said as they cleared yet another checkpoint that included viral gene scanning, “there isn’t a day going by that we don’t have some form of corporate espionage agent trying to break and steal that research for monetary gains.”

As if to emphasize the point Yafin cleared the next checkpoint and was greeted with the sight of a technician sprinting down the corridor with a jar of some kind before being tackled by three security personnel.

“Doctor.” One of them nodded as Timlock approached. They tilted their head in the direction of the technician being hoisted up, their hands now in iron cuffs. “Caught this one trying to steal the latest batch of treatments for bay 17.”

Timlock looked over the spy and scoffed. “Couldn’t even wait for a shift change I see; amateurs.”

She turned her attention back to the security guard. “Excellent work as always; have them handed over to authorities and ask for max sentence to be applied.”

The guard nodded and hauled the spy away as Yafin watched; his fingers rapidly typing out what had happened on his digipad.

“What makes you think the authorities would take your recommendation into account for punishment?” Yafin asked as the pair resumed their pace.

Timlock shrugged as if the matter was now little more than an annoyance. “When you hold the lives of many an injured officer in your hands and bring them back form the cold grasp of death they tend to be generous with gratitude.”

Yafin would have liked to press this line of questioning more when the doctor suddenly stopped outside of a pair of thick green plated doors.

“Bay 233,” Dr. Timlock spoke as she swiped her security badge along the access panel, “they’re expecting you.”

The sound of thick metal bolts withdrawing drew Yafin’s attention and the thick metal doors slowly retracted into the doorway revealing a dark interior lit only by several small floor lights inlaid into the walls.

Yafin made to step forward but felt a tight hand grab his shoulder. He looked to see the Doctor fixing him with her cold gaze once more.

“Remember what I said.” she spoke.

Yafin gulped loudly and nodded. With the understanding achieved the doctor removed her grip and allowed Yafin to enter the room. She stepped in after him and the thick metal doors slowly returned to place sealing the room off with a loud thud that made Yafin jump.

“Security measure.” Timlock replied with a trace of amusement. “Nothing can get out of this room that could endanger the facility.”

Before Yafin could ask what they meant by that the floor opposite the doorway suddenly creaked and a large portion of it suddenly sunk into the floor. It peeled away effortlessly as a large cylinder like object began to slowly emerge from the ground.

“Suspended animation?” Yafin asked as he recognized the device as it continued to rise. Dr. Timlock shook her head.

“The treatment side effect made it so long term suspension was untenable. The tube itself serves as a convenient housing apparatus for the time being.”

The cylinder jerked to a stop as it ceased rising and the floor tiles closed back around it. Yafin approached the tube and with the sleeve of his arm wiped away a portion of the built up frost on the side to get a better look at the occupant inside. As he wiped it away a pair of cold green eyes were watching him from beneath the frost and Yafin let out a yelp of surprise before stumbling backwards.

“May I introduce you to Mr. Morris Findel.” Dr. Timlock spoke up as she held on to her amused smile. “The longest patient held within our hallowed walls by four years.”

“Three years……362 days…to be….exact.”

Yafin looked around for the voice only to see it coming from a voice module built into the side of the tube. Timlock looked unphased by the correction and took a seat along the wall.

“On our world we don’t have 365 days.” She corrected Mr. Findel.

“I’m….human….” the voice continued with robotic overtones, “Of course….I count….by human….days.”

Yafin straightened himself up and finally got a better look at the subject of his interview and wished he hadn’t.

For a moment he thought the tank’s healing fluids had been corrupted as he could barely see Mr. Findel’s face. Yet upon closer inspection Yafin saw that the black fluid swirling around him was not the mistake of a cleaning system, but in fact swarms of machines clumped together into black masses. He was seemingly naked save for the long breathing tube that descended from the top of the tank and connected to his mouth, but the black swarms made it difficult to tell.

“It’s…rude…to stare.”

Yafin’s observations were broken as the Mr. Findel was now looking directly at him.

“My apologies.” Yafin quickly replied. To his surprise the voice module chimed with robotic laughter.

“Just….pulling…your…chain.”

Yafin was confused by the dialogue and turned to Dr. Timlock to ask if the machine was broken. “It’s a human saying.” Was all she replied before allowing him to turn back around.

“Thank you for meeting with me today.” Yafin began. “I know it must be difficult with your current condition.”

“Oh?” Mr. Findel inquired. “And what….condition…is that?”

Yafin had not expected this question. His mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to find the words without sounding offensive.

“Well…..with missing all your limbs.” He finally stammered out.

To his surprise Mr. Findel’s expression adopted one of confusion.

“What….do…you mean?” he asked. “My limbs…..are right-“

Through the black mass Mr. Findel lifted what had once been his left arm only to find it severed at the elbow; his eyes growing wide in shock.

“What…is…..where….is my…arm!?”

Voice modules were notorious for lacking ability to convey emotion but Mr. Findel’s body motions were becoming frantic as he moved his body to check his other limbs and see them through the black goop of machines.

His right arm was completely gone from the shoulder, his right leg ending at the knee and his left leg only having the ball joint in his torso.

“Oh….god….” the machine began to repeat over and over as the human thrashed around in his tube.

“What did I tell you!?” Dr. Timlock’s voice shouted from behind a stupefied Yafin.

“I didn’t mean-“ Yafin began before he heard the door open once more and a pair of security guards entered.

“Get him out of my sight at once!” Timlock shouted as she ran over to the tube and began entering in several keys in rapid succession. Red warning lights descended from the ceiling as the reporter was whisked away, his last glimpse of his would be interviewee being of one of sheer panic and fear before the doors closed shut on the patient and his career. ------------------

“You….think…he…bought it?”

“Oh you really got him good with that one.”

Dr. Timlock grinned from ear to ear as the door closed behind her and the warning lights suddenly turned off. The room was quiet once more with just her and her patient alone to converse.

“I’ve…been…working on…my acting.” Mr. Findel said with an apparent grin beneath his breathing tube.

“Don’t oversell yourself.” The doctor countered as she pulled up the chair from the wall and sat down in front of Mr. Findel’s tube. “You’re no Danika Wade.”

“Everyone…is…critic.” Mr. Findel replied as he let himself be swirled around in the tube by the tiny machines.

Timlock watched this and the amusement of their prank began to fade away as old memories resurfaced.

She remembered the night Mr. Findel was rushed into her hospital. He was an engineer at the time who had been standing inside the engine room of his ship when a grade 3 explosion was triggered by a faulty power coupling. It blew him to pieces and the ship had barely limped to the hospital station before it suffered catastrophic failure and detonated as the patients were being offloaded.

Findel was projected to be die from his wounds within the hour and her lead at the time told her to move on to other patients that could be saved. Timlock had disagreed at the time and had chosen to do something drastic.

Rushing into one of the research wings, she came back with an experimental vial of nano-machines that were designed to repair even the most serious injuries. Her lead protested the usage of the experimental treatment but Timlock had administrated it anyway.

She’d watched as the machines began to repair the wounds, but all took quickly did she realize why it had remained experimental tech.

Without a base template to work off of the machines could not fully repair the body. They did not regrow his limbs to their former length and dexterity, but instead sealed the wounds shut and designated that he had reached stable condition.

Mr. Findel’s condition had stabilized, but he was still suffering from immense pain internally as not all his wounds were fully healed. When doctors tried to operate on him the machines would rapidly undo their work and “Restore” him to their designated default state leaving him in a state of suffering. Even EMP treatment was unable to disable the machines as more often one was left unaffected from the EMP and would rapidly multiply.

Timlock was nearly fired that day had it not been for the fact that to fire her would have meant admitting the hospital was incapable of treating all ailments and would damage the view in which the hospital was seen universally. So it was swept under the rug, quietly.

Mr. Findel was moved to a research wing for further treatments while Dr. Timlock was now assigned as his overseer. She dedicated much of her time to rising through the ranks to eventually have enough sway to divert the much needed materials to finally cure Mr. Findel of his current tortured existence.

“Is….something….wrong?”

Timlock’s dive into the past was broken by Mr. Findel’s voice. She looked up at him floating in a tube of her own making and sighed.

“Was thinking of the day we met,” she remarked, “and how I failed you.”

“Could….be..worse.” Mr. Findel replied as he shrugged his shoulders.

Dr. Timlock let out a chuckle of disbelief. “How? How could this be any worse?”

“Could…be…dead.” He replied almost immediately.

Timlock’s mouth hung open for a moment before finally relenting to a question she had long since wondered herself.

“Do you want to be?”

Findel said nothing and so the doctor continued.

“I’m no closer to finding a way to turn off those damn things and you’ve been stuck like this for four years.”

“Three-“ Findel began but Timlock would not be interrupted.

“Every day you’ve had since then has been nothing but pain and anguish. Don’t you want it to stop?!”

Findel floated in silence as he pondered the doctor’s words. He could see the years of failures to resolve her debacle weighed heavy around her neck.

“Yesterday…” Findel finally began. “I….didn’t know…..you…were bringing…reporter.”

“What does that have to do with anything!?” Timlock snapped back.

Findel’s expression softened. “Today….was….fun…because…of it.”

Timlock watched in disbelief. The fact that this human, this object of near constant suffering, still had some semblance of fun was almost beyond her capability to reason.

“Tomorrow….may..be worse…” Findel continued, “or……it may be.... better. I…..don’t know…..and that’s…why I….keep going….always…the chance….to be….better.”

#humans are weird #humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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